Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.
The Double-Edged Sword of Memories!
Haruki Murakami nails it with that quote!
Nostalgia has that way of being both the cosiest blanket and the itch you can’t quite scratch.
Think of those evenings when a familiar song comes on, and suddenly, you’re transported to that summer when life felt like a never-ending sunset. It’s a beautiful feeling until, of course, the weight of all that is no more sneaks up, pulling you into a bittersweet abyss.
Memories, you see, are like that friend who invites you over for tea, only to reveal it’s an intervention. You sit down, expecting a pleasant catch-up, but before you know it, the conversation turns deep — about choices, regrets, and how you used to be so much fun before life became all about meal prepping. They remind you of your best moments but never fail to slip in a gentle reminder of your shortcomings.
But why do we keep returning to memories, even when they can cut us so sharply?
Philosophically speaking, memories are our narratives. They help us craft a sense of identity, anchoring us in the chaotic ocean of life. Without them, we’d be like a ship adrift, lacking a story that tells us where we came from and where we hope to go. The warmth they bring is a sense…
