By Mia Hanuska
Dear my supplemental photographic memory,
You are my emergency floatation device; my fruit-flavored ring candy. You hold the highlights (and lowlights) of all my 17 full rotations around the sun. How could I persist with you absent? With a simple tap of the glass of my cellular device, I can forever immortalize my favorite moments. And you, you take all these snapshots and store them in your arms with care, regularly polishing each one. When I forget, you catch me as I fall and feed me the memory. All my first times, all my last moments, you protect.
I scroll through my near endless collection you oversee so dearly, and thanks to you, I recall everything. I recall the less-fond lower-secondary school hours and the very-much-more-fond secondary school experiences. I recall the springs of tests; the summers of exploration. I recall the trips of the Daily Explorer; the competitions of robotics. But I recall an extremely reduced amount without you.
Each folder, tucked in the crevices, neatly organized, hosts my plethora of souvenirs of life. I fear the destruction of you, thus, I protect you with my life. Would I catch a grenade for you? Lamentably, I am not named after a candy bar, so I’m proven incapable of such actions. Will l take you to my grave? Indubitably.
My cheerest, fondest, flashiest regards,
Mia Hanuska