On Memory
I’ve been thinking about memory.
More specifically, about how much one remembers of you can provide some indication of the place you hold in their hearts.
A few months ago, a relative asked me how my son was doing. This was, as the universe is wont to work, a few days after his daughter had asked me the same question. Which was a few weeks before yet another relative asked my mother how her grandson was doing.
I remember being utterly, well, indignant. Angry. Pissed off. How dare they I ranted. How dare they place the regard they have for me so low in their circle of fellow humans- below even, the ranks of Gwyneth Paltrow (one daughter- Apple) and Ziana Zain (one son- name unknown)?
My father (for it was through him that my connection with these relatives were formed) was nonplussed. Relax, he said. They probably have really bad memories. It’s got nothing to do with how they feel about you.
I disagreed. Because I think and feel (and continue to think and feel) that unlike mathematical formulae and the capitals of third-world nations, the details, however minute, you recall of another human being are stored not in the mind, but in the heart. Memories you hold of another person’s life, especially a person you know, have nothing to do with synapses and neurons, apart perhaps, from a purely biological perspective- and everything to do with the connections your heart holds to them. Recollections of birthdays, anniversaries, deaths and everything in between- moments of shared laughter and tears- I refuse to believe that electric impulses in the cerebral cortex alone are responsible for this. Not for nothing that the Muslim prayer for retaining recollection translates as Doa Penerang Hati.
Hati. Heart. Not Otak (or to be more up-to-date with SPM-accepted terminology, ”minda”).
I have friends for instance, for whom the word genius would be an apt (and not exaggerated) title, who have memories like worn sieves when it comes to keeping body and soul together. The amount of purses, wallets, keys they have lost would equip lost n' found sections in at least hundred airports. I know however, that their hati, that seat of true memory is well-padded, at least when it comes to their recollections of the often trivial details that relate to me. B, houseman extraordinaire and the involuntary relinquisher of many a purse (not to mention the owner of her fourth IC), may not remember where she puts her glasses half the time- but she remembers my child's birthday and every medical detail of that birth.
Therefore, please forgive me if I threaten to combust should you not remember the more pertinent details about me. Such as my name. Or the fact that I am married. Or that I have a decidedly female offspring. Especially if we happen to share the same gene pool.
And if I suddenly forget the fact that you are on your third boyfriend in as many days, or that you’re going to be served your second bankruptcy notice in as many decades, I hope you’ll forgive me too. And in the interest of polite society where all the important rules are unwritten, understand that my apparent lack of cerebral retention also means that I don’t much care for you, either.
How did my thoughts arrive at this seemingly random juncture, you wonder?
Ah, that’s another story altogether, isn’t it.
nads went at 15:02