I may have mentioned in my previous posts that I love stories. But here’s one more detail. I love love love stories! I love hearing stories, telling stories, reading stories, anything to do with stories. It is one of the things that has stayed with me since childhood. In the past, my appetite for stories more than for anything else could be described as voracious/gluttonous /rapacious. I think I was too fascinated and greedy, most likely due to an addictive trait that I have which I think is genetic (I have a theory on that). I used to read anything and everything I could lay my hands on, with much speed and fervour, not really quite learning and retaining, I realize. This choice that I made as a kid is probably the reason that I have a memory of a goldfish as an adult. Information overload caused some kind of explosion in my memory centre and that made it kind of dysfunctional ever since. I cannot retain information easily and for long, unless it’s powerful and means something to me. I forget people even friends who drift away except a selected few who are my absolute favourites, I think of my family less and less now because they are in a different country and only phone and skype conversations aren’t enough to make impactful impressions or move me. I sound cold but really I am not. I think I have the greatest capacity for love if I may say so myself. Unhealthy, frightening, destructive kind of capacity even (yes! I’ve suspected for sometime). But definitely, most times it’s out of sight, out of mind for me. So, now you know about my affliction, which I have diagnosed myself (mental pat on the back!).
There are times when I get together with my best friend and she’ll be like “do you remember the time when this and this happened?” And I’ll be like “No! I don’t remember at all. Tell me”. Or when I am watching a movie that I know I’ve watched before but I cannot for the life of me remember the plot and all of a sudden I get excited to know what happens next! (every dark cloud has a silver lining!! Yey!).
I sound like a probable patient of dementia or Alzheimer’s disease but believe me I am not. If that was the case, it’d be a different story. I may be exaggerating my case considering my penchant for exaggerating my feelings. But the two instances are true.
This is me, a normal ordinary person in the race of exhibitionism (E is what my generation inadvertently does), sharing personal views, opinions, and some details of my private life, dreams, frustrations and aspirations but also in a tiny way saving my memories and opinions at specific times for myself. Because I do not trust my own brain capacity, because I fear I will forget my thoughts yet again and old memories will be replaced to make way for new memories! Because being the unexpressive, ineloquent and reserved person that I am and a bit lazy to top it off I collect notebooks but do not turn them in
to physical journals. So many because…