My Memoir 소설 & 이야기

I wrote not for the company, not a speech or a briefing or anything with a deadline attached to it, just for myself, the way I had written when I was younger and the world had still felt large enough to warrant recording. I filled seven pages in a notebook I had bought from a small shop in the town on the third day. I did not look at them when I was done. I closed the notebook and set it on the table and felt the particular satisfaction of having made something that existed only for the making of it. Adrian looked at the notebook. “What did you write?” “Things I wanted to remember,” I said. “About this?” “About all of it.” I looked at him. “About what it feels like to come out on the other s

I remembered that I also needed to speak to dad and stop him from talking about me with Nick. I prefer being a private person and I have closed off a lot of things with good reason. I can’t relate to people because of the void I have. I always feel out of place when people share their past. I can only talk about the life I had after the accident and it’s not pleasant because it took time for me to adjust. I have tried thinking harder like what people assume and it ends up giving me a migraine. I want to remember but the pieces never fall in place. At this point, I will need a miracle to remember. *****

said Catherine. They nodded and followed her out of the room. As soon as they left, Gisella drew her drawer beside the mirror and took out her diary. She dropped it on the table and smiled as she wrote. " I'm Gisella Antonio and this is the story of my life. Although life wasn't so easy on me but I stood and fought an endlessly battle which I almost lost but finally won at the end. I once looked down on myself. Feeling so useless, aimless and unwanted. I felt like a curse rather than a blessing.

Instead, she shifted gears, asking, "What were you reading?" I snapped my fingers, and my journal reappeared in my hand. It was a treasured possession, filled with entries spanning the past 100 years. I had amassed a collection of these journals, each one a testament to my love of recording every detail of my life. I wrote about experiences, adventures, thoughts, plans, and ideas - nothing was left unrecorded.

squealed her father. Evelina, who was already in her room, was sighing. Because she knew for sure her father’s nagging must be long enough for men. She sat in her chair that she wanted to read a book, but she didn’t have time to read since earlier. She opens a page on the novel “You’re My Butterfly“ feeling familiar when looking and holding it. “I think ... I’ve read this book somewhere, but I don’t really remember,” she thought.

Vladimier murmured. Closing my eyes, I braced myself as the rest of my memories slammed into me. From the good to the bad, I remembered it all. My mother's abuse, my moving away to be on my own, the struggle of living alone and going to school to get a degree—even past loves and broken hearts appeared, sending piercing needles into my chest that disappeared as quickly as they appeared. And when the last few memories returned, they were of my job and how I died. By the time I opened my eyes again, sweat was pouring down my skin, and my heart was beating wildly in my chest. In front of me, Vladimier watched, waiting to see my reaction.

I lay on the bed looking at the ceiling, thinking about my demons, the ones that haunt me in my dreams. I am thankful for all the drama that happened today because I didn’t have time to think about my horrible memories. 25th of June, the day my innocence got ripped from me. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight. Every year, when this time of the year comes—I feel dirty. Today, the 25th of June. I still remember his voice. I don’t think I will ever forget it. The whole reason I started writing; to get everything out of my chest. Everything I wrote in my book ‘Behind Closed Doors’ is based on my life, though people might think its fiction. It’s now the best-selling novel, and people don’t

Corin said. “The telling,” she said. “Saying it all in order. I understand the shape of the choices now in a way I didn’t when I was inside them.” “That’s what memoirs are for,” Corin said. “Is that why you do this work?” she said. “To help people see the shape?” Corin looked at the notebook. “Partly,” they said. “And partly because other people’s lives are interesting.” “My life specifically?” she said. Corin looked at her.

I giggled and shook my head. “Don’t worry. It’s fine. I’m not hurt at all,” I assured Micah, in all honesty. Micah must still think I’m still sensitive about not having any memories. But to be honest. I’m over it already. It’s just sad not remembering anything but at the same time. I have to move on with my own life. I cannot forever be stuck in the past. “I’m fine, Micah,” I assured her for the second time, but she shook her head.

I had for once in my life no planning I had to go by, no plans or things to do or any expectations and I felt relaxed to have nothing to do but read a book in a hot bath. Once I was done taking a bath and a quarter of my book further I decided it was time to rinse myself off, I started to get hungry, which my mother would love, and figured it should be about time to maybe go downtown, get myself some new clothes and new books from the money I had saved and was still in the envelope I was given along with my train ticket.