On the page is the memoir: an episodic, linear, circular, stream-of-consciousness recollection of the life moments we choose for emotional impact.
Early Childhood Memories on the Page
Our memories archive vivid and pristine moments that are also blurry and hazy. Most of our earliest memories are deeply tucked away, present, but indecipherable. We have a glimpse of our early childhood memories, but we can’t see exact pictures of those times.
While unable to retrieve the exact details, we are after the feelings that remain true of those moments. On the page, we are trying to capture the emotional truths that will serve as the cohesive thread of our tale. Even if we can only approximate their essence, specific emotions hold the story together and invite connections. What then do we write on the page?
The experience below recalls a moment of fear. The embodiment of fear is palpable in the sensory details used in the narrative.
When I was six, I remember a man, who came to our apartment unannounced. Our apartment was the last one in the building, located at the corner. It had the firewall as its walls. All by myself, I was so afraid. I ran up the narrow stairs to the second floor. I tripped once as I sped fast up to the terrace. Once there, I immediately locked the door.
I sank, hugging myself tightly. My feet planted itself on the floor. I felt cold as the musty, damp, metallic tang of tiles mingled with the sweat on my bare feet. They tingled where I’d scratched them against the rough edges of the stairs earlier.
Our family put all discarded things on the terrace. That day I felt like I was one toy heading for a box to be piled up in that close corner. The man called my name. He was teasing me, his voice amplified by the thin walls, sounded ominous. But the fear in my chest pounded a louder drumbeat.
I choked. “Inay, please come home now.”
My tummy felt wobbly, emptied of air. I couldn’t shout for help, my voice left me.
“Mom, where are you? Please come home.”
I remember keeping myself locked inside the terrace until the man grew bored teasing me and left.
OUR TEENAGE CHALLENGES ON THE PAGE
Those adolescent days of feeling free and indestructible, when our friendships were intense and always fun, how will our memoir write those memories on the page?
Miss Contreras scowled, her annoyance hovered in the air, her silent treatment deadening. We were all afraid. She was contemptuous of our performance. “You sound like alien birds,” she told us. We all felt the icy chill of her disapproval. Frustrated, she stormed out of the classroom, leaving us stranded amid rehearsals. We stopped singing ‘Let It Be’. When we realized what happened, panic set in.
‘What are we going to do?’ someone asked with voice trembling.
‘Aren’t we doomed!’ another wailed.
The room erupted in a cacophony of anxious whispers and frustrated sighs. Arguments arose – who would conduct the chorus now? Are we even sure of the keys to sing in? And lastly, we debated the costume.
“Let’s wear ‘denim pants and white Tees,” someone suggested.
“But she said we’ll look like waiters.”
“Who cares? We’re running out of time. Let’s focus on the singing and wear what’s comfortable during the contest.”
Amidst the chaos, something shifted. It felt like we were in a challenge. A quiet determination began to simmer beneath the surface. We started practicing seriously, listening to each other’s voices, blending with a newfound intensity. We rehearsed until the next period, liberated from the menacing judgments of Miss Contreras.
When the day of the competition came, we stood on stage, blinded by the spotlight. We seemed to have a collective feeling of nerves washing over us.
We sang. We could hear our harmonies soaring, filling the auditorium. After singing our final notes we held our hands together at one end of the auditorium. It felt like we had already won.
Then the judges called our class section. We won.
Miss Contreras watched us from the sidelines the whole time. Her expression was a mixture of grudging respect and pride. It felt like we had proved her wrong. She abandoned us to our own devices. But we had risen to the challenge.
ADULTING IN MEMOIR
The years spent at a job, navigating a relationship, or exploring a city – any specific day of independent living can blur into a hazy montage. Time moves fast, marked by ambition and insecurities.
We won’t be able to reconstruct those days perfectly. But to capture the excitement, when we truly felt free and independent – is possible on the page. Less a recording of events, the page is a reflection of our feelings during those pivotal times of growing up.
The memoir page shares our introspection, our search for meaning and connection. Our adulting is more than a telling about how we have been there, how we have already heard, how we have arrived at a destination.
FAMILY NOSTALGIA ON THE PAGE
Stories about our family – birthday episodes, Christmas reunions, wedding receptions. Only the most impactful memories endure in the layers of conversations, nuances of conflicts, casual sibling slights, well-intentioned pats on the head, unintended enumeration of flaws, and celebration of merits and achievements. We recall and associate fragmented, evocative images in the names, familiar places, background music, family dishes, fashion styles, furniture, heirlooms, vanity stuff, and collections. Our memoir writes some emotional snapshot on the page—how it felt to be around the table, listen to mingling voices, or size up a relation with core, imprecise truths. The memoir truly expands with family nostalgia on the page.
However, our memoir will always contain some unfinished pages. Over time we can even rewrite what we have already recalled as the memory of a moment. Each page we write is an episode approximating the ever-evolving journey of our hearts and minds.