Sensing Memory

When the house was sold, a deep, helpless sadness came over me. Why? I have all the memories in my mind, they weren't going anywhere. I suppose it's because we attached memories to physical objects, and when we see, touch, and experience the tangible, those memories are easier to recall. They come alive. Without them, they just remain as they are: a vision of what was. No longer is there a connection to our present. It requires more work, and we become susceptible to internal forces that influence our memories, that overlap, erase, and redraw what we remember. Was I sitting in the chair when the argument happened? Where was that chair? Near the window? By the hallway? Another memory takes over, suggesting the proper position. One cannot be sure of the validity of the memory, of the exact context. When I see and touch the chair, however, I feel my memory. It comes flooding back with the texture, the exact position. All senses are required to remember correctly. Without this, it feels as if our memories, which are highly influenced by the power of suggestion and the unclear distinction between other thoughts, are unable to really, truly be remembered as they actually where. These "correct" memories validates our lives, add legitimacy to our past.  They also add a crucial link between the past of memories to the future. To know that this place, this object, will always be where it is, means so much to us because it triggers not just the memory of it, but all 5 senses, adding an undeniable validity to the experience.  Have you ever just sat in a place and thought "Soak it up. Everything. I can't come back, I'll never be here again." Me? Often. Sitting in my last exam which signified the end of college. Sitting in the park on my last day in Ann Arbor. Sitting on the coast of Morocco watching the sunset into the mountains. The last time I was at my dad's house in the Sault. The power that overtakes you in this moment is too much to describe.  To know that things are not continuous indefinitely, and to know that we will eventually have to rely on memory, is a powerful reminder of the importance of the present. To live each moment like you won't have the luxury to return to it again is a downhearted, demoralizing prospect in some ways. It puts so much importance on the "now" and not the "later". The opportunity might not arise again to revisit your childhood living room in Sault Sainte Marie, MI, or to sit in a park knowing that you are going to leave for a very long time, far from the people and the culture you're used to. 

Egypt, you are my Present.