I’m back in the village I grew up in and I never thought of it as small as it actually is. I ran into someone I went to school with for seven years, and haven’t seen for another seven years. It amazed me that he grew up just as much as I did. In fact, I didn’t even recognise him… I recognised his dog! We had awkward eye contact, then he acknowledged he knew me. It took me a second to realise that this was someone I had memories with in my childhood, and I thought of him as a stranger to me now. We reminisced a bit and he told me a story he remembered of me at his eight birthday, which I completely forgot about. It got me thinking of moments and memories.
There’s some moments which are remarkably special. There’s others that even thinking of you want to crawl into a hole even thinking about. Either way you cannot change them, even if you wanted to. However, I sometimes wonder if I’m remembered in other peoples moments. Something that changed their world, that I had the honour to be apart of. But times change and people drift and I wonder do I get written out of the memory or am I apart of the memory? Just another fact to the story. I’m awful at letting go of people who I’ve connected with, but I know…well I’ve learned it doesn’t always work that way for other people. Sometimes I think about what I could do to fix all these relationships, but that’s just as painful as living through it all again.
If I was able to forget a moment in someones eight birthday, what memories have I been holding on to where the other person included has completely forgot? So I began to think of moments and the relationships I have with the people I shared these moments with.
I was there when my friend heard his first niece was born.
We saw each other once last year.
I was there when my friend got her first dog.
We like each others instagram photos.
I was there when my friend got the college she had worked hard for.
We drifted apart and neither of us tried to fix it.
I was there when my friends dad got a job offer after months of trying.
We haven’t spoken in four years.
I was there when my friend was asked to step in for a lead role on stage.
We pretend like we’re as close as we once were when we see each other on nights out.
I was there when my friends brother arrived home drunk for the first time.
We talk about it as if it’s our only memory together.
I was there when my friends dad walked out.
We exchange awkward glances when I’m home at holidays.
I was there when my friend got bad news about her granny.
We text each other a vague happy birthday to each other each year.
I was there when my friend failed her most important exam.
We act like it never happened.
I was there when my friend broke down about his parents.
We avoid each other on nights out.
I was there.
I was there for these important moments that touched my heart and I hardly speak to the people whose life I experienced for a brief moment. It makes me incredibly sad that absolutely nothing is stopping me from reaching out to these people, except for the fact I know they won’t reach back.
So I wonder.
I wonder if I’m a apart of these moments. Or if I’m purposely unwritten in the memory. I wonder if I’m a fact to the story. I wonder if I’m blocked out. I wonder if these memories are even thought of like I think about them. I wonder if they meant nothing. I wonder if I meant nothing.