A Pocketful of Memories

  

“A man’s real possession is his memory. In nothing else is he rich, in nothing else is he poor.”

I just saw that quote in the intro of one of my favorite tv shows and my jaw dropped into my bowl of chips. No matter how good or bad things are going for us, our memories are always intact. They are travel companions, long lost friends, and places that are long gone. 

Many times throughout the day, I like to just kick back and reflect on all the people I’ve met so far in my life. Each person has a story to tell and an experience unique only to them. I think about the laughs we shared, the sorrows we empathized, and those moments of comfortable silence between us. I think about the places we’ve been and about the places we planned to go. I hang on to these memories because they are usually all I have left. 

A few of my former friends can’t be reached as easily as before. I’ve moved to a few new states, and a few of them have moved as well. Sometimes relationships just break apart as people get older. No matter how it happened, it’s just life. Nowadays, the only thing I have left of those mythical people is a pocketful of memories. 

I don’t just remember the people who I’ve come across. I think about the simpler days when I was little, playing Nintendo and throwing fireballs at Bowser on Super Mario 64. I think about when I didn’t have to worry about the trivial things in life like calling phone companies and answering the doorbell, only to be greeted by a longwinded and rather unpleasant door-to-door salesman. I think back and compare 10 year old me to the 22 year old me. As a side note, my 22nd birthday was on October 5 and I made more memories to cherish for many days to come. I think about how I’m fundamentally the same person I’ve always been, although my worldview has changed a bit from experiencing new scenarios and new people. 

I remember a lot about my childhood, but sadly, some memories are blurry like a ship on the horizon that will never reach the shoreline. I often wonder about those lost memories as I try to remember how I felt on a particular day and how I reacted to certain life events. How would I ever recall my feelings, my joy, my boredom, or my sorrow? Well, here is the fun part. 

I’ve decided to go out and buy a journal. I used to keep one when I was in elementary school, but I (regretfully) threw it away after the kids in class found out and made fun of me for it. Ah, the cruelty of school children, eh? I want a journal with a lock and I’ll be the only person who knows how to break the code. I want to look back on my experiences ten years from now and re-live these days like they just happened five minutes before. 

If anything important happens on a particular day, I’ll jot down the date and everything right before I go to bed. I’ll paint pictures with words in excruciating detail. 

Starting today, not a single vital detail will be left out. I wonder what 28 year old Daevone will think about 22 year old Daevone. I’d love to see how much I’ve changed throughout the next few decades and maybe, just maybe, even millenniums. 

With that being said, what about you? Would you consider keeping a journal so you can remember the good times and the bad? The positive and negative people who taught you priceless life lessons? The taste of Mother’s homemade cake on a cloudy Sunday morning? That picnic in the park with the person you would turn out to marry?

“A man’s real possession is his memory. In nothing else is he rich, in nothing else is he poor.” 

Happy Halloween! 

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