Amnesia & Cold
a mirror-story story that can be read both forward and backward.
Amnesia, or the story of a man who has a cold slowly discovering he has amnesia
I guess I have the sniffles.
This is nothing to complain about, especially considering I’m in my fifties now, but I do find myself reminiscing about the days when I could comfortably smoke in the biting cold or stay out all night wide awake; I don’t remember ever shivering or having a runny nose. I suppose I’ve always been a bit of a dissatisfied and grumpy man. I know that something’s changed in me. I know that at some point, my body rebelled against the unhealthy life style that it used to handle: it decided that it is quite absurd now trying to deal with the already familiar germs – definitely not the behavior of a “happy” body. My voice is deep, as if detached from life itself, my nose is nothing but a rain cloud bringing a disastrous storm to the peaks of my mouth, and my body is just an expressionist symbol of numbness and tiredness. How did this happen? What’s wrong with me?
I must admit, my family is quite creative when it comes to diseases, though their focus teds to be on psychological afflictions. Take, for instance, my Uncle Ahmet: still the favorite topic of our family gatherings, he suffered from ghost limp syndrome and the pain of his right arm, lost in a car accident, was so excruciating that he ceremoniously amputated the nonexistent limb with a bread knife in the middle of an ordinary meal, accompanied by intolerable screams. There are even more extreme cases. In his final days, my grandfather began seeing through his hands instead of his eyes – the doctors explained that his brain had somehow convinced him of blindness, granting his neurons the unexpected capability to interpret tactile sensations as visual input. There was no logical explanation for that, though everyone seemed to accept it as perfectly reasonable. My Aunt Selma was cursed with a peculiar form of amnesia: she retained every little bit of knowledge, yet when asked about the source, she’d become distraught and start to cry, unable to recall how or when she acquired it. When your family history is an infinite list of psychological disorders, it’s easy to feel defined by them.
You see: how can I not attribute my sickness to my family? The responsibility, however, must go beyond that. After all, I myself inhabit this body. That’s the thing with diseases: some will blame their own body, some other will blame the environment – but yes, ultimately, I am to blame. I feel under the weather, because I accompanied Selim outside the restaurant even though I don’t smoke myself. Or the day before that, when the weather was so freezing people’s breath almost clouded my vision. Maybe I caught a cold when I had to step out of the shower to answer the phone. The real sickness, I suspect, is the uncertainty – the inability to pinpoint the cause of this cold.
How did I become this way? Well, my family is pretty skillful at identifying and confronting their issues. My Uncle Ahmet, unable to overcome his amnesia, was so adept at this “confrontation” thing that he eventually killed himself by losing his entire memory: doctors said that it is not possible to live with no memory at all (is that right, though?). My Aunt Selma (or was it Uncle Can?) was deaf but when we cursed around her, she’d somehow notice it and respond with a disgusted spit as though tasting something foul, as if she recognized the words with her own mouth. And here I am, unable to figure out the reason of my ailment – isn’t that strange? When I was born, the diseases were famous, not the treatments. How would I know?
“Please think carefully. What’d make you feel better when you got sick before? What happened to you all of a sudden?”
How unfortunate: even my wife’s thoughtful and compassionate interrogations fail to relieve me from my suffering. Perhaps grumbling serves as its own remedy. When my grandpa lost his hearing, I imagine my grandma’s annoying questions must have eased his pain. When I’m unwell, my wife always fires off questions and I always pretend that I do not hear her. Me and my terrible sense of humor.
“Didn’t I say to take care? How many times we have to argue about that?”
“What?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“Why would I say that if I knew?”
“Oh, you know.”
“Sorry?”
“How long are you gonna keep doing this?”
If only ignoring facts were enough to overcome diseases or the problems in marriages. I think this entire “belonging to someone” thing is merely a calmative. Why else would anyone marry? True love, I believe, entails sharing not only joy but also negative emotions such as hatred or anger. And yes, even the diseases. Sometimes you just want to unload all your burdens that hold you down like an anchor onto someone else’s shoulders.
There are so many things in my head. My marriage is crumbling. My wife and I separated our beds. When I try to sleep, I am plagued with vivid nightmares about my relatives and their horrible diseases. I have a runny nose. There is an indescribable pain in my throat. My mind is blurry. Whenever I try to think, I am pulling memories from the bottom of a cliff. I am tired. I leave my sentences unfinished.
I think I’m getting everything jumbled up.
Cold, or the story of a man who is suffering from amnesia slowly discovering he has a cold
I think I’m getting everything jumbled up.
I leave my sentences unfinished. I am tired. Whenever I try to think, I am pulling memories from the bottom of a cliff. My mind is blurry. There is an indescribable pain in my throat. I have a runny nose. When I try to sleep, I am plagued with vivid nightmares about my relatives and their horrible diseases. My wife and I separated our beds. My marriage is crumbling. There are so many things in my head.
Sometimes you just want to unload all your burdens that hold you down like an anchor onto someone else’s shoulders. And yes, even the diseases. True love, I believe, entails sharing not only joy but also negative emotions such as hatred or anger. Why else would anyone marry? I think this entire “belonging to someone” thing is merely a calmative. If only ignoring facts were enough to overcome diseases or the problems in marriages.
“How long are you gonna keep doing this?”
“Sorry?”
“Oh, you know.”
“Why would I say that if I knew?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“What?”
“Didn’t I tell you to take care? How many times we have to argue about that?”
Me and my terrible sense of humor. When I’m unwell, my wife always fires off questions and I always pretend that I do not hear her. When my grandpa lost his hearing, I imagine my grandma’s annoying questions must have eased his pain. Perhaps grumbling serves as its own remedy. How unfortunate: even my wife’s thoughtful and compassionate interrogations fail to relieve me from my suffering.
“Please think carefully. What’d make you feel better when you got sick before? What happened to you all of a sudden?”
How would I know? When I was born, the diseases were famous, not the treatments. And here I am, unable to figure out the reason of my ailment – isn’t that strange? My Aunt Selma (or was it Uncle Can?) was deaf but when we cursed around her, she’d somehow notice it and respond with a disgusted spit as though tasting something foul, as if she recognized the words with her own mouth. My Uncle Ahmet, unable to overcome his amnesia, was so adept at this “confrontation” thing that he eventually killed himself by losing his entire memory: doctors said that it is not possible to live with no memory at all (is that right, though?). Well, my family is pretty skillful at identifying and confronting their issues. How did I become this way?
The real sickness, I suspect, is the uncertainty – the inability to pinpoint the cause of this cold. Maybe I caught a cold when I had to step out of the shower to answer the phone. Or the day before that, when the weather was so freezing people’s breath almost clouded my vision. I feel under the weather, because I accompanied Selim outside the restaurant even though I don’t smoke myself. That’s the thing with diseases: some will blame their own body, some other will blame the environment – but yes, ultimately, I am to blame. After all, I myself inhabit this body. The responsibility, however, must go beyond that. You see: how can I not attribute my sickness to my family?
When your family history is an infinite list of psychological disorders, it’s easy to feel defined by them. My Aunt Selma was cursed with a peculiar form of amnesia: she retained every little bit of knowledge, yet when asked about the source, she’d become distraught and start to cry, unable to recall how or when she acquired it. There was no logical explanation for that, though everyone seemed to accept it as perfectly reasonable. In his final days, my grandfather began seeing through his hands instead of his eyes – the doctors explained that his brain had somehow convinced him of blindness, granting his neurons the unexpected capability to interpret tactile sensations as visual input. There are even more extreme cases. Take, for instance, my Uncle Ahmet: still the favorite topic of our family gatherings, he suffered from ghost limp syndrome and the pain of his right arm, lost in a car accident, was so excruciating that he ceremoniously amputated the nonexistent limb with a bread knife in the middle of an ordinary meal, accompanied by intolerable screams. I must admit, my family is quite creative when it comes to diseases, though their focus teds to be on psychological afflictions.
What’s wrong with me? How did this happen? My voice is deep, as if detached from life itself, my nose is nothing but a rain cloud bringing a disastrous storm to the peaks of my mouth, and my body is just an expressionist symbol of numbness and tiredness. I know that at some point, my body rebelled against the unhealthy life style that it used to handle: it decided that it is quite absurd now trying to deal with the already familiar germs – definitely not the behavior of a “happy” body. I know that something’s changed in me. I suppose I’ve always been a bit of a dissatisfied and grumpy man. This is nothing to complain about, especially considering I’m in my fifties now, but I do find myself reminiscing about the days when I could comfortably smoke in the biting cold or stay out all night wide awake; I don’t remember ever shivering or having a runny nose.
I guess I have the sniffles.