I think I should buy that book!
No, don’t. Let me buy it for you.
But why? No, I can’t let you do that.
No, allow me. I think of it as creating a new memory.
I think I enjoy a memory far more than I enjoy the actual experience. People have strange fetishes, mine is nostalgia. The real experience, when it is happening, is too physical, too tangible, too cluttered. The memory on the other hand is a cherished, enhanced image, filtered to fit the frame of the mind’s eye.
You may remember the walk on beach with the wind blowing and the taste of naariyal-paani but you won’t remember the cantankerous stall-owner, the obnoxious family a few feet away or the hormonal teenagers staring at you. You’ll remember the kiss but you won’t even remember the faint smell of drying fish. You may as well cherish the image of the beautiful stars in the night sky but it will slip your mind that at that moment, you were frantically worried that you’d be late.
When you do remember imperfect reality, it will have been perfected and polished for the showcase of your mind. The memory is the distilled essence of reality…purified to whatever aspect of it appeals most to you. Rare is an experience that is held in its entireity without editing.