Two months ago, as I’ve mentioned in some previous posts, I was assigned an autobiography that I very intelligently left ’til the last minute. So, last night I stayed up ’til late and completely ignored my human need for sleep to finish the autobiography. And while the passion I felt cramming so heavily in a single night was unmatched – the fact that I had to abridge my autobiography to be able to finish it tells me something.
For one, it tells me that the thoughts that did make it on the autobiography must’ve been troubling enough to have been cohesively occupying my mind in such a hurried way of working.
It also tells me that I shouldn’t procrastinate!
But more importantly, it tells me that there’s a lot of story to tell.
And I’ve noticed that the reason why that is isn’t because I’ve been through a lot, it isn’t because I repeat myself; none of that. Instead it’s because of what happened in 8th grade … when I became, almost as if by the full turn of a mirror on a swivel, a doubly more conscious and appreciative person in terms of memories. In terms of valuing friendships and outings and in terms of wanting to slow time down.
Thus, the first eleven pages of the autobiography, where I talk about my early childhood in Argentina, serves as the only unabridged portion of my autobiography, mainly because I had actually taken the time to write that portion instead of leaving it for the day before, as I did with the rest of the autobiography.
In other words, this first chapter represents the way I would’ve liked to finish my autobio … stopping to analyze the meaning of almost every little memory, attempting to find trends, trying to figure out what was going through my mind as a toddler, as a first grader, as an innocent child not knowing that there was more of the world beyond the boundaries of my house, the ranch in the countryside, Downtown, and my grandma’s house.
My analytical, nostalgic self – as I am now – was the agent behind the lengthening of my autobiography, as well as the reason why I had to abridge it to finish it. If I weren’t this way, I could’ve easily written the autobiography in a single afternoon even – as I did in 7th grade, when I was assigned the same assignment.
To me, as a child, the world was much smaller than I now recognize it is … and I also had less worries.
Now, I’ve become increasingly worried with preserving the past and understanding the present – all while looking forward towards the future. Whether that’s a good thing or not … I still have to figure out.
As far as my autobiography goes … the abridged version I wrote as a way to get a grade to save my current A average serves more as a reminder of my procrastination during sophomore year, as well as an arbitrary selection of memories that constituted my train of thought on that cram night, than a real autobiography.
The guilt I feel in not having written about too many things is … troubling.
I want my autobiography to be a complete authority of my life … at least, as complete as it can be at the age of fifteen.
And so, I will be finishing my autobiography, calling it the 2nd Edition of the same. As a favor to my friends, my family, me … and my memories – the starring characters of my autobio.