My lecturer once said
I watched a movie that reminds me of the memories in which we are shaped by the memories itself.
Do you even think that we are now are the collected experience of memories? Yah you might be. Even there’s a time while you’re busy talking to forget your past. Or regret your mistakes. Or trying hard to reach what’s already gone. In all those times, we probably denied to face that we had just shaped.
I always asking to myself. Why is it me? Why it should be me? Why I should be like this? Then I got the answer from the moment I start to do something for anything. I wouldn’t be like this if I haven’t tried. But somehow, there’s undefined thing drawn up as gravity to me. Unconsciously, I became someone that I never planned to be. That time, I’d like to push the rewind button on my head, looking for dime things I’ve been through. A past, a thing that already gone, a deed, and finally the consequences. And those were a collected experience of memories.
I thought I’m a psycho from the very beginning. I have this terrible vision on my head. I’d like to share it.
What is it?
Vision about a birthday boy who killed his parents.
My friend told me his unbearable imagination which he’d like to write but never been. He used to be a child who admiring psychotic-thriller movie. The motions would rewind on his head while imagining a good story. Sounds psychotic. Instead of ‘sharing’ it as a deed, he just telling the story. But the frame of creating a good story in his head are the memories of his childhood longs to psychotic-thriller movie.
While me, in other side writing some sad ending stories because of my childhood longs to a-bestfriend-death story. Anything that had a sad ending is a REAL THING. Because the reality is bitter for me. Back then on elementary school, all my friends praised me because of those sad ending stories which never been read on Bobo Magazine (lol). But then… I faced some friends that really had a bitter life. Painful and frustrating. That time, all the sad ending I’ve been wrote seemed so wrong. In time I get praised, someone out there feel the real pain itself. Till now, I’m unable to write. All stories I’ve created seem so wrong. I’m not satisfy because of the frame of my memories.
But then… I learned to let myself shaped by the memories in order to face the future ahead. Cause we’re always moving forward.