How do you erase memories? By erasing their identities, their Dewey code. You work from outside, the outer shell—the colors, features, elements and most importantly: association—erasing them one by one until you cannot recognize those particular memories anymore. Once the identities gone they become generic. You then store them back in random shelves and they’re lost within rows and rows and rows of other inconspicuous memories. And you will think that you’ve got rid of them forever.
Except that you have not. The content is still intact. From time to time it resurfaces and seamlessly blends with our everyday life. Only, without familiar label you won’t recognize it. Perhaps it morphs into a feeling of desolation when the rain is pouring down. Or it merges in the glowing warmth whenever you read a certain poem. Maybe the bitterness of a cup of black coffee in one morning concurs at the same time with a pang of sorrow. A déjà vu as you watch one scene in an episode of comedy series.
Those feelings you can’t understand? Must be reminiscence of a certain past, a relic of seemingly not-so-distant fragment of life’s long narration.
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