I feel like nothing I write is very exciting anymore. No stories about giraffes or jumping out of airplanes or cultural shocks. Yesterday I was trying to visualize the mall (the Sarit Centre) in as much detail as possible in my head. Sometimes I think I almost forget like I was ever away. I have to convince myself it happened. The worst thing is that when I was there I knew this would happen. I was trying to hold onto every second for as long as I could knowing it would be long gone once I was back in Canada. The experience stays with you but just in a photo album kind of way. Eventually you only retain the memories that you have photos of.
Think back to your childhood. Your first bunch of memories. Are they real memories or are they remembered because they are attached to a photo you have seen since then? If you can remember something that has no photographic evidence to remind you of it - then THAT is a real memory. Maybe it's just me.
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I remember being stung by a wasp on the eye when I was in Greece. I must've been around 3 or 4 and my parents weren't sadistic enough to photograph it. Ah, memories.
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