Friday, May 13, 2005

my map of memories...

Memory is an illusive thing. As time passes, memory changes and in order for us to see the clear picture, the memory of the collective becomes a necessity. How many memoirs circulate around the world? How many are being born by the second? What is it that compels us to put pen to paper, or type words onto a screen. My memory is not as compelling as it once was. It resembles the aching feeling that arrives when autumn comes and the days grow colder.

I think that in the end, we all search for someone with whom we can share, someone in whom we can confide the echoes of what we remember. Someone who will say, "it was this way and to whom we can in turn say, “oh yes, you are right and my memory is so defective, it must be the result of growing older.”

This tribe that consists of the union between Castros, Ramirezes, Ortegas, Ruizes and all the other branches whose courses are mapped into my DNA, form a community whose memories can be traced, through time and experience. Scattered all over the globe by the force of circumstance, something inside me makes me long to rediscover the bonds that unite us.

They say that the bonds that nothing on earth can sever are written in blood. They run through my veins, they transform me from a solitary individual into someone who belongs to an entire tribe whose descendants will continue to be linked to each other despite the differences in culture, upbringing, social background, language and education.

These bonds are the ones that root me and anchor me. They remind me that no matter where I am the map that I carry in my veins will always identify me as belonging to someone, somewhere in the world.


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