It is exhausting to consider the many different types of
memory. I remember how to ride a bike, remember to call my mom on her birthday,
remember what it was like to be a kindergartener, and remember my uncle after
he passed away this past January.
With the many ways to remember, I have come to believe that
it is impossible for these narratives to remain unchanging. I thought for a
long time that this would lead to a sense of desperation, or the idea that we
have to hold onto memories lest they change or disappear altogether.
After thinking through memorialization these past few weeks,
I think perhaps there is some beauty in this idea that memories grow and change
and develop with time—just as we do. In this way, my uncle’s memory will mean
something to me today in a different way than it did three months ago or will
three years from now.
Memory alone is complex. And the memory of an entire nation?
Absolutely convoluted. This is why it is
especially meaningful that the tragedies and victories that have left a
national psyche scarred by guilt, loss, remorse, and sometimes pride have given
way to a collection of monuments—the National Mall in Washington D.C.—in a way
that gathers citizens from every corner of the country in communion. The
opportunity to experience this firsthand with my awareness heightened as it has
been by this course was absolutely unforgettable.
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