For the past two weeks, I have completely stopped writing. I used to keep a journal and I would write in it almost daily. I like to write, and I love to have documentation of my life and ideas. But due to the circumstances of the last two weeks, I no longer feel like I have a safe place to record my thoughts. Journalizing was fun and eye-opening, but journals are made of paper, and I have no desire to put time and effort into something that can so easily be taken from me.
I have tried starting a blog before, but a sense of paranoia and self-doubt caused me to procrastinate and kept me from posting much of anything. It was so easy to just keep myself hidden away in a notebook. But since the fire, a new fear has surfaced. The idea of losing not only materials, but entire pieces of my life is unbearable. I have never had a strong memory. I need triggers to bring me back to my past. I cannot simply recall things without the aid of a memento. I need an object, a picture, an idea – to remember. The fire took the few things I had left from my childhood, leaving me with a feeling of hopelessness: the feeling that I will remember nothing from my childhood, because I have nothing to show for it.
A blog is fundamentally important to me now. A fire can take away a notebook. A virus can take away a document. But the internet is a haven from destruction. It’s not perfect, and there are always risks, but its limitless capacity and freedom from environmental effects largely reduce my anxiety.
My wife, Natasha, has done an amazing job documenting our struggle over the past two weeks. I am so proud of her. I never want to forget all that has happened, but at the time I had no desire to document it or to remember. I wanted it to end. I wanted life to rewind and remove the pain of the moment. I didn’t want to let current events into my reality. But after all of this, I realize that I HAVE to remember it because it DID happen, and I learned something from it.
I have to teach myself to document EVERYTHING. The good moments and bad moments are equally important in the progression of my existence. I am who I am because of the culmination of all the events of my life, not just the ones I choose. Life goes on, and I will have the words to show for it.
