Memories are funny things, and they work in their own peculiar ways. Ways, that cannot be deciphered in cakewalk. Memories are complex structures that are not bound in the conventional and theoretical restraints of science and philosophy. But in fact these memories, they are mostly just layers. Layers, that are waiting to be replaced by thoughts of things we love, objects of admiration, and thoughts that bring back vicarious pleasure. In the end, it is façade that we wear in our mind, that guides our dreams and spawns our choicest retrospect. It is all but a paraphernalia of inventible façade.
It is unique how the human body, can find its way to hold on to things it loves, to things it does not want to lose, and often those that it wishes not to forget. It is almost, in the same spirit, mystical, how it manifests its own mechanisms to believe in a figment of reality that is of its likes.
Has it never happened to you, that one silly mistake, one wrong moment, one embarrassment, or one loss, has occupied and tormented you for what was seemingly forever? But then, spack! Like the wave of a magic wand- a baby step in the direction of undoing our tormenting memories rushes to your mind and gone is the former memory anterior?
Yet after wormhole decades of sulking and skin-deep introspection by daunting thoughts, we come across needed closure, or a happy moment. A reciprocal filled with glee or success that replaces our former parasitic memories of failure and gloom. A new memory fit enough to revamp the Lego house that our most taxing memories have bravely put up behind the screen of our mind. A fresh reminiscence which like wind lifts the bell jar that locks kernels fuelling our sceptic rumination.
Like a fresh layer of icing on cake is this façade. So what if it is short-lived? It is in these guest moments of fair weather when foreign ideas take over us, we seek relief and salvation from the painful pondering, and soul-searching that holds the grapple of our lives when we are in low spirits. In moments like these, stuck in a shallow trough are we, and above us it is raining hail and storm. The rain though, is of the fabric of unforgiving memory.
In this way, memories themselves are weak. But at the same time, they are keys to our strength. For if memory is fabricated, then reliving the joy or elation that a remembrance brings you is largely creatable. If you think about it, all the power of the world is in your hands. The answer to the riddle and the key to undiscovered treasure is within you.
It is interesting how such memory is the birth-child of realistic logic, yet is the egg of immortal and utopic happiness. If you think about it, all you have to do is travel down memory lane and pick a memory that you want to wear. So when it rains daunting thoughts, you shall have a rain-cap at hand.