Mmm. When I remembered things-- this may not be a good example, but there was this technology on Amoi called a "skin", you could use it to change the appearance of things. So when I was gifted one that turned my bedroom into a garden the appearance was changed, but... it was still the same four walls, the same bed and furniture. For me, it was like that with my memories?
[furrowing his brow - he barely understands modern tech, he's not convinced he's given a sound analogy at all.]
I would remember my upbringing in Guardian - where children were raised on Amoi; and I'd remember there were other boys with me. But I was never raised with many other children - only my master's son. So I could prattle on about these 'other children' but I could never have told you their names - what they looked like. And then the other way around - I remember climbing up to the rooftop on summer nights and watching the stars, but all of Amoi's roofs are too high to climb to. The shapes are different-- even the sky is the wrong colour.
[glancing down - his familiar has settled on his free hand]
One begins to doubt oneself - which memories are real and which are made up. I would say I pride myself on remembering names and faces-- it was distressing when such things started to fade, and some stayed lost to me even after my memory cleared. [trying for a little levity] Until I came here I still wondered sometimes whether I might be going senile early...!
You may have to stop me ^^;
[furrowing his brow - he barely understands modern tech, he's not convinced he's given a sound analogy at all.]
I would remember my upbringing in Guardian - where children were raised on Amoi; and I'd remember there were other boys with me. But I was never raised with many other children - only my master's son. So I could prattle on about these 'other children' but I could never have told you their names - what they looked like. And then the other way around - I remember climbing up to the rooftop on summer nights and watching the stars, but all of Amoi's roofs are too high to climb to. The shapes are different-- even the sky is the wrong colour.
[glancing down - his familiar has settled on his free hand]
One begins to doubt oneself - which memories are real and which are made up. I would say I pride myself on remembering names and faces-- it was distressing when such things started to fade, and some stayed lost to me even after my memory cleared. [trying for a little levity] Until I came here I still wondered sometimes whether I might be going senile early...!