a jigsaw puzzle
Today we studied memoirs in creative writing class. We were then tasked with writing a passage about an object passed down from a family member that means something to us or holds significance in our memories. It proved harder than I realised, because it turns out I don’t own anything passed down from any family. Of course, I have many, many memories, but my family doesn’t have a whole lot of physical things. So, writing this passage was almost impossible. I eventually scrounged up a faded memory of my Nannu teaching me how to use his record player and putting on an Elvis Presley album, and it made us laugh because it turned out the record player was broken and was playing "You Ain’t Nothin’ But a Hound Dog" at twice its normal speed. The passage turned out well; my classmates and professor liked it, but he then asked me where this record player was now- i.e. do my parents and I have it- and, well, the answer is no. Like I said, I don’t own anything passed down from my family. But this whole seminar got me thinking.
Never had I ever questioned who I am or where I come from just because of a lack of a physical item. My family and I are incredibly close. We have traditions aplenty, and frankly, none of my childhood memories are in London, but they are all in Wales and Malta. Whether it’s Christmassy evenings spent with my dad’s family crowded around my Uncle and Aunt’s table with not enough chairs to play Chase the Ace, or New Year’s Eves around their TV watching old tapes of horse races and placing bets worth pennies no one actually fulfilled while the adults drank prosecco. Or in the summertime, at my Uncle’s house in Iklin, for the Santa-Marija festa, the adults grill ribs, steaks, and burgers aplenty while my cousins and I splash about in the pool for hours and hours, with our parents occasionally shrieking at us to reapply sunscreen. We then eventually sit down for hours and hours on uncomfortable plastic chairs during a sticky summer night, where fireworks blast at an ear-deafening rate, but we are all laughing and chatting so much that no one notices it’s still humid well into the night. Or the one day of the year when my mum’s family pools their money to rent a boat to explore Comino and the caves around Gozo, and even though, for twenty years, we visit the same spots like clockwork and nothing ever changes, it’s the best day of the year. So even though I have nothing physical tied to these memories, I can’t imagine a day I won’t remember all those times; all the specifics, the emotions, the funny anecdotes.
But this memoir-writing seminar is just one part of this whole creative writing course, which is about finding our voice. Which, according to my professor, means confronting who we are and turning it into compelling fiction or a well-written autobiography. And at twenty, I have to say, I have no idea who I am, but I think I know who I’m becoming. And it’s kind of like a little collection of everybody in my life. This reminded me of an article that went viral for a quote, “I am a mosaic of everyone I’ve ever loved”, by Hannah Hassler. I have my dad’s nose, wear the same perfume as my mum, am named after my Nanna’s favourite book, and take matcha the same way my friend made it for me this summer, drink coffee because one day my friend joked that I cannot be friends with a Colombian if I claim to hate coffee without every trying it (in my defence, it’s because I never used to like the smell), have a tattoo that my friend drew, apply eyeliner the way a friend taught me, write a blog because my dad suggested it, love movies because a friend loved them first and dragged me along. And I love that about me. I love that I can look at a part of my life, something on my wall, or even something about my appearance and say it’s there because of a loved one. Sometimes it does make me question and wonder what about me is original and unique, but I also know that there are aspects of my friends’ lives where they see me. I also know that while the rest of my family is not sentimental, I am. I may not have physical memories to collect from them, but I’m collecting my own for my own records.
I want to be remembered, I want to have a signature. Not for something grand or an audience, but to prove to myself I am a person who has lived. Life is about love, from childhood to the friends we choose. It does make us who we are, sometimes whether we like it or not. I wear silver hoop earrings and a Return to Tiffany necklace with a faded cornicello around my neck every day without fail, and I keep a bundle of cornicelli on my keys that my friend from Capri bought for me on Via Toledo, because she believes they keep away bad luck and are “lucky horns”. I love bracelets, whether simple and sturdy, beaded, or full of charms, so much that pretty much all my friends know it is a sure bet to make me smile on my birthday. I wear my curls loudly and proudly every day; it’s the one thing I wear with undoubted confidence. My favourite cocktail is an Aperol spritz because it’s easy to make, and my mum loves having one in the summer, so I make the drinks while she cooks and then we eat together in the garden. I also love a Paloma because a certain bartender I work with once made a particularly excellent one for me. There are also parts about me that I know no one else sees or knows, just like we all do- like my diary, a hand-sewn journal that is just about holding together with many layers of sellotape, but I refuse to give it up. Even tiny, seemingly insignificant details are what people notice and create impressions. Like personal style, it’s not just what you choose to buy when you shop or if it’s according to what’s in style this month; it’s how you choose to show yourself to the world. The Devil Wears Prada said it best. Fashion is a statement.
I like the idea that we are all mosaics or jigsaw puzzles of everyone we’ve loved. It allows us to learn and grow from each other. And it’s fun to wonder what on Earth I would write in my memoir since I’ve had to think about it this past week. How would I explain who I am and how I know what I know? And the truth is, it’s from being surrounded by loving people. Of course, there are so many parts of life we do alone, and we are all individuals with individual tastes, original thoughts and unique situations. But there are also so many opportunities in life to love many people- family, friends, boyfriends, girlfriends- and be influenced by them, hopefully for the good.
This was a rambly post today. Or, I should say, another one. But I quite like just pouring out whatever’s been on my mind this week. And I hope you do too.
Kisses <3
