I joined tumblr today. The first thing I noticed was the message from tumblrbot which I’m not quite sure whether it is the current trend going on on tumblr or if it has been the start-up message for that website since the beginning. Either way, that’s a lovely question and the theme it strikes among writers is one I would love to read about.
The striking sensation I felt while reading that careless jocular auto-message filled me up from head to toe instantly. One could call it confusion, vividly mixed with insecurity to the point where I could feel cold feet which I’m not sure whether to blame on inner fear or just a lack of warm socks.
My very first human memory runs on the LCD monitor of my inner eyes graphically, it almost looks like an old movie roll with wiped out sides in black & white and it only lasts a couple of seconds, maybe less than five. As I am writing this, I see it clearly, in this double standard vision where I can look around my room perceiving piles of clothes and shoes, but also inside my head perceiving emotional visions.
I’m in a walker in my grandparents’ front yard. It’s my grandparents from my mother’s side for sure. I see my 34year old father, my 22 year old uncle and my 42 year old grandfather standing in a circle smoking. I see my frail one year old chubby arms wiggling towards my father and I can hear my faint onomatopoeic cries towards this small group of people, but neither I nor they know what’s agitating me. My father leans in with his cigarette towards me and I grab a hold of his gigantic adult hand aggressively bringing it closer to my face. My intention is of experimenting with this odd tubular white piece of the unknown, but the smoke invades my nostrils and I choke on it before managing to put it in my mouth. At this point, the trail of thought stops peacefully into a picture of myself in a stroller that my father took around that time.
I read somewhere that we don’t register our experiences i.e. form memories, before the age of 24 months old. I’m quite sure it’s a Harvard study about long term memory that I’m poorly paraphrasing here and you’ll probably google it instantly. If you find a legitimate writing about it, please send it because my google powers were not up to the task. Going back to what I consider my earliest human memory, it happened before the wonderful age of 24months. So how come I remember it so vividly?
The matter of fact is that I also remember my father telling me this story when I was 12 in a desperate attempt to stop me from experimenting with tobacco. Two years later, his story proved to be in vain. So does this mean that my brain proving its Brobdingnagian power created the memory for me or that it simply scavenged through piles of useless brain matter to find it?
If the memory was created rather than found, how do I know my brain hasn’t done this to me before and god-forbiddingly in greater instances? Maybe my memories are just dreams and didn’t actually happen. Maybe my entire existence is a merely a fantasy dreamed by someone and when that dream is over, I stop existing.
Yet, since I don’t exist to begin with because I am a fantasy, how can I stop existing?
What if my life is a make-believe my brain came up with? Then I am the one who decided everything that’s happened to me up to now and I can decide what’s happening to me from now on. Nothing is outside my power. Intrinsically, I am God.
And so are you.
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