The Mechanical Heart Anniversary Memory
I admit with some embarrassment: I have very bad memory.
I sensed from a very small but only recognized until recently. My head is used to store data, but to make memories. Unlike the memoirist Funes, memorable character created by Jorge Luis Borges, who said "I have more memories than myself have had all men since the world began," I almost never remember anything.
When I remember, I do it wrong. Confusing dates, places and smells. Confusing names feelings and ideas. I put tears in memories that were laughter and vice versa. I confused the happy endings and sad stories with the gossip, the bright ideas poor reflections. Confusing streets, avenues and directions and get all sides by instinct than by knowledge. My mind is a machine to create memories of my past experiences rarely coincide with what still retain them and to me twenty, ten or five years ago are more or less the same distance.
is very difficult for a journalist to admit this bad memory grows, I think, as time passes. However, in order to be responsible with my job and my life, I found a little formula that does not fail me: I write. I do since I was little, when he anticipated the disaster and the possible consequences on my future. I write on slips, in foil cards, old magazines, in advertising brochures in Word, by hand, on my phone, my house, in the Metro, day and night. I always write. In the interviews I'm armed with my tape recorder - or two, but just can not stop writing until it concludes. And I'm that thorough with my personal memories: from the twelve years that I have full agendas complete with futile and absurd details that only make sense to me. Perhaps no one understands this strange hobby, but they must understand: it is very difficult to live without memories.
say to remember is to live, but for me to remember is to enter a world of myths and contradictions that only get you safely through the written word. I write to define the boundaries between my real life and my life invented. To avoid getting lost in the maze of the past. To be able to remember things as they were, because it sometimes takes. Joanna Ruiz Méndez
0 comments:
Post a Comment