A memory emerges, naked in the luminous light. Warmly unfolding as fresh as the moment it first happened.
I have many of these kinds of memories. Beautiful and crisp. When they are triggered in my brain it’s like mellow wine entering the bloodstream. They differ from the run of the mill recollection of details. Or the quaint or the comical. The memories I’m talking about surface from the rabble. They are like diamonds catching the light.
A couple of weeks ago my beautiful friend (and now a blogger) Chelsea wrote a post that inspired these thoughts. She talked about these kinds of memories. The ones that are imprinted on our brains and are just as fresh as when we first experience them. Sometimes triggered by a song or a scent.
It sent me on a journey around the world, picking up my memories one by one.
Along the way I found a few diamonds…
Dublin. New Year’s Eve. Cobblestones underfoot. Walking home from a gig with an icy wind from the Liffey blowing up our backs. In the dark streets the light of the chippery shone, beacon-like, on the corner. Warm and lively at 2am. The scent of vinegar and salt lured us in. Hot chips in cold bellies. Fuel for the last mile home.
Sydney. The last time I’d seen him I was 7 years old. We were 18 now. Both idealistic. Both writers. And all those years of leaving myself in different countries – he’d done that too. When the rain poured down on the Town Hall steps, we laughed and ran. We ran all the way to the Quay. Our rebellious poetic souls didn’t care about the storm. We didn’t care about the lightning or the clothes soaked to our skin. In that fine speck of a moment, we were alive.
Bali. I returned as a tourist this time. The sunrise over the rice fields awakening me with a serene sense of familiarity. Sweet thick coffee in my hand, the smell of batik wrapped around me, the crow of roosters from far-off yards, and the humidity in my lungs. Every cell was deeply infused by the memories of a childhood. Yet no matter how many years had passed, no matter how out of place I looked, it welcomed me like a pair of old shoes.
Melbourne. I had only known him for a few weeks. A whirlwind of love. We caught a movie on Lygon Street and filled our bellies with pasta and wine. As we waited for a tram, I shivered in the cold. With the gentlest look in his eye, he took off his coat and covered me. As a tram passed, he held out his hand to protect me. I think this could be the kindest man in the world, I thought to myself. And somewhere in-between the shadow of the street light and the clang of tram bells I knew he was a keeper.
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Have you got memories like these? Moments that your senses will never forget? Fresh as the day they first happened? Do you remember?
*My friend Chelsea is a new to the blogosphere, please make her welcome at Modern Day Mummy.