Special days like Christmas, Easter, birthdays, and death anniversaries bring into sharp focus the enigmatic nature of time itself. As I delve into the task of jotting down my memoirs, I've come to perceive life as a kind of imperfect album.
 This album, marked by the passage of time, is characterized by a blend of distortion and clarity. The act of remembering is often flawed – memories can be forgotten, confused, or even conflated. Yet, it's not solely a process of loss or distortion. There's also a deep beauty in how we preserve, deepen, and venerate our experiences. Certain moments, once ordinary, become imbued with profound significance as they are revisited and reflected upon over the years.  This duality of memory – its ability to both obscure and illuminate our past – fascinates me.
 The understanding that our recollections are not mere recordings but dynamic, living beings, evolving with each revisitation, brings a certain humility and wonder to the act of reminiscing.  It reminds us that our experiences, though imperfectly remembered, are rich patchwork tapestries woven from the threads of both fact and feeling.