I had so many ideas yesterday of future blog posts. I was laying in bed, and it was one of those nights when your body is so hyped up on energy and thought, that sleeping is still just a far away possibility. Also, me and my flat mate Maghen had just returned home from playing, or rather failing, dodge-ball. The funnest part of that game is dodging. In my opinion it builds valuable skills in case of a future zombie Apocalypse. Gotta dodge those zombies people! So anyway, I was lying in bed and my brain was just in overdrive, “let’s be awesomely creative,” mode. Seriously, all I was doing was looking around my room and thinking, “I forgot I had that, oh my gosh! I could write a blog about bla bla bla. And I should have gotten my lazy ass out of bed and written down those ideas, because I have no freaking clue what the hell I was thinking about. Sorry dear audience, it looks like we’re both missing out.
Memory is such a funny thing. I remember this one time when I was young, and still living in Bramp-suburban hell-ton (or Bramladesh, or B-town or whatever the slang is) and I was brushing my teeth in the washroom. Now, I find that mindless activity provides the best opportunity for churning thoughts around in the brain. Your physical self is preoccupied and set on auto-drive, so the mind can focus purely on the abstract. Working at Dairy Queen was sometimes hell as a teenager, but I remember coming up with some pretty great ideas as I mindlessly baked waffle, after waffle, after waffle… ugh.
So I was brushing my teeth, and I was thinking of something important, something that I needed to do as soon as I finished and left the washroom. I gargled, I rinsed, I stepped out of the bathroom, I forgot. Literally, as soon as I left the borders of that washroom, my mind blanked. I even tried re-entering the washroom in case the familiarity of atmosphere would trigger my slightly malfunctioning brain, and nothing. To this day I still cannot, for the life of me and my guitars, remember that important thing I had to do. I don’t even remember if I ended up completing the task.
For a brief moment, my memory had been wiped clean. There was white nothingness instead of colourful thought, and it scared me. How could this have happened? Imagine what it would be like to age, and slowly have this colourful painting of memory that is your life, slowly fade and whiten… I don’t think I fear death anymore. I got over that a few years back. But Alzeihers terrifies me.
How could I live? If I forgot those who love me; who are the brackets to my backbone, supporting my every decision, accepting me for who I am? If I forgot the first time I learned to move my body to music, to really appreciate the joy of movement, by myself and with others? If I forgot my first kiss, and getting over that irrational fear: “What if I’m a bad kisser?” If I forgot all the lessons learned through pain of blood, tears, heart-break, or even happiness? How could anyone live if they forgot who they are? But is that what memory is? Is it our memory that makes us who we are? That defines what our morals are, and how we react to a situation?
I suppose the answer would come down to the question of soul. Do you believe in a soul? In my studies the soul is the true self, and it is immortal. The soul is the unconscious or the ego. The soul is what connects us to God, to Brahman, to Plato’s “Being,” or the One. I believe in soul. Yet I cannot stop the fear of possibly forgetting. And it cannot stop the sadness and heartbreak I feel, when I watch movies such as the Notebook, or read the real-life equivalences of those suffering from this frightening disease.
I’m sorry dear audience, this post was supposed to be whimsical. But I did warn you, did I not? Of the sporadic nature of my thought process?