I remember and I don't remember

I remember sitting alone on the silver lined seats at lunch and recess time, trying to inconspicuously drop my sandwich behind the seat, between it and the wall. The embarrassment when the teacher, after a few days of finding mouldy sandwiches asked the class whose they were, a girl who was supposed to be my friend stuck her hand up and told miss that it was me. I didn’t want to eat the sandwich because there was too much butter on it and I thought that butter and bread would make me fatter than I was. I remember the look on my mom’s face when the teacher told her what I was doing, tears rolling down my cheeks and denying that I did it because I was self conscious about my weight. I’m still in denial now.



I don’t remember my parent’s obsession with a camera. Every event was captured by at least one photo. My second birthday, which I had three parties, one at my nanas, the second at my auntie’s and the third at a friend’s all of them in Ireland. The piles of photos bring my back to the day, which was 17 years ago. Just like the Easter Bunny parade or hunt, this human sized bunny towered over me, my grinning face and golden curly haired head staring up in amazement. Both these memories and millions more captured by a snapshot of the reality that once was.