what i've been ruminating on this evening/morning
memories are completely subjective. what i remember is what i felt, what i heard, what i saw. and memories can be faulty, too. how many times have i forgotten my dreams upon waking, or to call someone, go somewhere, do something?
they subtly change history.
not on a 1984, big brother scale. more like a personal history. kind of like a story that becomes more and more embellished every time you tell it. i mean, they have no substance, memories. they only exist if i want them to. what i remember about last night, last week, last month, last year... that could be completely false. clouded by my own perceptions and afterthoughts. if i recount it enough times, to myself or to others, does it become reality? does someone else begin to recall it that way, too? maybe it's a matter of persuasion. or what we want to believe.
either way, memories are unreliable. they're not hard evidence of the past, just vague images floating somewhere in the back of my head. as each day passes, the memory of it fades until i have to strain to remember. in that straining, what is actually recalled, and what is fabricated in order to fill in the gaps? and what gets to be deemed important enough to remember? how is that decided? i suppose most of my seemingly important-- or, rather, vivid-- memories are associated with strong emotion-- sadness, elation, anger, whatever. for me, emotions act almost as a filter... heightening certain aspects of my day, downplaying others. when i'm pissed, i focus on being pissed. when i'm euphoric, nothing can bring me down. doesn't that also cloud my memory, barring it from any degree of objectivity? how accurate is the picture of my life that i have drawn in my mind? how accurate is... anything?
on a completely different note, i feel kind of guilty. i bullshitted my way through high school, and i'm bullshitting my way through college. i can get by on minimal effort. not that i hand in crappy papers or just pass my tests... it's just that writing comes so naturally to me, i barely have to work at it. and i can study for an hour and still get a B. i turned in an article this semester that i thought was absolute crap, and my professor gave me an A minus. maybe i'm just harder on myself than i should be, but i deserved a C at best. it was average. just because i can string together coherent thoughts does not mean i shouldn't be pushed to do MORE.
all my friends are working their asses off just to pass their classes. granted, most of them are science majors. bio. did i take the easy way out by studying something that i love? sure, i could have pursued science (cosmology fascinates me), but it would have been a challenge. one that i may not have been able to rise to. english i can handle. i was challenged in brit lit and morrison & wilson-- i almost lost my footing in brit lit, actually. i had to work harder than i did in high school, but i loved it. morrison & wilson... i kicked that class' ass. and i felt good knowing that i put so much into my monster research paper and did so well on it. but i still feel like i have it so easy. and if i'm still excelling while in this lazy mindset, i can't help but think-- what could i do if i gave just a little bit more? but then, why should i? i'm satisfied with my academics, and i'm not stressing over my classes. sure, there's the occasional night of anxiety, but it always ends up all right. or better than all right.
at this point, i've got to get up for badminton in about seven hours, so i think i'm going to call it a night. thanks for reading, anonymous cyberfolk.
they subtly change history.
not on a 1984, big brother scale. more like a personal history. kind of like a story that becomes more and more embellished every time you tell it. i mean, they have no substance, memories. they only exist if i want them to. what i remember about last night, last week, last month, last year... that could be completely false. clouded by my own perceptions and afterthoughts. if i recount it enough times, to myself or to others, does it become reality? does someone else begin to recall it that way, too? maybe it's a matter of persuasion. or what we want to believe.
either way, memories are unreliable. they're not hard evidence of the past, just vague images floating somewhere in the back of my head. as each day passes, the memory of it fades until i have to strain to remember. in that straining, what is actually recalled, and what is fabricated in order to fill in the gaps? and what gets to be deemed important enough to remember? how is that decided? i suppose most of my seemingly important-- or, rather, vivid-- memories are associated with strong emotion-- sadness, elation, anger, whatever. for me, emotions act almost as a filter... heightening certain aspects of my day, downplaying others. when i'm pissed, i focus on being pissed. when i'm euphoric, nothing can bring me down. doesn't that also cloud my memory, barring it from any degree of objectivity? how accurate is the picture of my life that i have drawn in my mind? how accurate is... anything?
on a completely different note, i feel kind of guilty. i bullshitted my way through high school, and i'm bullshitting my way through college. i can get by on minimal effort. not that i hand in crappy papers or just pass my tests... it's just that writing comes so naturally to me, i barely have to work at it. and i can study for an hour and still get a B. i turned in an article this semester that i thought was absolute crap, and my professor gave me an A minus. maybe i'm just harder on myself than i should be, but i deserved a C at best. it was average. just because i can string together coherent thoughts does not mean i shouldn't be pushed to do MORE.
all my friends are working their asses off just to pass their classes. granted, most of them are science majors. bio. did i take the easy way out by studying something that i love? sure, i could have pursued science (cosmology fascinates me), but it would have been a challenge. one that i may not have been able to rise to. english i can handle. i was challenged in brit lit and morrison & wilson-- i almost lost my footing in brit lit, actually. i had to work harder than i did in high school, but i loved it. morrison & wilson... i kicked that class' ass. and i felt good knowing that i put so much into my monster research paper and did so well on it. but i still feel like i have it so easy. and if i'm still excelling while in this lazy mindset, i can't help but think-- what could i do if i gave just a little bit more? but then, why should i? i'm satisfied with my academics, and i'm not stressing over my classes. sure, there's the occasional night of anxiety, but it always ends up all right. or better than all right.
at this point, i've got to get up for badminton in about seven hours, so i think i'm going to call it a night. thanks for reading, anonymous cyberfolk.