my memories are coming for me

I think of memories as silent, gentle things—tiny echoes of moments that belong to a different time, a different me. They usually sit quietly in the back of my mind, a little dusty, a little distant. I suppose that’s how memories tend to behave, like old friends you’ve drifted away from but still think about now and then. But lately, it feels like they’re not so distant anymore. My memories are coming for me.

It’s strange to describe memories as something that can “come for you,” but that’s the best way I can explain it. It’s like these fragments of my past have gotten tired of staying in the background and have decided to rise up all at once, demanding my attention. They knock on the door of my consciousness, and when I try to ignore them, they let themselves in anyway. I used to think I was in control of what I remembered and when. I’m learning now that’s not how it works at all.

And then it was gone, just as quickly as it had arrived, leaving me feeling disoriented. But that wasn’t the last time. After that, memories started showing up more frequently, without invitation. Sometimes they were welcome; sometimes, they were anything but.

There’s this one memory, from when I was about thirteen, that refuses to let me go. It’s not even a big memory—it wasn’t some pivotal life moment that changed everything. It was just me sitting in the backseat of my parents’ car as we drove to my grandmother’s house. The car was silent except for the hum of the engine. I had my face pressed up against the window, watching the world blur by, feeling the cool glass against my cheek. I was thinking about something trivial—I think it was a school project or maybe something one of my friends had said earlier that day. But the feeling I had in that moment, the overwhelming sense of being in-between things, stuck between childhood and whatever came next, has stayed with me.

It’s funny how memories like that, seemingly insignificant ones, can hold so much weight. They don’t come with a clear reason or purpose, yet they haunt me. Maybe it’s because, in that moment, I was feeling something so intense, so raw, even if I didn’t understand it at the time. Now, looking back, I see that memory as a snapshot of all the things I couldn’t put into words back then. It was the feeling of being small in a world that felt too big, of wanting to belong but not knowing where or how.

And then there are the memories that bring with them an ache I can’t quite name. Like the one where I’m sitting on the floor of my bedroom as a teenager, listening to a song that I swore spoke to my soul at the time. I remember feeling so much—too much—and not knowing what to do with it. I was frustrated with myself for being too emotional, too sensitive, for caring too deeply about things that didn’t seem to matter to anyone else. I was angry at the world for not understanding me, but mostly, I was angry at myself for not fitting in, for being too much and never enough at the same time.

I look back at that version of myself now, and I wish I could tell them that it was okay to feel things so deeply. I wish I could tell them that it wasn’t their fault, that they didn’t have to be so hard on themselves. But I can’t go back, and that’s the hardest part of all of this. The memories come, and they bring with them all the things I didn’t say, all the things I didn’t do. They remind me of the parts of myself I’ve tried to bury, the parts that still ache.

Sometimes, I wonder if these memories are coming for me because I’m finally in a place where I can handle them. Maybe I wasn’t ready before, and now they’re showing up because I’m strong enough to face them. Or maybe they’ve always been there, waiting in the wings, and I’ve just been too distracted to notice. Either way, they’re here now, and they refuse to be ignored.

There’s something unsettling about how memories can feel so alive, how they can wrap themselves around you and make you feel things you thought you’d moved past. I’ve had moments where I’ve been going about my day, doing something as simple as washing dishes, and suddenly, I’m sixteen again, standing in the hallway at school, feeling that familiar knot of anxiety in my stomach. Or I’m walking down the street and out of nowhere, I remember the scent of my grandmother’s perfume, how it would linger in the air long after she’d left the room. These memories sneak up on me, catching me off guard, and I’m left wondering why they’ve chosen this moment to make themselves known.

It could be because I’m at a point in my life where I’m constantly thinking about where I’ve been and where I’m going. I’m on the cusp of something new, and that always seems to stir up the past. The unknown has a way of making you look back, searching for clues or answers in the things that have already happened. It’s like my memories are reminding me of who I was, so I can figure out who I’m supposed to be.

But not all memories are kind. There are the ones I’ve spent years trying to forget, the ones that still hurt, even though I’ve convinced myself they don’t. These memories are relentless, showing up in my dreams or in the quiet moments when I’m least expecting them. They bring with them all the unresolved emotions, the guilt, the regret, the shame. They remind me of the things I wish I could undo, the people I’ve hurt, the mistakes I’ve made.

Maybe the reason these memories are coming for me now is because I’ve never really dealt with them. I’ve spent so much time running from the past, pretending it doesn’t affect me, but it does. It always has. And now, it’s catching up to me.

So what do I do with all of this? What do I do with the memories that come uninvited, demanding to be seen and felt? I’m not entirely sure. But I think the first step is to stop running. To let them in, even when it’s painful, even when it feels like too much. Maybe memories come for us because they want to be understood, to be acknowledged. Maybe they just want to remind us that we’re still carrying pieces of our past, whether we realize it or not.

I don’t know if I’ll ever fully understand why certain memories stick with me while others fade away. But I’m starting to see that they’re not just random flashes of the past—they’re part of me. They’ve shaped who I am, even the ones I’d rather forget. And maybe, by letting them come, by facing them head-on, I’ll find a way to make peace with them.

For now, I’ll try to sit with them, to feel what they need me to feel, and to listen to what they’re trying to tell me. Because whether I like it or not, my memories are coming for me.

AS I WAS MOVING AHEAD OCCASIONALLY I SAW BRIEF GLIMPSES OF BEAUTY (2000) | source

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recommended watches:

AS I WAS MOVING AHEAD OCCASIONALLY I SAW BRIEF GLIMPSES OF BEAUTY (2000) dir. Jonas Mekas

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author’s note:

finally publishing this post that has been in my drafts since november last year! i’m proud of myself for not deleting and rewriting it as much as i usually do… hopefully you didn’t mind that this post was longer than the ones i usually post nowadays :)