It is easy to forget that the past we remember may well be far removed from actual events and the manner in which they transpired. There will always be a tendency to overemphasis what we loved and to desensitise ourselves to what hurt us through selective memory. But when we are confronted with the truth, and come out grown men, we become true masters of our fate.
Today I came across my old chat logs while going through my old computer. And instead of the usual reminiscence I have come to expect in reading of my past, I became gripped with a cold fear. I was afraid to see and know myself from the vantage point of time, afraid to see myself unmasked, afraid to see the worst of the world rearing itself in me, and most of all, afraid to know that that ugliness may still be within me today.
Perhaps there is a reason why we forget certain things. I felt awfully disturbed as I read those logs, as if they were a sacredness I violated that I had no place in. Granted, those were extracts from the worst moments of my life. But they certainly reveal how unprepared I am today to deal with yesterday's pains.
I'm sure the past has her virtues, but I'd probably be better off living today for tomorrow.
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