The Writing Memories Society is dedicated to preserving the stories and wisdom of seniors while fostering cross-generational connections and providing university students with educational and artistic opportunities. My Childhood Memories: Paragraph (150 Words) My childhood memories are like golden time to me. I know, everyone’s childhood is so precious to them. Here I will share a few of my memories from childhood. Maybe you will find them interesting. I passed my childhood in a village near Bihar. Basically you come up with the fictional idea and you start writing that story, but then in order to write it and to make it seem real, you sometimes put your own memories in. Even if it's a character that's very different from you. It is much more concerned with literary writing - writing memoir not memoirs. Written in an informal, chatty style it covers everything from 'getting started', creating scenes, dialogue, characters.
Writing Down Memories
Writing Memories For Your Grandchildren
I imagine my mind to vaguely resemble the moon, at least in a metaphorical sense. Meteors roar out of the cosmos and smash into me, and the collateral damage wipes out days and months of memories in favor of an impression of a single catastrophic event. Sometimes I feel like I’m all craters where all sorts of memories used to be. Occasionally I’ll unearth a fragment of some old thought, only to watch it dissolve in my hands. It’s hard to feel bad anymore. Eyes on the sky! I never seem to know when the next strike will come, or what damage it will cause.
Forgive the emblematic talk, if you can. I spend an awful lot of time thinking about what memories mean to me, as I have only a precarious grasp on a precious few.
I think I was dancing when the first meteor struck. That’s what Mark says. He says I was over the sink, washing dishes, singing along and shuffling my feet to something. Neither of us remember the song. I remember an ambulance; he remembers me slurring and losing my balance and falling and still singing as he dialed 911. I don’t mind that particular crater; that all sounds dreadful. I do like to think that I left my old life dancing; at least I know I went out in style.
I’m still here, but things are different since the stroke. It’s hard to be comfortable with who I am because I feel a great void where so much of me was lost. I have my thoughts as they come to me in the moment, but they float away too fast for me to keep up. In that way, I feel that I am who I am only in passing, with no guarantee that how I feel about myself...
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... my return to humanity.
Mark will be redeemed. My family will be redeemed. They have built bridges over my canyons, and their toil will be repaid by my independence and guarantee of return.
I will one day soon take my place in the sky. They may see just a sliver at first, but upon their time of darkness, they shall gaze upwards and be rewarded by the blazing glow of a full moon. I will cast my light to guide their way, and they shall at last be redeemed.
Until that time comes, I’ll be here in my comfy socks, covered with sesame and poppy seeds, on this couch with Mark. His hand rests on my leg underneath the blanket, and we are lit by the dull glow of the television as a movie plays softly across the room. Every second in his company is a step towards acceptance of myself and of a new path. Every moment that slips by, while forgotten, propels me towards the stars.