Rappelle

To recall. 

When you look back at photos you've taken, do you ever notice the people in the background? Maybe they just happened to be in your shot, or maybe you're "lucky" enough to have sneaky photo bombers! 

I'm working on a photo book project from a trip I took in 2018. I started it and finally decided that this is the year it's going to get done!

There are so many faces of strangers in my photos. Part of me is tempted to crop them out. But the other part of me wants to keep them in because they're literally part of my memory. 

I wonder if these are the faces I see when I'm walking down the street in my dreams. I wonder who they were. 

Where were they going? What are their names? Were they happy? 

I'm channeling my inner artsy person and taking the time to review and edit every single photo. After my trip, I narrowed it down from 3,000 photos to about half.

1,500 photos that are supposed to help me rappelle my past life. 

I have a pretty bad memory, honestly.

It's not something I'm proud of but it's true. So sometimes I think, like in Inside Out, do my memories become more distant the more I look at these photos? Sometimes I look at the photos I've taken and for a split second I'm transported back to that moment - the smells, the way I felt, the thoughts that were running through my head - but, of course, it's never a perfect reenactment. Hindsight makes it hard to replay those moments exactly as they were.

But I wonder and hope that this photo book project, and even these blog posts, help my future self know that my past self had the best intentions of enjoying life, of being present in the moment, and of trying to make the most out of what she was handed.

I had such freedom on that trip. I was afraid because of all the pickpocketing warnings online and from concerned adults in my life. But I was also so content. 

To just wander.

To take my environment in without a strict agenda. 

Don't get me wrong - I had a long list for each day of everywhere I'd be and even shared that with my family and friends back home so they could track me.

But the adventurous voice inside my head was willing to take risks, including doing things that might have taken more time out of my day than planned, or walking down a path that only locals seemed to follow. 

I loved that. I hated being in tourist-saturated areas, but loved spotting the locals who scoffed at the large groups and took detours down unassuming alleys and pathways. I'd often follow them. 

I remember some.

I remember some of my trip and I'll do my best to remember more of it. As I dig into my brain to recall how I felt five years ago, I pray that it's a journey I'll enjoy just as much as I did the moments themselves. 

When people talk about travel, they often say it's about the journey and not the destination. I wonder if it's the same with our memory. The journey to finding the memory itself in our minds can often lead us on detours but, with hindsight, provides small sticky note tabs like a scrapbook. Little caveats, inside jokes, and random silly vignettes that would be too difficult to explain to someone else so you just hold onto them instead and smile to yourself. 

Let's hold those memories dear while we have them. 

For the grass withers and the flowers fade...