I seem to better recall the little things
It is November again. For me, it is nothing but another month. Attached to this month is: that one dwindling family gathering, a half-month’s worth of leftovers, and, as my tenth grade English teacher would call it, “Turkey Genocide Day.”
And, with Turkey Genocide Day, comes all of my teachers asking, “What are you grateful for?” Now, I am not saying that it is hard for me to think of things that I am grateful for. I am grateful for a lot of things. What I am saying, though, is that my gratefulness list is filled with the basics: shelter, food, transparent air; while everyone over there is naming some specific, elaborate event, and here I am, not even remembering what I ate for breakfast.
You see, there are things that I hope and pray to remember, but never do. On the off-chance I do remember something, it is some obscure, useless piece of information that rarely makes a difference in anyone’s life– including mine.
And, maybe, I should not be saying this kind of thing somewhere where anyone can read it; where anyone can look and see that I am forgetful, maybe even rude and pompous, which is why I never remember things that people tell me. However, this is not true. I try and try, and I am still trying to figure out why I can never seem to remember properly.
In saying this, I used to care about the opinions that people would form of me– even though I will never know them and they will never know me. I am a nobody: and that is where I start my list of gratitude.
Much to my annoyance, I am not invisible to the entire population. There are a few people who know that I exist.
These poor souls confuse me because they are (seemingly) alright with being around me. And that, is the number one reason why I am grateful for them.
And it seems that I have some self-esteem problems; I would be lying if I said that I was not constantly thinking that I am burdening others. But, there are some things that I repeatedly come across that allow me to humour myself otherwise.
Because, maybe, on my right, will be a pink unicorn pendant, sitting on a silver ringed chain– the two others that came with it, somewhere in two other girls’ houses; to the left: a meteorite necklace with a broken latch– a gift I was given in eighth grade. A small pile of letters people had written me- all saying they were grateful for me? A fancy little CD containing my favourite album from a band– he gave it to me for no apparent reason.
I am not a material person. But, these physical gifts, even when I can no longer remember when, where, and whom they came from, remind me that there was some type of emotion that was passed on from their hands to mine. None of this is about presents; none of this is about things I can hold. This is about the people who treat me like I am human. The people who stop to talk to me in the hallways– even if they are with their friends. The person who was laughed at for, but still said, “No. I do love them.” The person who would not leave, no matter how many times they should have. The people who look at me like I am crazy (because I am), but so are they. My best friend. My only friend. My new friends. Call them what you like. I will call them what I.
There are many things that I am appreciative of. There are many things I am appreciative of that I have long-since forgotten. And there are many things that I am appreciative of that I will eventually forget as well. But, while I have the memories that I have, I will treasure them as long as I can. Because this person, these people, mean a lot to me. They have not left me yet even though I would if I could.
So, I guess it is a good thing they are not me. And if I only had the courage, I would tell them how grateful I am for them and how much I’ll miss them when I’m gone. And, you can take that however you please.
