If we are the sum of our experiences, I could definitely point to a few defining moments, or perhaps defining  institutions that has shaped who I am, for better or for worse.

Last night, I was involuntarily forced to confront one of them (singular, but could just as well be plural). It reminded a lot of 15 years-old, 15 years-old friends with 15 years-old chatter. We had 20 years-old dreams and 10 years-old hearts, because that’s what makes every 15 years-old anyways. I remember my 15 years-old weekends, always on that yellowed floor car park, with the circle of clunky aluminium chairs and the sound of rubber hitting the road; and as event after event panned out on that yellow floor, I found myself less on yellow surfaces, much less on aluminium chairs. The balance was tipped and I secluded to the comfort of my more trusted friends.

It has been 7 years since then and I have forgotten a great deal of things. That location, although rarely frequented today, has housed some of my most reminiscent memories of my childhood. I cannot remember if I was shown the door or if I walked out myself. Probably a mix of both, depending on which is the literal and which is the metaphorical. That probably explains a good part of my attitude towards these kind of things. because personalities are what we remember most of institutions; and the sum of directed energies from the collective, representative or not, is what has remained in my fuzzy recollection of my 15 years-old weekends.

I only remember ever telling anybody about this once before, on the strangest of nights in the strangest of places. Last night, it was the most surprising and kindest of gestures. Perhaps, I have forgotten, but not forgiven. Maybe some things do not get erased from our emotional memory as easily as from our mental recollections. And maybe one day, I will actually let it go.

Thank you, for remembering me.

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~ by moz on October 2, 2010.