Memory

My next assignment is to write a very fast, non detail-oriented autobiography of my life.

I began writing in my head during classes today.  It is really strange to think about how much of my life has been dictated to me by others, and how little is my actual memory.

For example, I know that the day I was born was Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.  I know that I arrived at 4:56 in the morning, sixteen minutes after my panicking mother and father arrived at the hospital. I know it was a stormy day.  The morning I was born, lightning struck the Angel Moroni statue on the San Diego Temple.

I know these things, but I only know them because others have told me they are so.  I have scanned through photographs proving my birth and my happy homecoming.  I have seen pictures of my first day at preschool, and of my very first missing tooth.  But I do not remember these things.  None of them.

I am taking a World War II class, and this week we have discussed a lot about memory versus history.  How memory becomes a part of history, but history isn't always the same as the memory.  Our "memory" is fed by outside information (in regard to history, this is news, films, novels, oral histories, etc.) and we combine this all in our minds as a remembrance.  I think this exactly pertains to our personal history.  Our young years (and even our older ones) are basically presented to us by others who were there and do remember.  They tell us and we accept it as truth and part of our "memory" of growing up.  But just as in general history, individual memory is changed by time and never is quite the same as another's memory of what occurred.  Our differing memories are thrown together and mixed with the actual facts. The product of this organized mess is our history, our story.

<3 Mel

  

Newbie

This is my first blog...ever. This whole experience is new to me so forgive me if I ramble on in an incomprehensible manner.

I got this blog for my Eng 220 class at BYU, but I'm thinking I may just have to continue with it once the semester ends.

Today in class we were given the word 'murder' as a prompt. Only the word 'murder'.  We were told to list ten images that came to mind when we heard this word, and then pick one to expand on.  This is what I wrote:

"The word ‘murder’ somehow brings to mind embarrassment.  Incredibly embarrassing moments in our lives may prompt us to turn to the person next to us and mutter, “Just shoot me now.” More than often, this is an exaggeration of extreme proportions.  But it has on more than one occasion, particularly if I have used the expression myself, caused me to pause and consider its implication.  Would we truly rather face death than that painful emotion: embarrassment?  Would being removed entirely from our physical existence really remedy the situation?  Would the persons who witnessed the embarrassing action not remember that situation simply because you had died after committing it?  Rather, I would think it would be long seared into their memories as the very last thing they saw or heard you do.  Instead of removing it from their memories, your death would ensure that it would likely be discussed at your funeral and in 'loving' remembrances thereafter." 

Would you agree?

<3 Mel