Last week, us Inner Circle ladies met for dinner (we had crabs, it was yummy). Been a while since all of us could come together, what with family and work and church commitments. So it was really nice to catch up on the latest. And of course, a good dose of reminiscing about the past.
We were trying to establish how far back our memories went – when we were 3? Or 4? Or later? I think I must have been about 7 when I started to have memories that are more coherent and continuous. Before 7, my memories remain patchy, based only on certain key events. And even these, we don’t know if we reconstructed what happened from looking at photos and hearing accounts from our parents. Or if they really left an indelible mark on our consciousness.
Memory is strange in this way. It cannot be replicated, each memory is unique. Yet memories are always changing, affected by time and space and experiences and encounters. There is no right or wrong to memories, no good or bad. Although perhaps, memories can be real or invented.
Memory, if it is not refreshed, starts to detract from reality.