I believe our memories are at the core of our identities. Everything we experience becomes memories; and it is memories alone that we come to remember. Of course, we might not remember everything, since others are often filling in gaps for us; and some even invalidate our memories. My individual memories are constantly changing as I change, but my brain stores away what memories I think are significant and are an important part of me. Memories do not necessarily form our true past, but I think my memories have played a huge part in my identities.
Collective memories are very important in my life. In my religion and sect, preachers are always talking of Karbala, a land in Iraq. They talk of the tragedy that occurred in Karbala, when the Prophet’s grandson and family were brutally killed. I did not experience this tragedy myself, but I remember it’s occurrence like it is a part of me. It is a collective memory. The shrines of the Prophet’s grandson and his family now hold a very deep story. In my sect, the Islamic months of Muharram and Safar anchor many memories of the tragedy of Karbala (which are the two months the tragedy occurred in). The city of Karbala alone speaks of the past. The tragedy of Hussain (a.s.) is never forgotten. I have never been to Karbala myself, but I have been told of it so often I sometimes feel as if I have already been there. When people describe the place to me, I envision myself there. These inexperienced memories definitely play a significant part in my identities. These memories become a part of me, and yet, they are not a part of me.
Collective memories are very important in my life. In my religion and sect, preachers are always talking of Karbala, a land in Iraq. They talk of the tragedy that occurred in Karbala, when the Prophet’s grandson and family were brutally killed. I did not experience this tragedy myself, but I remember it’s occurrence like it is a part of me. It is a collective memory. The shrines of the Prophet’s grandson and his family now hold a very deep story. In my sect, the Islamic months of Muharram and Safar anchor many memories of the tragedy of Karbala (which are the two months the tragedy occurred in). The city of Karbala alone speaks of the past. The tragedy of Hussain (a.s.) is never forgotten. I have never been to Karbala myself, but I have been told of it so often I sometimes feel as if I have already been there. When people describe the place to me, I envision myself there. These inexperienced memories definitely play a significant part in my identities. These memories become a part of me, and yet, they are not a part of me.