I was recently challenged to trace back to my first memory and find out what it means to who I am today. As I rummaged through my thoughts to pin point my first memory, images surfaced left and right. Pictures filled my thoughts, stories which had been recounted by my parents, peers, etc. nostalgia settled in. All I saw was light.
Memories, the mental faculty of retaining and recalling past experience; the act or instance of remembering, recollection. I would have loved to recount the moment I was pushed out of my mum’s vagina or let alone the moment I was conceived but these memories have only been borrowed by those who actually recall this occurrence.
But as far back as memoir have taken me in the past 48hours. I recall being with my family. It is all just a blur now, but I am sure I was with them. What significance does that bring to me now? They bring reason to my life. Their sacrifices, the model they’ve set for me, for their community. They are my light.
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