Primary Days

I've always been ensnared by the tapestry of my elementary school recollections. They don't reside in the confines of videos or graduation albums; rather, they materialize spontaneously within the recesses of my consciousness.


The term "memory" gives me pause, for it is not easily summoned at will. It often requires a catalyst, a particular scent, or a specific setting, for these vignettes to unfold in my mind, catching me unawares. The fragrance, the tactile nuances, and even the emotions intricately woven into those moments all come surging back.


In the parlance of Roland Barthes, these are termed "incidents." They do not necessarily comprise monumental memories; more often than not, they are modest events or fleeting occurrences. Nevertheless, these unassuming scenes imprint themselves indelibly upon the canvas of my psyche, and I find myself immersed in them, akin to being momentarily taken aback by an unforeseen revelation. Unswervingly, these incidents are interwoven into the tapestry of my elementary school days.