Not everything that happens is important, and keeping every memory is like putting your hand in a stream to catch a handful of water.
"Freshly damp grass in the late evening sun, when it began to get cool and it turned moist and foggy, muffling the noise in the air; where seated, I reached down and let the blades of grass tickle between my fingers."
That’s the moment I recall easily from this day, but the rest is harder to recollect. Our minds trick us, saying: I’ll be able to remember this. Yet, what seems so clear and permanent is quickly forgotten.
I need something physical to bring these types of memories back again. When a memory is documented, all I need is one element of it, an entry point, and the moments begin to reassemble themselves:
"The camping kit, rain soaked, went back in the bag; the remnants of the tea, now cold, went back to the river; those little gems of thought were written in the journal; the waterfall was scratched into the paper with a pen which was running out of ink. I went into the tent, into the sleeping bag, zipped it up…"
I can recall it all now when I think about it, when I look at the drawing, read the words.
"…I slept with the sound of the water running over the fall and down the river."
I don't usually have a camera, but I always have my journal, and it's only a moment away from taking out and opening.
Had I not put this day's moments on paper, who knows where they’d be now, those drops of memory running by, like catching water. Yet, all you need is to grab a few, and you'll know how the whole rivers feels.
Keep the memories where they belong,
Everything Digital Officer