Olvidarse

Someone famous once said that you should always begin (or was it end?) your writings with a quote. Come to think of it, I believe it was Ed Norton’s character from American History X -- or maybe it was his kid brother? Anyway, doesn’t matter. I’m really more of a paraphraser, myself.

I’m going to come right out and say it: I have a mind like a colander. Seriously, I have a horrible memory. It’s genetic. Names, dates, faces – you name it. Well, actually, that’s the thing: If you name it, it will probably ring a bell and I will be able to conjure something up. But coming up with something out of thin air – forget about it. Seriously, I mean I probably did.

I have always been jealous of those folks who remember everything, the photographic memory types. It seems infinitely unfair that people like my friend Joey can remember details from the conversation we had the night we met in the dorms freshman year, and I can’t even remember his mom’s name (sorry Joey’s mom!). Now Joey is Dr. Joey, MD and I, well, I am Laurel, PCV. (Tangentially, it has been increasingly weird as more of my friends have become doctors and lawyers and other professionals. I know it has been years since I saw them drunk at a party or passed out on their couch the morning after, but it still seems to me that at least doctors should have been goody two-shoes in college.)

I don't want to forget

So remembering things has never been my strong suit, but usually I can get by with logic and my finely honed BS-ing abilities. I make lots of lists to keep myself sane, but sometimes I forget to check the lists. There is a good chance I’ll ask you where you’re from several times before I think too much time has passed in our relationship and I can’t ask anymore without looking like a total jerk, and then resign myself to assuming you are from wherever you appear to be from (which also makes me look like a jerk). Occasionally I try using mnemonic devices, but if I forget the device I devised I feel doubly silly. I can never remember song lyrics unless they are from albums that I memorized in middle or high school.

For forgetful people like me and my mom, the internet is a game changer. When my mom was in Catholic school as a child, she figured God was the only one who could answer all her questions. Now the all-powerful search engine outpaces the divine. In my case, living in Ecuador and not having constant, 24/7/365 internet access means that I no longer have my crutch, The Google, to rely on when my memory fails. Which is tough when I feel the need to look up important things, like how long to boil hard boiled eggs and who the actor was that played so-and-so on West Wing.



I’m not a total ditz. I’ve got my stuff together. I like to think I’ve done alright for myself despite my mediocre memory. Ok so maybe I can’t remember birthdays or movie titles or the end of my sentence, but I can do other stuff, like

It isn’t all jokes though, if I may be serious for a moment. When my parents came to visit us in Tena, my mom was driving me, and especially my husband, absolutely nuts by taking pictures every two minutes. She’s taking pictures of the hostel room and the dog outside and the kids on our street and us getting into the cab and her lunch and my lunch and this river and the other river and the monkey and the bird and so on and so on until my sweet husband (who had been graciously biting his tongue) rolls his eyes and I decide to say something. Do you have to take pictures of EVERYTHING, Mom? And then she breaks my heart. She has to take pictures, she says, because otherwise she will forget. I realize I should be taking more pictures, too. Our lives here feel so vivid and our memories so clear -- how could I possibly forget? -- but they won’t always be. It will be over before we know it.

Maybe you aren’t as forgetful as I am or maybe you have been better about keeping track of the daily crazy that is just being here. Maybe you think it isn’t all that important. For me it is. So do me a favor, or two. Give me the benefit of the doubt when I can’t remember what city you are from or ask you three times what the plan is for the evening. But also, take pictures and notes about our time here. Maybe you won’t need them, but I could use the reminder.



My sweet husband reminded me that it would be nice to end this with a quote, since I espoused the virtues of citing a smarter person back up there in the beginning. I consulted The Google and it turns out the actual quote from the movie wasn’t all that great. Nevertheless, I will leave you with this, my parting thoughts:

"I'm a writer obsessed with remembering, with remembering the past of America above all and above all that of Latin America, intimate land condemned to amnesia." -Eduardo Galeano

Con cariño,
Laurel