I walked and walked and walked some more, my feet hurt beyond words. Tears began to swarm my face as I sought comfort on the shoulders of my dad. It was the rainiest day at the happiest place on earth: Disneyland. I was there for my fourth birthday, and due to what some might call "unfortunate weather" my family and I were some of the few people who decided to brave the terror. We were draped in bright yellow ponchos with the happy face of Mickey Mouse printed on the front, and even set our own personal record for how many times we slid down "Splash Mountain." I was wearing some of my favorite sandals. They were clear with straps, and though this was one of the few occasions I remember wearing them, the blisters they made on my feet created a memory that would last forever.
This is the very first memory I have.
Memory has always fascinated me. We can't choose what our first memory is, and we can't choose what will be our last. It is impossible to choose how other people remember us, and impossible for others to know how we remember them. Somewhere along the line, everything will become a memory.
I am a white, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, seventeen year-old girl. To me, everyone is equal. It is wrong to treat others any less than how you expect to be treated yourself. This being said, I try to see the other end of the spectrum. These may be my morals, but I am only able to speak for myself. I can't force people to think the way I think, and part of who I am is empathizing with others and learning how to love people I may not necessarily like. People have rights. We have the right to love, we have the right to hate. We have the opportunity to form opinions, to love, to hate, and worst of all, stay indifferent.
I try to imagine myself as the same girl I am now living in 1940 Germany. Living in the era of the Holocaust, I would be surrounded by vulgar, sociopathic people who hate, who had a passion to kill people they perceived as a lesser species, as well as (though not as many) people who loved, who had a passion to help others, and lastly, people who chose to standby and watch this all take place. If I was the same, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, seventeen year-old girl I am today, would I choose to do what was right or do what was easy? It is far too easy to look back on a time such as the Holocaust and automatically assume that the morals we have now would have withstood a time as treacherous as this. It is far too easy for a time such as the Holocaust to pass us and simply become a mere memory.
I don't believe that every blonde-haired, blue-eyed person had the moral standards of Adolf Hitler in 1940's Germany. I believe that many of them chose to do what was easy, not what they maybe even thought was right. They chose to stay indifferent rather than simply loving, or hating. By not choosing one or the other, those who did nothing were viewed as Nazis. The majority of people who were indifferent were tossed into the minority of the Nazis, allowing the killing and torturing of millions of innocent people. By not choosing a side, they still chose a side. Indifference is not easy. It is far too easy to look at life once it becomes history, once it becomes a memory.
How do I want to be remembered? Was I someone's first memory? Will I be someone's last? What is happening around me that I can change before it becomes a memory of regret?
Today was my Grandma's funeral. I can't help but wonder what her last memory was. What memories did she still have? 84 years worth of memories, what did she remember from it all.
It's so easy to move on from things we hate because it's hard to imagine things getting any worse. We can try and block it from our memory, but we can't erase it from the past. It's so hard to move on from things we love, because we know all we will have left is a memory. Slowly all the details will fade and all we will know is how we felt at that time. That's why it's so hard to move on, to say goodbye. All we will have is the memory. The days drag but time flies. It's so, so hard to say goodbye to yesterday.
