the memory

I have been keeping a diary since I learnt how to write, after some christmas my parents got me a nice textbook as a present. Apart from reserving my thoughts in the diary as a function of the time passing by, I had the habit to keep various things as souvenirs, in the bottom shelf of my desk, reserving my memory in touchable and visible entities. By the end of the elementary school, with my mind being so easily moulded by the books I read, I decided that I don't need the past, and that I have to get rid of it in order to form the future. Therefore I threw all my memories into the garbage, including all my diaries and all the souvenirs.

This action was irreversible, of course. The things I had thrown away did I never miss. But my past diaries have I regretted throwing away innumerable times, although I was not to admit it until a few years afterwards. Maybe that is to say that the memory is beyond things, that the memory is about words being said or never spoken (loudly). Matter never becomes yours; memory wanders between reality and ideas.

I wish the parents of nowadays still got nice textbooks as presents for their children, instead of mobile phones, clothes, expensive toys. It's like the parents are trying to buy over their children, with all those fancy things, derivatives of the consumistic, capitalistic society. Isn't it?