Taking mine of you with me

I do not forget.

It’s not that I have a capacious memory card installed in my brain, but I just vividly remember all the details that constitute moments in my life. If you ask me about a specific time, place, or even a photo, chances are I would be able to narrate what happened as if it just took place yesterday.

This has always been a source of pride for me. To remember in vivid detail a memory that no one else clearly remembers might seem a far-fetched claim, but it’s my talent as long as it’s my experience as if I were reading from a meticulous autobiography. Perhaps it’s because I have sentimentality as my right hand, or because I value every fragment of events with almost an over-particular care. My train of thought could take me anywhere in my past. It’s only unfortunate that I can’t use this same brainpower to ace my exams.

I’m the type of person who would bring something up as an anecdote in the middle of a conversation. My friends would often say, “You still remember that?” and I would remark “I don’t forget” in a half-joking tone. But having all these scenes from the past deeply etched in my mental faculty does not always radiate perpetual optimism. At times it is warm, at others it is leaden and bittersweet.

A severely embarrassing moment would suddenly resurface on occasions, translating into an expressive cringe on my face when I’m alone. “Why did I do that?” I would scold myself. But I also make sure to affirm myself with the idea that I could be the only one who remembers my mistakes, the only one who minds, worries, and makes a big deal about first impressions. And with that, I move on. I fear that I’m the only one whose feet are still firmly planted in my place when I was 17.

But the world is now moving too fast. Everything becomes so distant in just a short beat, especially when there’s a major event to mark the great divide of time. There’s the celebration of the new year. All sorts of get-togethers happen during the holidays, with families or friends, either in a jam-packed or laid-back schedule. It’s one of the few inevitably distinctive instances in a year, given that it’s a literal once-in-a-year gathering. The end of the holidays is always torture for me, an example of that bittersweet feeling. One day I’m surrounded by the zest of ever-familiar souls, and everyone’s absence gets too overwhelming on the next.

It is similar to when I graduated from high school. Distressingly short as that interval was, since the pandemic took all the precious time away, high school still holds many of the best experiences. The people and places, along with the whirlwind of feelings—the elation and weariness, thrill and disappointment, and the confidence and anxiety for the future.

A vibrant “this is the high school life” encapsulates everything. Naturally, looking back on the events leading up to that point is an emotional retrospection. With graduation marking the end of a chapter, as people often say, I can’t help but reminisce about what had been. I thought perhaps that’s similar to the “flashbacks” people have before dying. Years of youthful vibrance and it comes to a halt. All I could ever do back then was cling to and yearn for those times, aware that I would never get to experience them in the future.

Because forgetting for me is a herculean task, moving on would be like pushing the rock of Sisyphus. My mind could go with the flow of time but it inevitably reels back to the fun in the past, knowing I physically could not go back. If I am craving the good old times, all I need is to look at a photo or listen to a piece of music and I would instantly get reminded of an indelible memory readily pulled from the deepest vaults of my brain.

Sometimes, my thoughts would get consumed by the continuous unfurling of a timeline, so much so that I get an overpowering flow of nostalgia and longing emotion for what was. And sometimes I would also have the urge to open up to others in the middle of the night about these episodes of retrospect, but I don’t.

Maybe someday I, too, will slowly let go. But for all the people currently in my life and for the ones that already faded, I will always browse these memories like a tongue feeling the socket of a lost tooth, one that will never grow out again.

I’m writing this as Lana Del Rey sings, “I’m gonna take mine of you with me,” which I interpret as “I’m going to take my memories of you with me”—and I truly will.

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Akihiro Sabado, 19, is a person of both arts and sciences. He’s interested in introspective stories and turns to writing his own in his free time.