Memories

Memories warm us up from the inside. The most beautiful things in life are not only people, places or things. They are smiles, laughter, feelings and moments. Memories are an essential part of our lives, the good and the bad. I don't believe that everything happens for a reason, for what reason does an innocent person die at the hands of a murderer, for what reason are there kids that don't have a bed to sleep in tonight. What I believe is that everything that happens to us helps us reach our final destiny. It's the struggles, the pain, the tears and the joy that accompanies us on the ride. I think that we shouldn't try to block out or forget the bad memories. I think we should remember them, no matter how painful they are. The memories are our fuel, to keep us going and to help us learn. So I try to remember the bad along with the good, even if it makes me cry. The key is to keep the memories but to not dwell on them, use them to learn, to fight and to keep going.

My favorite memories are small little things, they are the days that I would laugh so hard that it would hurt. The football prep rallies, the time my grade 7 crush asked me to the farewell dance, the family vacations, waking up without having to worry about my future, eating fast food on Wednesdays. My best memories are the little things because they matter more than things like prom and first kisses.

My favorite memories are my days in grade 1, where I met one of my best friends at our assigned table. She at across from me with a small smile, our toes could barely touch the ground back then. I remember being so very cross with her all the time, how her teasing could get me so hot in the head. But there was laughter, what a shrill chorus we made. Giggling over such naughty things. Describing Miss Davis as an old, dry plum. Yowling at the neigbor's dogs until we had them foaming at the mouth. How gracefully she could avoid getting into trouble, an art that I still can't do.

I only have to think of my neighbor's daughter and it can bring a smile to my lips. I only have to close my eyes to see us on our old street, in our school dresses that we were all set out to ruin. I remember old Miss Bartley and her half burnt biscuits that we ate every day. Laughing at the back of the class until our sides hurt.

I like to think of the days when we were young, knees full of dirt and long nights reading every single fairytale I owned. I remember the younger versions of us strolling through the field next to my house. Grass that reached our hips and the golden rays of the sun. We would climb the biggest tree and sit there all day, pretending we were fairies. I remember how the raindrops would softly fall down our flushed cheeks as we ate biscuits and waited for the storm to pass.

I remember how we pulled up our skirts at school, how we fooled around on the keyboards during music, playing hockey matches at night and becoming head girl.

These are the thing I cling to, because some days I just need to smile.

Marchella Edwards, 16-year old writer wannabee