Grasping Transparency

Posted on May 26, 2019 by 20chuoneils

A beach made of pebbles and three towels lined along the shore, the sun dried us so our towels did not have to. I reached over Leah for the bag of chips and collided with Emma’s hand as she grabbed more for herself. We laughed and bantered while swimming and tanning and swimming some more. Capsizing the canoe for fun, soon to realize that a canoe full of water was overpowered the three of us. Dancing the can-can on a paddleboard until we all fell off one by one. This is what we called Camp David. Emma and Leah’s dad, David, would have his own adventurous activities on the weekends of summer because during the week, we went to a different camp. Ecoventure was a camp for youngsters to go on all the adventures Maine had to offer. Hiking was our least favorite, but the time we spent swimming made up for it. That, as well as catching miniature frogs at the state park. For lunch, we consumed the epitome of kid snacks. We feasted on sesame sticks, grapes, baby carrots, and extensive amounts of potato chips. Being lazy all summer was not even half as good as Ecoventure was, and Camp David was even better. Night swimming, watching movies, producing our own short films were the gems that Camp David had that Ecoventure did not. The distinctions of each give them both separate places in my core. This was what made my summers as a kid so memorable.

What makes something memorable? What I hear most often is people saying that you the things you remember the most vividly are often the toughest things you have to go through in life. I do not disagree, because it is fundamentally important for a brain to remember what went wrong to help avoid the same situation in the future. That being said, when I think of memories, I never think of the traumas in my life. I think of my best friends and me when we were only five and six years old. I think of one of the first Christmases I had with my mom and my dad together. I dream of the meals my grandfather would prepare for the whole family when we went to family reunions in New York. I remember how the hot pebbles felt on my toes at Camp David and how any sparkling sand beach in any exotic country will never be able to beat that feeling.

Reminiscing makes me crave future. My grandfather’s cooking makes me want to cook a five-course meal with my mom for our next family reunion. My first Christmas in Maine makes me want to spend time with just my parents more. Days lounging on the beach and filming skits with my best friends make me want to drive to New York and hang out with them this very minute. The eagerness of remembering the greatest moments of my life makes me feel not just alive, but it is what makes me want to keep on living. The catalyst in my life is my past and the people that made that past so significant. The people that are making the present a memory in the coming months, years, and decades of my entire life, are the ones that make me want to fight when things get troublesome and thrive when life is good. My past prompts my present to be alive, and my future to be prosperous.

I never would have guessed that the time my best friends and I got in trouble for catching frogs would be a memory that triggered severe nostalgia. In the moment, I was so wrapped up in the situation at hand that I was not concerned with the future, besides the short term of getting a talking to from my parents. I felt guilty and nervous, but now I look back on that moment and giggle to myself. The current life I live spending time in the library writing a paper during lunch, instead of sitting at the table with friends complaining about the school dining or the oppressive workloads, is the life we endure collectively. Now, I perch on an uncomfortable wooden chair, munching on sesame sticks and struggling to keep my time management up to par with the junior lifestyle. I do not know whether or not this is a moment I’ll grasp in my early twenties or even my late eighties.

All I know is that the present will become the past that I grip onto so dearly. The snapshots could be tennis late last night, without contacts, blindly trying to hit the ball entirely relying on my hearing. I remember the cadence of tennis balls and laughing mixing so smoothly together. I might remember my last AP Biology class, and how dearly I loved her lecture, but how the stress of finishing this paper outweighed that infatuation. Maybe I’ll remember the first argument I have with my boyfriend even more vividly than I remember the last. I may remember the first kiss the clearest, but when I remember the first time we looked at each other I still feel the overwhelming heat I felt burning so sweetly in my cheeks.

I do not know what recollections will remain in my mind endlessly, so I need live life knowing that the poor circumstances I find myself in may nevertheless hold just as much of a distinctive volume in my soul as the endearing moments of my maturing journey toward adulthood.

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