Memory is a strange thing. Sometimes it’s sharp, cutting through time like a flash of lightning. Other times, it’s slippery, like trying to hold water in your hands. The harder you try, the faster it runs through your fingers.
Take my recent trip to Europe. I went with my school’s band program and traveled across Spain, from the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona to the lively streets of Madrid and the modern skyline of Valencia. We performed in beautiful venues surrounded by history and energy that made every concert feel larger than life.
Then came the UK. London’s landmarks, the quiet English countryside, and Edinburgh’s storybook charm all blurred together in a whirlwind of days. I even spent a few in Paris, climbing all 1,665 steps of the Eiffel Tower and staring out at the city below. It should have been unforgettable. But somehow, the details already feel like they’re slipping away.
What used to be clear now feels like ink dissolving in water. I can’t always recall the food I ate or the streets I walked. I scroll through the photos on my phone just to remind myself that I was really there. It’s frustrating, wanting to hold onto everything and realizing you can’t.
Still, maybe forgetting isn’t entirely bad. The same brain that loses small details also helps me move past the awkward moments and mistakes. Maybe memory knows what to keep.
In the end, it’s not the specifics that last but the feeling — the awe, the laughter, the sense of being alive in a new place. Maybe that’s enough.
