On the Grace of Imperfect Memory

"I think of lovers as trees... Growing to and from one another. Searching for the same light. —an excerpt from The Unbearable Weight of Staying by Warsan Shire

We learn, we grow, and we carry the wisdom that memory gives us—but we also carry the memories of the unwanted. The pain, the heartbreaks, the loss, the unbearable process of healing; all the while, we are left carrying an empty void. Like the people we’ve loved and lost, like the past and the future we can’t hold simultaneously—we grow towards and away from everything that once mattered so much to us.

It seems that everyone around me is moving on from what was. For them, a new page has turned—a new beginning—and I watch (in my solitude) with great admiration, with immense gratitude for their own victory laps. But behind my smiles is a deep yearning for my own forward, and in that, I’ve come to confront a bubble I never noticed I kept myself in for so long. Stuck inside a stale environment I gaslit myself into believing it was the best it was going to get for me. Where nothing faded and nothing was allowed to slip, my idea of devotion was remembering something so perfectly that I’d never have to feel it leave. What began as honoring my memories, I’ve come to realize, was a way to hide from what I was not willing to confront. The moment(s) passed, the lessons learned—despite my many attempts to rewrite memories, I couldn’t rearrange the truth.

I often think of the character named Joel (portrayed by Jim Carrey) in ‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind’ (2004), who chose to undergo memory-erasure to forget the memories of his girlfriend Clementine (portrayed by Kate Winslet) only to realize he'd lost the one thing worth keeping. Impulsively choosing to forget, wanting to escape his heartbreak—Joel never realized that the love and the grief are of the same thread. I see myself in Joel more than I'd like to admit; I see my heartbreak in his. I understand the impulse—I'd wipe you and the life we were both escaping from my mind in a heartbeat if I could, even knowing that to lose the pain, I'd have to lose you too. And yet I lost you regardless.

There is a box of things I wish I could forget. Moments that were done to me that I wasn't sure how to survive, the people I lost faster than I could grieve. The friends that turned out to be something else. I’ve carried all of it—but those aren’t the ones that haunt me at night; those I've learned how to hold. The memories that truly keep me awake at night all have to do with a love I once knew. I want to forget how you rolled your eyes when I told you I loved you. I want to forget the times you swore you didn’t need me, then asked me to stay the night anyway. I want to forget how amicable our dissolution was, because to make the process more bearable, I needed you to be the bad guy. In other words, I wish I hated you.

This is a letter I could never send.

Unlike Joel, we aren't given the choice to forget. The loss is inevitable—We are at the mercy of forces outside of our control. And despite my attempts to change the outcome, I still found myself the only one picking up the pieces of a dream I thought we were building together. That is the cruelest part—to carry the whole weight of remembering alone and still be asked to move forward, like everyone else. And as long as I kept you perfect, I never had to ask why I’d stopped moving at all. So at the crossroads of choosing myself or you, I chose myself. I decided to return to my academics, refine my vision with portraiture photography, and sharpen my pen to write profound pieces in hopes of healing others and myself. I released the need for sadness, for validation, for being chosen and I let go of the comfort I found in staying still hoping things were different—and turned, finally, toward what’s ahead.

I tried to erase you. I tried to rewrite the memories, like Joel in the film. I imprisoned myself trying to keep you perfect in my memory. Both were the same mistake. I thought rememberance was cruel, but to look back on our errors lovingly, I found, is truly the only way forward. I think of us as trees—growing to and from one another—never meant to hold on to each other or cut away, but to grow: toward, away, and toward again. Reaching for the same light, only now from a greater distance.