I was lying in bed last night, and I was musing on places. Every memory I have happened somewhere, and when we leave those places, at least for me, it's like they freeze the way I remember them in my memory. If I search for a memory it 'plays', but it seems like most of the things I don't actively search for within my mind are still images, and that also seems to be the case with the places they occurred. I would love to look inside the human mind, see what's happening in there... not all the blood and brains, I'll leave that to the neurosurgeons; but the actual processes of memory (and speech, of course, but that's another story).
But as I was lying there last night I was thinking about how all those places are still there. Sounds obvious, I know, but... every town I've visited on a random day with my family, every foreign country I've been to, every hotel we've stayed at on long journeys or en route to university open days... I can't possibly remember every place I've ever been, but I can dredge some of them up from the depths of my mind and it feels very strange to think that right now, they're home to thousands of people, rushing around living their lives, and I may as well never have been there at all.
The strangest ones are the things I remember from long ago. When I was nine I went to Tunisia with my family and I bought this belly dancing outfit, as all self-respecting nine-year-olds do. I remember getting back to our hotel and trying it on and dancing around our room in it, swishing around feeling like a princess. I remember buying nougat from the hotel shop; I remember riding camels (well actually they were dromedaries but close enough); I remember the dinosaur-shaped bush outside the pool that I named 'Dino' after Tunisia's currency; I remember walking around a walled city; all the wild cats wandering around; Freddie buying a dead scorpion in a box and the shopkeepers trying to persuade my parents to sell me to them for a thousand camels. I remember the massive storm that pretty much destroyed the beach (that's what you get for going to Africa in January)... all that was nine years ago and I have hardly given those particular memories a moment's thought since, but... I'm pretty sure that room is still there, maybe housing another little girl swishing around in a princessy outfit. I'm sure that beach has been destroyed by many more storms and those camels ridden by many more people, and I'm sure those shopkeepers are still trying to flatter people into buying their stock by making you think you're worth a thousand camels. That place is a three hour flight and a nine-year trip into my memory, but there are people there right now, living their lives. That hotel doesn't remember that I was ever there, and it continues without me, but I remember.
Maybe I'm failing to get my point across and you're all musing upon what a weirdo I appear to have become, but I genuinely find it strange that everywhere I've ever been is still there, carrying on exactly the same, as if I was never there. Not that I should have changed it by being there - I'm nowhere near important enough to do that - but at least when you meet a person, they register you. You are, at least for a little while, the focus of their thoughts; they register your voice, your appearance, the words you're saying, and they respond. You make an impression. They engage with you, and there is always a remote possibility that you might just change them in some way.
But places don't engage. You leave a place with memories that you may or may not remember, but they're there. Places can't do that. They can't remember you. They can change you, but you can't change them. You can visit somewhere for ten days or you can live somewhere for ten years and ultimately the place itself won't remember you when you leave. But the people will. Right now I can imagine exactly what my family is doing, at home, the house just south of Reading that I have lived in for thirteen years. That house has watched me grow since I was five; it has seen me sculpt my personality into the person I am today. But now my room lies dark and unused (except for when the cat poos on Freddie's bed and he has to sleep in mine instead) and apart from the fact that it's still mostly filled with all my crap, it makes no difference to the room whether I'm there or not. But it makes a difference to my family. My brother once told me the house seemed brighter when I'm in it... and I don't think I'm ever likely to forget a comment like that.
And this is why people are so important. I know this is kind of a theme with my blog posts, but that's only because it's such an important thing to remember. To be honest, though I've obviously made friends since I moved to York, I think it's actually the bonds with my friends from home that have been cemented... there's nothing like living a couple of hundred miles apart to test a friendship, but so far, we're doing pretty well.
I just hope that all the people in my life who are really special to me know that they're really special to me - but hoping isn't always enough. These people aren't mind readers. Tell them they're special to you. After all, what have you got to lose?
Molly x
But as I was lying there last night I was thinking about how all those places are still there. Sounds obvious, I know, but... every town I've visited on a random day with my family, every foreign country I've been to, every hotel we've stayed at on long journeys or en route to university open days... I can't possibly remember every place I've ever been, but I can dredge some of them up from the depths of my mind and it feels very strange to think that right now, they're home to thousands of people, rushing around living their lives, and I may as well never have been there at all.
The strangest ones are the things I remember from long ago. When I was nine I went to Tunisia with my family and I bought this belly dancing outfit, as all self-respecting nine-year-olds do. I remember getting back to our hotel and trying it on and dancing around our room in it, swishing around feeling like a princess. I remember buying nougat from the hotel shop; I remember riding camels (well actually they were dromedaries but close enough); I remember the dinosaur-shaped bush outside the pool that I named 'Dino' after Tunisia's currency; I remember walking around a walled city; all the wild cats wandering around; Freddie buying a dead scorpion in a box and the shopkeepers trying to persuade my parents to sell me to them for a thousand camels. I remember the massive storm that pretty much destroyed the beach (that's what you get for going to Africa in January)... all that was nine years ago and I have hardly given those particular memories a moment's thought since, but... I'm pretty sure that room is still there, maybe housing another little girl swishing around in a princessy outfit. I'm sure that beach has been destroyed by many more storms and those camels ridden by many more people, and I'm sure those shopkeepers are still trying to flatter people into buying their stock by making you think you're worth a thousand camels. That place is a three hour flight and a nine-year trip into my memory, but there are people there right now, living their lives. That hotel doesn't remember that I was ever there, and it continues without me, but I remember.
Maybe I'm failing to get my point across and you're all musing upon what a weirdo I appear to have become, but I genuinely find it strange that everywhere I've ever been is still there, carrying on exactly the same, as if I was never there. Not that I should have changed it by being there - I'm nowhere near important enough to do that - but at least when you meet a person, they register you. You are, at least for a little while, the focus of their thoughts; they register your voice, your appearance, the words you're saying, and they respond. You make an impression. They engage with you, and there is always a remote possibility that you might just change them in some way.
But places don't engage. You leave a place with memories that you may or may not remember, but they're there. Places can't do that. They can't remember you. They can change you, but you can't change them. You can visit somewhere for ten days or you can live somewhere for ten years and ultimately the place itself won't remember you when you leave. But the people will. Right now I can imagine exactly what my family is doing, at home, the house just south of Reading that I have lived in for thirteen years. That house has watched me grow since I was five; it has seen me sculpt my personality into the person I am today. But now my room lies dark and unused (except for when the cat poos on Freddie's bed and he has to sleep in mine instead) and apart from the fact that it's still mostly filled with all my crap, it makes no difference to the room whether I'm there or not. But it makes a difference to my family. My brother once told me the house seemed brighter when I'm in it... and I don't think I'm ever likely to forget a comment like that.
And this is why people are so important. I know this is kind of a theme with my blog posts, but that's only because it's such an important thing to remember. To be honest, though I've obviously made friends since I moved to York, I think it's actually the bonds with my friends from home that have been cemented... there's nothing like living a couple of hundred miles apart to test a friendship, but so far, we're doing pretty well.
I just hope that all the people in my life who are really special to me know that they're really special to me - but hoping isn't always enough. These people aren't mind readers. Tell them they're special to you. After all, what have you got to lose?
Molly x
2 comments:
What a cute post.
I don't think you are a weirdo for writing about impressions of places and memories. In fact it reminds me times when I have thought about places in that way. In particular I do with schools and college. You gain such a life there and then when you leave it is the beginning of someone elses journey. They have your teachers, sit in your seat in class and build up their own memories then it just moves on. I guess we really do live in the great circle of life.
"except for when the cat poos on Freddie's bed and he has to sleep in mine instead."
Brilliant. ;)
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