20/08/2026
It is strange what we remember.
I still remember things from my childhood that were completely insignificant. The way the light fell through a window. The way a room smelled. The path to a house that no longer exists. A voice from the next room, the pattern of some wallpaper, or a tree I passed every day.
None of it was important at the time.
I did not stand in front of that tree thinking that I would remember it decades later. I did not try to commit the light in that room to memory. They were simply ordinary moments in an ordinary day.
And yet they have stayed with me.
At the same time, I have forgotten many things that seemed far more important back then. Conversations I had prepared for days. Birthdays, journeys, special evenings. From some years of my life, only a few scattered images remain, while some insignificant afternoon suddenly appears before me again with perfect clarity.
Our memory seems to make its own decisions.
It does not ask what we considered important. It collects smells, colours, voices and tiny moments and sometimes carries them with us for an entire lifetime.
And at some point, something strange happens.
The old tree is no longer just any tree.
The light in the room is no longer just any light.
The ordinary afternoon is no longer just any afternoon.
For our memory does not simply preserve what was important.
Sometimes things become important only because we remember them.
