The memories of the childhood

The  memories  of the  childhood, of the  family, of parents, of the  loved   person  turn  to be very  useful, especially  for a  person,   who  is     in  despair, who  is on  the  verge  of ruin.  Because    memories  can  make a  miracle  by   urging a  person   on searching the way out of the difficult life situations. 

Memories  make  people  believe that the life is  wonderful   and it is  worth  living.  And  it’s  truly  said   that “CAPTURING   MEMORABLE  MOMENTS IS  ALSO OFTEN  A  MATTER  NOT  ONLY OF NATIONAL  CONSCIOUSNESS  BUT ALSO OF PERSONAL INEREST” (seeing and writing, 141).

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And here I am…. Sitting  in  front  of the  fire-place, feeling  the  tender  warmth  of  the fire…. It is raining  outside, rain pattering  does not allow me to have a nap.  And I’m alone in this dull, gloomy depressing  evening.

To  distract  my mind  from  my cares and to capture  some  memorable  moments I  take  my old  album  and start  looking  through  it. There  are kept photos of all  my  life. Opening the  album the first photo I see is  a  baby  picture of  me. I was two then and I was with my  mother holding me  and  with my dad at a Chinese restaurant. 

I  feel the  smile emerges on  my  face,  my  heart starts  beating. How  happy  we are on  the picture!  How young  and  beautiful my parents are! We  enjoy our staying  together, we  enjoy our life!

I  feel  warmth of  my mother’s hands… I  feel  tenderness  of her  touches… I  feel  incredible  intimacy with her.  How I  miss this all! I  am carried away  to my childhood,  where I  can  hear   my  mother’s tender   voice, her  endearing words, I can  see love and care in  her eyes. But these  are only  my memories, only my  dreams.

I  start  feeling  loneliness  and despair. I’m  closing my eyes and trying to  recollect my  mother’s touch, embrace,  kisses.  At  this moment I would give everything for  only  one minute of staying with my mother  to take  her  in my arms, to kiss  her, to  say “I love you!”.

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And  then I  feel overwhelming  desire  to  write. I  have  never been  so inspired  since I  started  my career  as a writer. Now I  understand  the following words: "I THINK  THAT WRITING AND  PHOTOGRAPGY GO TOGETHER. I  DON'T  MEAN  THAT THEY  ARE   RELATED  ARTS, BECAUSE  THEY'RE  NOT. BUT  THE  PERSON  DOING  IT,      I THINK,  LEARNS  FROM  BOTH  THINGS  ABOUT  ACCURACY OF THE  EYE, ABOUT OBSERVATION  AND ABOUT  SYMPATHY TOWARD WHAT  IS IN FRONT  OF YOU (INCLUDING MEMORIES). IT'S ABOUT TRYING TO SEE  INTO  THE  ESSENCE OF REALITY. IT'S ABOUT  HONESTY, OR TRUTH  TELLING,  AND A WAY  TO FIND IT IN YOURSELF,  HOW TO  NEED IT AND LEARN FROM IT. "(seeing and writing, 141).

While  stating  my  thoughts on  paper,  memories of my dad  rush into  my  mind. I  look  at  the  picture.  Yes, I  have  always  remembered  him  such  as  he   is pictured  on  the  photo:  smiling,  happy, very handsome.

He  is  a  wonderful  person, he has  been  an example for  me  that  I have  been  following  all my   life.  On  the  picture  he folds my mother in  his  arms,  he loves  and  worships  her. Looking  at  the picture  I really  admire their  love to  each  other, I have  always  craved  for having  such sincere, reliable, trustful  relationships  with my dear  person as my parents have.

My  dad  has  always  been a support for me and my mother, he  always  has been ready  to  give  us  any support,  help  us out, give  us a piece of useful advice.

I wonder  how  I manage  not  to think  about them  for so  long time. I  close my  eyes and  try to  imagine my dad: what  is he doing now?  Does  he think   about   me? Strong  desire to  see him,  to feel the  strength  of his  handshake, the  firmness of  his  voice  and  real  love  in his  words  arises  in my  heart.

And  you  know, the  most terrible  thing   struck  me  is that I  am  not the  only person  who misses  his  parent,  there are  also a  lot of people  who have to live  far  from their  parents. They  miss them  greatly and can  not change  anything in  their lives.

It’s  awful but  it’s only  my fault  that I have not seen  my  parents for  ages. You  see it’s  me   who  left  them,  who  forgot  them! When  I was   seventeen  I  decided  that it  was high  time to become independent, to  earn my living, and  I  left  my  parents  without  even saying them  good-buy. And  since that  one question  has  been  always  haunting  me:  how I  dare leave my  parents, people  who  gave  birth  to me,  who  brought  me up?  How  I could  be so ungrateful?

And  now  I am  sitting  alone in my  dull room, in  front of  the fire-place,  without nobody  to  comfort and  warm  me  with his  love and care.

I  keep  on  writing  and  writing…. Looking at the picture I have mixed feelings: delight and disappointment, joy and sadness,  happiness  and grief. These  mixed  feelings can  be  explained.  On the one hand my happiness  is  stirred up  because I arrive  at the truth that I am not alone. This picture shows me that there are two people in this world who  love me, care about me and are always waiting  for me.

But on the other hand, my grief concerns the fact I have not kept in touch with my  parents, I  ignored  them.  And can you  imagine? It is the first time for the last fifteen years when I open this album.

It was said: "WHETHER WE TAKE PHOTOGRAPGHS, CREATE SCRAPBOOKS, KEEPJOURNALS, DESCRIBE OUR EXPERIENCES IN LETTERS OR EMAILS TO FRIENDS, SHARE  FAMILY STORIES DURING THE HOLIDAYS, OR SIMPLY  REPLAY  MEMORIES  IN OUR MINDS, WE  ARE   FAMING  OUR EXPERIENCES -- FOR  OURSELVES AND  OFTEN FOR OTHERS. AS THOSE  MEMORABLE  EVENTS  DRIFT  INTO   THE  PAST, WE OFTEN  REVISE  AND  EMBELLISH  OUR   STORIES  ABOUT  THEM..  INDEED,  WE   CONTINUALLY  RESHAPE   THE NATURE  AND  TONE  OF YOUR STORIES EACH TIME WE RECALL THEM." (SEEING AND WRITING, 223).

 But I have had no  memories for these  fifteen  years,  you  know  I think  I just  avoided  recollecting   anything   to  make  my  life  outwardly  happy.

But  I’m  sure that even if I have any  memories,  they  would  be  only for me, as I  have no friends to  describe them to.

Out  of  the  blue I  stop  writing. Everything   seems me  to  be like  a  real  nightmare. Parents,   my parents… I  need  to  see, to  see right  now,    immediately! Without   realizing  anything,  perhaps   being completely  unaware  of   what   happening  around,  I rush  to  the  phone.  But why? I   want to   call   my parents!  Yes, I  want to  call  them!  But  I  do  not know  their  number!  What  shall I do?  What  can I  do? It  occurs  to me  that  I  can go to  their place.  I should  order  the  ticket by  phone… Yes,  I’ll  go to my  parents! I  grab  the  picture,  the  picture that has  changed  all my  life, I  rush  out of  the  house, I   drive  to  an  airport  at a very high speed. I drive to the meeting with my parents, to the meeting with my future!

Now I’m  already sitting  in the plane,  looking  at the picture and  smiling  through  tears. I’ll see my parents! Thank  you, thank  you my dear picture! I’m happy now and I’m laughing like a child!

Memories!  What a miracle  they  are! They are of a great importance. People should keep their own  memories and save them as if  they were a real treasure.

Person  who forgets his family, his  native home, can lose his soul. He can became alone in the world with nobody to comfort him.

Memories  allow us to keep  something   beautiful  in our hearts and souls, something  warm, pleasant, exciting: memories  of our family,  of our children, of our parents, of our dears.

Memories can   direct our  lives. AS  captured  with memorable  moments of success, good  luck, rapture,  joy, we  will never  loose our  will,  persistence  and belief.

Some memorable  moments are present  in the life of everybody.  Being a child or  an elderly  person, a man or a woman, a  married  person or a  divorced  one,  a lucky  man or a  failure, it does not matter. Everyone has his own memories, that should be remembered all his life.