A Memory of Fruit
Jul. 15th, 2003 11:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mishalak<Cue Mishalak's Pointless Stories Theme Song>
Elise inspired me to write this talking about if people remember things they tasted decades before or not.
When I was about five I had an extraordinary food experience. At that time I was going to a religious education class in the basement St. Francis of Assisi Catholic Church. Once day as part of education we all got to sample some of the foods of that time. There was a bunch of stuff, but what I remember was the pomegranate. We each only got a few of the jewel like seeds. I loved the taste, the sharply sour and sweet bit of fruit and I longed to try it again. But since I only got a little bit I didn't know what a whole fruit looked like and I didn't rediscover the bright red taste of pomegranate until I was in high school. Until I had it was only a memory, which I sometimes wondered if it was real.
I don't know, because I'm not inside other people's heads, but it seems like my memories might be more intense than other people's. Sometimes I'll spend all bloody morning with a song in my head that I can't remember where it came from. The music from The Ghost and the Darkness was one that came to me a week or so ago. This creepy uneasy string music that I couldn't quite remember what it was. Then *boom*, it came to me. And the music in my head isn't just a vague tune, it is the full orchestral all the way with choirs and surroundo sound. If you ever catch me dancing around like a maniac chances are I've got a great piece of music playing just for me.
There is a down side though, I also remember almost every boneheaded thing I've ever done. A good memory is a curse for people prone to depression. Sometimes I'll go running through darkened streets saying to myself, "No one remembers but me, no one remembers but me."
Logically I know that I'm the center of only my own little universe, and hardly anyone notices the things that years later make my nerves sing with undead pain. My embarrassment is probably my own alone, but often logic has nothing to do with what I feel. And rarely I feel the need to scream at the night sky to make a noise in the suffocating quiet of a falling snow or whirl around naked in a warm rain because doing such things helps to get through the experience. Some days I am very strange. I blame eating six pomegranate seeds and tasting milk and honey.
Elise inspired me to write this talking about if people remember things they tasted decades before or not.
When I was about five I had an extraordinary food experience. At that time I was going to a religious education class in the basement St. Francis of Assisi Catholic Church. Once day as part of education we all got to sample some of the foods of that time. There was a bunch of stuff, but what I remember was the pomegranate. We each only got a few of the jewel like seeds. I loved the taste, the sharply sour and sweet bit of fruit and I longed to try it again. But since I only got a little bit I didn't know what a whole fruit looked like and I didn't rediscover the bright red taste of pomegranate until I was in high school. Until I had it was only a memory, which I sometimes wondered if it was real.
I don't know, because I'm not inside other people's heads, but it seems like my memories might be more intense than other people's. Sometimes I'll spend all bloody morning with a song in my head that I can't remember where it came from. The music from The Ghost and the Darkness was one that came to me a week or so ago. This creepy uneasy string music that I couldn't quite remember what it was. Then *boom*, it came to me. And the music in my head isn't just a vague tune, it is the full orchestral all the way with choirs and surroundo sound. If you ever catch me dancing around like a maniac chances are I've got a great piece of music playing just for me.
There is a down side though, I also remember almost every boneheaded thing I've ever done. A good memory is a curse for people prone to depression. Sometimes I'll go running through darkened streets saying to myself, "No one remembers but me, no one remembers but me."
Logically I know that I'm the center of only my own little universe, and hardly anyone notices the things that years later make my nerves sing with undead pain. My embarrassment is probably my own alone, but often logic has nothing to do with what I feel. And rarely I feel the need to scream at the night sky to make a noise in the suffocating quiet of a falling snow or whirl around naked in a warm rain because doing such things helps to get through the experience. Some days I am very strange. I blame eating six pomegranate seeds and tasting milk and honey.
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Date: 2003-07-21 10:55 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-07-23 07:23 pm (UTC)