I remember crying when I was thirteen because I was so scared of the unending cycle of life. I couldn’t bear to think that life had no meaning, no colour and no change. To an extent, I’m still very much the same. I still don’t like to colour inside the lines. But instead of crying, I use it as inspiration: motivation to break the boundaries of life and flee from any mudaneness of greyness or conformity. I once felt so helpless, yet now I feel so limitless.
I remember the day everything changed when you walked away. I remember seeing nothing but grey for days on end, and feeling but the dagger of a double-edged sword, only to be slowly and silently replaced by the cold numbness. I remember not being able to be alone for the tiniest moment, yet not being able to say one word to anyone in the fear that I would break down all again for the thirteenth time that day. It was a hard time, and at some points it felt that I couldn’t escape, but I made it. I looked to the future and saw the end. And it felt wonderful.
I remember the day I was told by a girl that she could never judge me. I had been in such a dark and shameful and guilty place, yet hearing those five words broke any shackles that once held me to my former past. It was probably one of the best things someone has ever said to me.
I remember preaching in front of a large crowd for the first time at the age of sixteen. I remember not being scared to let myself down, but to let God down. But little did I realise, He was smiling down at me all through the fifteen minute talk. I made him proud.
I remember meeting a boy in September and thinking that he was Mr. Perfect. I remember letting him taking me for long road trips and playing cards and eating cookies and thinking that nothing could get better than him. I remember finally feeling like I deserved something; that I deserved someone. It turns out that he wasn’t perfect. It turns out that he did disappoint me. But the most wonderful thing was that, for the first time, I did not lose my self-worth. Though there doesn’t go a week without me thinking of him, I don’t hold grudges: he set me free.
I remember my brother telling me that he was proud of me for the first time. That was also the first time that I had ever been proud of any of my accomplishments.
I remember calling my best friend and telling her that my father had left me. She cried. I cried. We both told each other how much we loved each other. I then remember breaking down to my boyfriend when I tried to explain why she means so much to me. All I remember is her always being there: every step of the way.
I remember so vividly and wildly. I remember being wrapped up in my mother’s arms, and I remember wanting to escape from her. I remember days that I wished would never end and I remember days which seemed to last for an eternity. I remember being in love and I remember being heartbroken. Yet I never look back on a memory and wish for it to vanquish:there’s a reason why our brains choose to remember things, though the reason for this is not always clear.
Memories are wonderful things, because they shape us. They cause us to learn, and to grow, and to become better. Memories are the souvenir we are left with once the moment has passed. Memories are the one thing that we are left with when all else is gone, and perhaps, that is one of the most tragically beautiful things about them.