Let me swim in the memory dump.
I sobbed on stage at the memorial service of a PE teacher in my middle school. I can't recall the hymn my choir sang, or even the teacher's name. To be frank, I didn't really know the man. All I knew was he's a healthy mid-twenties American that died unexpectedly far away from home. But that wasn't exactly why I cried for hours that day. It was the thought that "even though we gather here to mourn his death, and we say words such as 'I will never forget you', it is undeniable and inevitable that we will forget about him and his death because he will be of the past and none of us REALLY cared about him". Our promises fade and we won't even notice. And THAT is my fear. So I promised to prove my fatalistic views wrong, and to remember him forever.
You see, I knew his name once. Yet despite my desperate attempt to keep him alive, I lost bits and pieces of memory along the way. Like the memory dump from "Inside Out", at the bottom of the pit are faded memories that eventually disappear if completely forgotten. His name lies at the bottom of the pit, with other forgotten memories that I will never relive.
I first went into trauma therapy because my PTSD flashbacks caused severe derealization, to the point where I could not recall anything remotely personal. One tool my therapist used was the "memory box". I'd bring my fears and losses and pains to him, we work them out and leave them in an empty box under his desk. Theoretically, my flashbacks no longer need to be brought up by my unconscious mind, and I will live a present life. But why would I do that? The inherent value of the past, accompanied by the fear of the memory dump, made me ruminate in memories and cling onto even the most insipid things. Is it merely inspired by the belief that "we are made of our past", thus losing a memory is comparable to losing a part of our identity? Or maybe it's a different kind of fear. Maybe I don't want to end up in anyone's memory dump. I'm fearful of the true death, the final death-- when your name is thought of for the last time. I don't think anyone wants to end up in the memory dump. So, even though I've forgotten your name, I will always always think of you, my middle school PE teacher who died too young and too far away from home.
I wish I can swim in my memory dump. To touch the places and faces lost. And to apologize.
