Reviving Memory: Why I Write

Five years ago, I began to notice something unsettling. My mind was once a reliable archive of memories and meanings but it started to falter. Familiar recollections grew fuzzy, and recent events seemed to rearrange themselves in my head, offering alternate versions that didn’t quite align with reality. At first, I dismissed these lapses as ordinary forgetfulness, the kind that comes with stress or aging. But as the distortions grew more frequent and more vivid, I knew I had to seek help.

My Chinese doctor listened carefully and, after checking my pulse, explained that my kidney disease had begun to affect my cognitive functions. The symptoms I was experiencing resembled early-stage dementia. It was a diagnosis that carried both clarity and dread. He prescribed traditional medicine to slow the progression, and for a time, it worked. The fog lifted slightly, and I felt reassured that I could still hold on to my memories.

But now, in 2025, the tricks have returned. My brain, that used to function sharply has resumed its quiet betrayals. Names slip away mid-conversation. Numbers dissolve before I can write them down. Words sometimes elude me just when I need them most, and they are the necessary tools for my regular literary expressions. A quiet panic rises within me. What if the medicine no longer suffices? What if I lose the ability to remember not just facts, but feelings, stories, and the essence of my existence.

Rather than surrender to fear, I choose to respond with intention. I begin to read again - novels, essays, histories - anything that could stimulate my mind and challenge my recall. I watch films and series with renewed attention to exercise my memory and interpretation. I listen to full albums, letting the music anchor me in time and emotion. And most importantly, I am writing again.

Writing is a lifeline; composing reactions and reviews, documenting what I consume and preserving the knowledge I gain. As an act of resistance, the workshop safeguards my mind against forgetting. I realized that by articulating my thoughts, I could reinforce them and make them tangible, traceable, and enduring.

That’s why I revived this blog. It’s now a refuge for memory where I can totally express myself without fear of losing the thread. Here, I can record the books that moved me, the films that challenged me, the music that stirred something deep within. I can reflect on the ideas that shaped my day and the emotions that lingered long after the credits rolled.

I guess keeping a regular blog is a way of confirming that the mind is still here, still thinking, feeling, remembering. And even if it falters, the words will always remain. They will speak for us when we can no longer do it. They will remind us of who we are and who we continue to become.

I guess, in the face of uncertainty, we must choose to create. In the shadow of forgetting, we choose to remember deliberately, defiantly, and with grace.