I've never been one to think about what's happened in my life and choose to write about it. Yes I'll look back at the things that have happened to me, the things I've been through and dealt with but it always stays in my head. I'm much more of an in-the-moment type of girl and typically believe that the past is past. I guess it might be a good quality, especially compared to the people that never seem to get over a traumatizing or life-changing event and you want to smack up-side the head and say "get over the break-up from middle school already." (Okay maybe that's a little much but you know what I mean) However, at the same time I sometimes see my closed past as a bad quality too, that I don't take enough time to think about my life and how I got here.
I sometimes have the attitude that "I am who I am" and believe that looking back isn't going to change that and who cares how it affected me.... What happens next? My assignment for my writing class happens to be a memoir, directed at one, individual moment in our past. I could be any moment from any time in our life as long as it was real, aka no dreams. Initially I dreaded it because I felt that looking into a moment of my life was pointless. I had more important things to take care of then sit and wonder about hidden meaning in a single event let alone form a coherent paper about with emotion and structure to turn in. Then I started to write....
While my first draft was not pretty, contained too many grammar and punctuation errors than I'd like to acknowledge, and was more stream-of-consciousness that required, I was somehow happy with it. With some revisions the paper started to take shape and ended up being something I was very proud of. Needless to say, I was shocked that 1. I was able to pull off a decent essay that would hopefully get the grade I wanted but more importantly, 2. that I liked, maybe even loved, the piece I had written. And I liked the way it made me feel.
Now would be the time that I copy and paste in my self-proclaimed masterpiece but I don't think I'm ready for that. To be honest, I almost wrote a second essay for my class because I wasn't comfortable with the transition from "never talking about a memory" to "having someone else read my writing about a memory." But I didn't write the second piece.
I'm proud of that too.
Maybe I'll go into more detail about the emotion behind me piece and the changes that it's made in my life since I simply wrote about it but we shall see. At least for now I have written my memoir piece and this is my favorite part...
I cannot say how long I sat in the grass or even what I was looking at. I have no recollection of what lay beyond my hill, what buildings were there or what people I saw. I don’t remember who attended the funeral or what I had to eat. I don’t remember the color of my dress or how much I had cried. I do remember feeling lighter as I stood up from those uncomfortable, wooden, bleached white chairs that seemed to be the only controlled item of the whole day. I do remember walking away from the family I had left and the friends who tried to understand. I do remember sitting in the damp grass and knowing that my life would be changed forever. I do remember the breeze.
That's beautiful.
ReplyDelete