My little tiny bridge.
Nostalgia. Remembering that exact feeling in that exact day, remembering your exact words and the exact response of others, remembering the littlest details that make you laugh randomly when you’re sitting at the dinner table with your family, while they look at you so confused and ask “What happened?”
Nostalgia. Remembering memories of days that changed your life or remembering people that you miss and texting them seconds later to see how they’re doing. Remembering the happiest moments but also the moments when you were crying, knowing those were the hardest days to pick yourself up and continue on.
I always see myself feeling this way. I see myself late at night when I’m tucked in ready to sleep on my phone, scrolling down my camera roll. I smile and laugh. I send all those videos to my friends so they can feel the same way as I do and going to sleep with a smile on my face. Nostalgia.
I always hear myself saying “Quiero volver ahorita, enserio” But why? Why do I want to keep a box full of memories of every single second of my life? I get so attached to memories. I get so attached to the littlest details of moments that make my heart warm and make it feel like it’s beating a million miles per hour. I like feeling that I see them my way and that no one can perceive them the same as I do. It’s probably the reason why I get so attached to them.
A few days ago, I received an email from my fourth-grade teacher. It was complealty unexpected. “And never forget Gregor the Overlander and Wonder and singing Bohemian Rhapsody.” I felt like my fourth-grade self all over again. Every sense of that classroom, remembering looking at the outside window and hearing the millions of kids with light brown hats screaming and jumping and dancing. Nostalgia. I was so shocked. I would have never thought he would have remembered us so much, nonetheless remember me so much, and that is why I decided to write back. I remembered every single thing about him and how he was the type of teachers I could never forget about. He taught me some of the most valuable things, how to believe in myself. After my response, I got a second message back, “I went to teaching not for the money but for one day receiving a letter like this… It was easy to believe in you because you rock” My mind and heart stopped. How could it have been possible that after 6 years this was happening. Nostalgia.
I laugh at all the videos of my friends and I running from one side of the hotel to the other. I see the videos of us going through the water slide and feeling the air breeze that would hit me while going down and splashing into the warm pool water. I remembered that it was 9:00 pm and at 9:30 pm we had dinner reservations, we ran quickly to our rooms to change with the yellow towels falling off our shoulders after our night swim. I laugh at all the videos where I could see the virgin piña coladas and suddenly my stomach felt full. I remembered the bitter-sweet flavor that would call out to me every five seconds, that’s probably why we had like 1,000 each day. I laugh at all the videos when we were scuba diving. The cold water rushing through my skin… goosebumps. I feel that tiredness after the long one hour and a half of swimming. I remember seeing my feet underneath the water with the fish swimming below it. Then, I cry, I cry because I hope to be reunited, the seven of us once again. Nostalgia. Remembering the littlest details from the different days on a trip. Remembering what it felt like to see friends that I hadn’t seen in years. The feeling when you don’t want to leave those moments, you want the trip never to end. Nostalgia.
The white hospital room, the white light that would hit directly into my face each time I opened my eyes. Sitting in that uncomfortable chair with my doll and scissors and my mom behind me. I would cut my dolls hair thinking that it would grow again. I didn’t notice my mom doing anything till I walked up to the mirror and saw scissors in my mom’s hand and a shining bald head. I noticed it was mine. Seeing a mask getting closer to my face and seconds later, not being conscious, and magically waking up hours later, vomiting because of the allergic reaction I had to the anesthesia. Getting so excited to put my mouth cover on and not taking it off, trying to show off the number of Minnies and Mickeys that were in it. Nostalgia. It’s crazy, I was from three to six years old when this happened, and still, I remember the littlest details from it like it was yesterday. I forget the big parts. I forget who was there or what exactly happened, but I remember the exact feeling and the exact place. It’s like my memory focuses in on the little details, but I don’t get to see the big picture.
These details seem so simple. They seem like the tiniest things about one big thing, like they are just extras. But really, those details are what makes the memory. They are what changes you, what makes you learn, what makes you reflect. So I ask myself again, Why? Why do I want to keep a box full of memories of every single second of my life? And here is my answer: I get so attached to memories because they make me who I am. Those are the experiences that have taught me so many valuable lessons, the ones that make me a better person each day. That nostalgic feeling that helps me understand what happened in that exact moment. That nostalgic feeling that gives me the clearest flashbacks to the smallest moments of my life but still the most powerful ones. A bridge in my mind is created. Each time I learn something and create a powerful memory, a tile is added to the bridge. The same bridge that helps me make decisions, that without them, I wouldn’t be able to distinguish what’s right from wrong. That’s why the bridge is there to guide me. I think about what may happen. I think about the millions of things that I still don’t know, the things that I will learn through my experiences. So I ask myself, what will be the next tile to my little tiny bridge?
