Memory
The other day I was sitting on my bed and I had a flashback to a time that I fell in a friend's jacuzzi. I do not remember how old I was at the time, but I was in the toddler age range.
I didn't just see the memory, I was actually there in my head.
I stepped off the edge, sank to the bottom, and looked up at the lapping surface of the water. I realized the water must be very deep (relatively) in order for it to cover my head even though I was standing. I wanted to scream because it was so hot, but told myself not to, and waited for someone to come get me. My Dad pulled me out within seconds of me falling in, but time moved slower down there.
I asked my Mom and Dad about the memory today and they confirmed it with some slight alterations. My mom remembers other people sitting in the jacuzzi, and that Dad was just the first one to reach me. My Dad remembers everyone else being on the opposite side of the patio area near the BBQ, and that he was the only one near me. I remember a group of adults and my Dad chatting nearby, and do not recall anyone in the jacuzzi.
Memory is a very peculiar form of storing information. It is the only record of our individual life, and yet it is so maleable that our brains can distort information in order to impose liner sense on the jumbled fragments and snap shots of our past.
I didn't just see the memory, I was actually there in my head.
I stepped off the edge, sank to the bottom, and looked up at the lapping surface of the water. I realized the water must be very deep (relatively) in order for it to cover my head even though I was standing. I wanted to scream because it was so hot, but told myself not to, and waited for someone to come get me. My Dad pulled me out within seconds of me falling in, but time moved slower down there.
I asked my Mom and Dad about the memory today and they confirmed it with some slight alterations. My mom remembers other people sitting in the jacuzzi, and that Dad was just the first one to reach me. My Dad remembers everyone else being on the opposite side of the patio area near the BBQ, and that he was the only one near me. I remember a group of adults and my Dad chatting nearby, and do not recall anyone in the jacuzzi.
Memory is a very peculiar form of storing information. It is the only record of our individual life, and yet it is so maleable that our brains can distort information in order to impose liner sense on the jumbled fragments and snap shots of our past.