My dad, jules siegel pictured here before i was and am 

Advil, son.

Whenever I take Advil, I think of my Dad

Memories for me are simple things, objects, songs, places. The process of a recalling is not as easy. From my Dad, I remember the top of his shelf quite clearly, it has the same items as usual; a keychain with a brass hook, zigzags, some money, an oil burning candle and a bottle of Advil.

My Dad had chronic pain from multiple hip replacements brought on after he fell on slick shoes while chasing his cat, one of the many accidents in his past life that continued to live with us upon my arrival. I was born in 1984, my Dad was 49 at the time. Now me at age 29 and him at age dead, I have plenty of time to reminisce about what strange thing time and the creation of life through it is.

What I have arrived at almost a year after his death is that life is a seemingly endless creation of memories and recalling of other memories, in non-sequential order. Those memories are varied and usually mundane, other memories don’t even exist as real events or are strangely Family Guy-esque, and usually end in some semi-fantastical realm of hazed indifference by the time you are halfway through recollection.

I’ve always been fascinated with how people choose to interpret our reality, because honestly, I have no idea how other people interpret reality because I am not other people. Here are some examples of how diverse groups seem to interpret what’s going on.

Life according to The Lion King
Life according to Atheists
Life according to Buddhists