Malachi Mungoshi
Viewpoints Editor
Lately, I’ve been watching a lot of those Tik Toks on “this is what a memory sounds like…” with that cover of Hans Zimmer’s “Cornfield Chase ” playing over it. Like, hyperfixation watching. I am completely enamored by this trend, taken on this emotional journey of watching people relive the moments they hold most dear to themselves. It’s kind of like listening to Coldplay’s “Osaka Sun” for the first time. But then I remembered this other idea, about how whenever we retell a story, some detail changes. Sometimes, a totally insignificant one — like the color of a sweater. Other times, it’s the most massive deviance from truth – a change in the location or the age, a change in one’s reaction or a change in the experience itself. It’s funny because I heard my friends talking the other day about humanness and humanity, about how some philosophies suppose we, as people, are bad, and must fight against our innate badness to become good. Inversely, others believe we are inherently good, and badness is something we learn. Nature versus nurture. Chomsky versus Skinner.
A big idea within these totally polarizing positions that I am often pondering is that of hatred. Are we predisposed to hate, just as, some believe, we are to love? Alternatively, is hatred that moment when anger festers for too long, and like any unattended wound, infects the soul? Because sometimes that is how I feel, like I am using every fiber in myself to keep myself sane. Then I think to myself “I am not an angry person.” So then, what makes “an angry person?” This sounds all so philosophical, but I guess I like humans. I like them enough to care about us not hating each other. At this point, I have accepted that I am many, many things – an unwavering idealist being one of those things. And I am flawed. The idea itself is flawed in and of itself. But it’s so nice to hope.
It’s funny, because what got me thinking about all of this was the movie “Matilda,” based on Roald Dahl’s novel of the same title. I thought of the moment where (SPOILER ALERT) Miss Honey adopts Matilda, and how happy they both are. I thought of it and remembered how happy I had been for Matilda. I didn’t think about how much anger she probably felt towards her parents or how that anger might fester, turn into hate or how she might someday be a caretaker to someone and feed them the same bullshit. But, there is so much power in memory. So much power goes into shaping memories and reshaping them; I’d be surprised if they didn’t affect us the way that they do. Our happiest memories are our most human, our most appreciated, our most loved. I think there’s nothing wrong with a little nostalgia. A little bit of sentimentality. To ponder is precious. To be is to believe. Life is a lot of terrible things, but it’s also that sunny, clear Wednesday afternoon after months of snow.
