Sometimes I wonder if my memories of important people and events are actually my real memories, or if they are regurgitations from what I have seen in photos or heard in stories. When I talked to my mom, I realized that in some cases, memory turned out to be just a playback of stories I couldn’t have known. The stories had come from the wrong point of view. That depressed me. Then, when I spoke of my last Christmas with grandma, mom and I both realized that the point of view of my memory could only have come from me.
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