I Remember Everything

and sometimes it’s embarrassing

A perfect memory is both a blessing and a curse

I would be the first to know. I’m one of those people who rarely forget a face or a fun fact. I collect details about people without ever noticing it¹. I’ll remember your favourite book if you pointed it out once when we were browsing a bookstore. I might text you about it four years later when I finally get around to reading it, even though we haven’t spoken since graduation. I have to jot down birthdays, but I know my friend’s allergies and coffee orders and the bands they obsess over and how they’ve fully processed their most recent breakup, but never got over the situationship that never quite happened. I’ll keep running into the same people at bars and parties and ask how their dissertation is coming along, or how their cool girlfriend who smokes skinny cigarettes is doing (might result in an awkward beat or two if they’ve broken up), or if they went to the restaurants I eagerly wrote down on a napkin when they told me they were going to Florence for the weekend². Some things I know not to bring up, secrets and stories whispered late at night, drunk on wine or spirits or not enough sleep, never to be spoken of once the moment passes.

I was recently reminded (and slightly embarrassed) of my supernatural abilities whilst hanging out with some people from my High School over the winter break. Apparently, not everyone remembers random bits of information shared in a moment of boredom at the back of a math classroom. In my defence, I don’t know many people whose parents owned a zoo, so that was a highly memorable detail.

Salvador Dalí. The Persistence of Memory. 1931

I was placed in the spectrum at the function

Someone wondered out loud if my uncanny ability to remember things was an undiagnosed symptom. For context, the function was my introverted friends’ personal hell. Those who have been keeping up with me since last year might remember my absolute delight in making rounds during my five-year High School reunion in May. I didn’t exactly consider myself particularly extroverted³. I was always friendly and chatty in school, but I’d rarely go out of my way to befriend people outside of my comfortable circle. In the past years, however, things have changed, and I found myself once again surrounded by former classmates. This time, I’d texted and DMd and performed calendar Tetris to make sure I’d be able to properly catch up with them before the holiday bubble burst, and everyone went back to their real lives. I’m not sure if there was a single turning point or if it was something that accumulated over time, if the positive reinforcement every time I reached out rewired my brain. When someone says they’re a people person, I assume they’re outgoing and work well with others. There’s more to it, though. There are people with a genuine curiosity about everyone around them, the ones who ask not to be polite but because they care. I see it in my friend Zee, who we joke has become the mayor of our favourite bar, because she can recite the life story of everyone who works there. When my friend Clara was visiting me last summer, I was enamoured by how she would strike up a conversation with anyone around us, befriending the tipsy girls in line for the bathroom at a dingy club or middle-aged women queuing for Wimbledon under a (surprisingly) scorching English sun. My friends often tease me for saying someone new is the love of my life on a semi-regular basis (remember the time I was convinced the universe was pulling strings because I kept running into the same guy in a city of nine million people? And then proceeded to tell his best friend that I thought he was the love of my life?) but I can’t help it. I tend to see the best in people, sometimes to a fault, and few things light me up like a budding friendship. When I drunkenly tell people in a sing-song voice, I think we’re gonna be really good friends, I always mean it and have been known to almost always follow up the next morning once the alcohol has left my body. As someone who values reciprocity, I’m always thrilled when people reach out, and delighted when they remember details; however, I have also told myself to shut up after having someone exclaim how do you remember that?! for the millionth time, even when no trace of malice was present.

my favourite view of the city in the wee hours of the night (morning?) — coincidentally also the time I tend to [over]think about everything I’ve ever done

Things that keep me up at night

I’m a naturally anxious person, and a dash of insomnia comes with the territory. I love remembering everything when people seem genuinely pleased when I bring up something they said in passing the last time we caught up. I love it a little less when I’m still awake, and the sun is about to rise, and I keep replaying social interactions, wondering if I was too much. It doesn’t happen that often, I don’t have a natural tendency to spiral. I know when I’m being ridiculous and rarely entertain it, but an uncanny ability to remember comes back to haunt you when you can perfectly reenact every mortifying and embarrassing thing you’ve ever said and done.

I promise to (probably) never forget you

I’ll listen and pay attention to the details. I’ll get the chocolate you like “just because” and the brand of oat milk you buy when I know you’re coming over for coffee. Even after you’re gone, for good or just for a while, I’ll remember. If we fought or you left or we just grew up and apart. I still think of you when I go to the spot that was ours, or I make a joke I know would make you laugh, or I listen to the band you showed me. I’ll text my theatre kid (derogatory) friends whenever I watch a really good show and will get comforting bouts of deja vu whilst getting fries or coffee at the places where I spent all of my middle school allowance. I’ll remember your birthday even if it’s impossible to reach out. If you’re still around, I’ll suggest coffee or drinks. I might text you out of the blue or ask if anyone has heard from you lately. Maybe I see you once a year, if that, whenever we’re on the same continent, but I’ll surprise you with a postcard from the other side of the Atlantic. People will do something a certain way, go to certain places, love certain things, and wonder where they got it from. Remembering everything and everyone means you never have to wonder.

1. my spirit animal is either a raccoon or a squirrel — I’m an emotional hoarder

2. I ran away to Florence for a summer and always recommend Trattoria 13 Gobbi for a bistecca alla fiorentina, Edoardo right behind the duomo for Gelato that will make you weep and Le Murate for making lifelong friends and spilling secrets over bottles of Chianti

3. and some of my friends who knew me back then have disagreed, but they are significantly more introverted than me so I’m not sure if it counts