Tagged With memory forever

Memory is a fickle thing. As far as my brain is concerned, I didn't exist before age three. Remembering four or five is easier, but there are holes. Thankfully, all it takes are some voyeuristic navigation tools to fill them.

Just a few years ago there were no virtual social networks, no synchronised address books and no smartphones. But people had social networks and phones, and they had to memorise and organise thousands of contacts. Or have a Rolodex.

So your hard drive just died, and you didn't back it up. I'm so, so sorry. You can expect to go through the following five stages once you discover that all of your photos, files and music are gone forever.

Nothing brings up memories as smells do. In my case, it's the smell of plastic. Thousands of little colourful plastic pieces in cardboard boxes. Literally, all those memories live in a secure, temperature- and humidity-controlled, fireproof archival vault in Denmark.

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It's easy to claim that the stuff you liked as a kid was way better than the crap kids watch today, because you haven't seen it in years. But now you can, in better quality, even. Does it hold up?

There's something to be said for watching a concert with your own eyes, not mediated by the lens of a camera or the fuzzy screen of a mobile phone, trying to capture it forever, like an arsehole.