THE TIME MACHINE, THE MEMORIES.

Memories are like flashes of the past, fragmented images that gives us the memory of a time already gone. One wonders how close to reality are, as these scraps of memory often change depending on who invokes them.

It is very rare that two people agree on a single memory because they are subject to the subjectivity of each individual. With my sisters usually untie discussions because each very differently evokes the past, according to the experiences of each. Therefore it can be said to be misleading.

The mere passage of time also blurs what we remember today and tomorrow can forget it. With the distance something similar happens as it tends to erase misunderstandings and remember more positive things about that distant being.

Same with affection, as the degree of affection that binds us to one person, shall be consistent moments that rescue our mind. Perhaps this is why it is easy to recall the anecdotes with friends and family, because they are highly significant from the emotional point of view.

Of course also they are recorded to fire moments or phrases that hurt us or gross errors of our past, as a lesson not to repeat them.

There are memories for everyone, from an image isolated to long-term conversations. Memories that leave sweet or bitter taste, depending on the circumstances.

My first memory dates back six years and it's sad, because I see on the landing of a staircase with my cousin, listening weeping and wailing loudly coming from the ground floor, where they were watching my maternal grandmother. Then come the memories of primary school age where I forgot the names and faces of almost all companions but remember fondly when library, where there were magazines of the years 50' and 60'

also very interesting children's literature, so I took the opportunity to read everything that fell into my hands and resulted in more pleasing moment of the whole school.

My partner computer rescues with special affection the day of her marriage, 30 years ago, although did not celebrate because they preferred to invest money in furnishing the house, that was an unforgettable moment for him and the birth of their children . They are milestones in the life of a person are recorded to fire.

My sisters tend to rescue the trunk of memories his childhood in the fields of Leon carrying the basket with food to my father who was in plowing or doing chores with animals, or their time interned in two convent schools. Anyway, that they have a privileged memory compared to mine, which seems quite fragile. But as they say, what matters is not the quantity but the quality.

Rosa