Minor Detail #14

I never forget.

Actually, that’s not true. I’ve recently discovered that I have very selective memory. Or maybe I’m not always an active listener and observer because I tend to forget certain details about certain events and people. Friends would recount a story that they’ve (supposedly) already shared with me, but I would only vaguely remember it. Perhaps the incident lacked a sense of self-involvement? Or maybe it was not remotely interesting to begin with? But the things I choose to remember, I find that I rarely forget.

Which is both a boon and a bane.

A boon: I remember people’s birthdays, without needing to refer to Facebook. Whether I choose to greet the person is a different story though. I’m slightly good with dates too. Recently, a friend was trying to remember when she bought her last cell phone and she guesstimated it to be two years ago. But I knew it was three years ago — September 2008, to be exact. Why I remember this detail, I have no idea. Surely I didn’t choose to remember it, because what use would this piece of information serve me? But there it is, stored in the recesses of my memory.

I graduated from high school exactly ten years ago. One of our last classes got pretty emotional, with several classmates crying and exchanging hugs (oh high school). And then our class adviser told us that she wanted for us to get together “this day, exactly ten years later.” Well, exactly ten years later (March 16, 2011), no reunion happened. Not that I wanted to attend one but I guess it would have been interesting for the event to have pushed through on that date, as planned. I’d hoped that someone else from class would have remembered or made mention of it, but I guess this detail was eventually lost in the long years since.

A bane: What I eventually choose to remember (and thus never forget) are the bad times. Which means I carry a lot of excess baggage, dating to as far back as I can recall. I lug it with me wherever I go, willingly expending extra just so it’s always accounted for in my possessions. Because I can’t afford to let go of it, even though I know that I should.