Andras’ personal page

Subtitle: What are we if not a collection of our memories and experiences?

I just returned from a strenuous expedition, trekking across a frozen lake in Mongolia. Whilst I feel I conquered the challenge without significant problems and I remain thankful for my approach to staying fit and healthy, I do realize that my body needs some care as I recover and resume my daily life here in Singapore. 

What better way to pamper my body, than getting a full body sports massage! So I set out with some friends from the expedition, sharing the same goal as I, to find a Sunday afternoon slot for a 1.5 hour session. 

As I lay on the massage table and feel the masseuse methodically assess and treat various parts of my body I float into this semi conscious state of sleepiness, feeling safe, feeling relaxed but at the same time becoming particularly alert in my mind. 

Being in this place of relaxation, but an imagination filled with vivid color or vibrating energy, a mirror pops up in front of my eyes, showing a reflection of my body. But this mirror holds more than just an image of my physical self. Oh, it holds much more.. I can see memories take the place of my body parts, and through this reflection I see my body and self become but a collection of random images and moments from my past, making up a shape I can easily recognize and smile back with familiarity and contentment. 

The sole of my feet: I am 30-years old again, standing on a deserted beach in California with my sister. Our sole imprints in front of us in the wet sand, lined up next to each other neatly….

My second right toe on my right foot: I am 35 years old again, having just tripped on a corral reef, trying to save my camera from falling in the water. Somewhere on a deserted island in Palawan, The Philippines….

The top of my left foot: I am 6 years old again just having scored the goal of my life on a soccer field on an empty school playground in my hometown, with dreams of becoming a famous soccer player….

My right ankle – I am 15 year old again just waking up looking at a stitched up scar, after my father operated my ankle to repair torn ligaments I suffered playing for my basketball team in Hungary….

My right shin – I am 35 years old again, on the last few kilometers of my 91 kilometer walk around Lake Washington in Seattle, suffering from serious pain from shin splints….

My calf (forgot which side) – I am 20 years old again. An aspiring basketball player, laying on the massage table in the gym in Pecs, Hungary. My long deceased, dear friend Gabor Schott, our team massage therapist, telling me I have a calf injury but how he will ensure I get the best treatment so I can play again soon…

My right knee – I am 4 years old again, my knee is bleeding from falling in kindergarten during recess….

My thighs – I am 16 years old again, the first time a coach explains to me how to do squats properly…..

My manhood – I am 20 years old again, on a strange bed in a college dorm, about to lose my virginity to a girl I barely know anything about…

My butt – I am maybe 15 years old again, crying from the pain of a tetanus shot….

My belly button – I am a newborn again, fighting for my life in an incubator after just being born with pneumonia….

My right ribs – I am maybe 10 years old again, seeing only blood om my side as I just fell off my grandpa’s fishing stand by the lake…

My chest – I am maybe 13 or 14 years old again. People making fun of the shape of my chest…

My right shoulder – I am 42 years old again. I am on my 15 minute observation period in Geylang CC after receiving my first COVID shot….

My left hand – I am 6 years old again. My grandma trying to teach me how to use my right hand instead of my dominant left…..

My left palm – I am 15 years old again. Just tried my first basketball dunk and came down with a huge cut, gushing blood everywhere…

My neck – I am maybe 12 years old again. My uncle teaching me how to tie a tie….

My mouth – I am 16 years old again. About to depart Hungary for a year of high school in the US. Not realizing how the English language will become my primary means of communication and livelihood for the next 28 years and how it will become an effort to keep my mastery of my mother tongue, Hungarian, over the years…

My lips – I am 15 years old again. I am sitting on that park bench in my hometown, about to have my first kiss…

My moustache – I am 15 years old again. I am staring in the mirror in a strange family’s home somewhere in New Jersey. Trying to figure out how to use a razor for my first shave…

My tongue – I am 41 years old again. I just had my last meal with meat in it….

My nose – I am about 29 years old again. I am sitting on a curb outside my hotel in Penang, Malaysia. I just opened my first ever box of fresh durians..

My eyes – I am 6 years old again. I am sitting on the fence outside of my school cyring uncontrollably. I just found out that my great uncle, my “third grandpa” just passed away…

My eyebrows – I am 44 years old. The moment happened just this morning. I look into the mirror and see my father looking back at me…

My ears – I am 38 years old again. I am in Thailand in a boat. I look into the eyes of my dive buddy, soaking in the passion, joyand curiosity I see in her as she talks about her love for diving. I am learning how to dive so I can become part of her journey. But I struggle with learning how to equalize…

My hair – I am 4 years old again. It is summer break from kindergarten. I am at my grandparents’ lake house. I sport my natural blond hair color which arrives on queue at the beginning of every summer and fades with the arrival of fall, as if based on some magical time schedule programmed into me by nature….

My head – I am 12 years old again. I really love playing games with my sister. This one went a bit too fat tough. A scar on my head, blood, crying, stitches, being made fun of in school for a bandage on my shaved head…

My brain – oh my.. too many images to pick a single one. No matter how hard I try.. As such, here I allow myself a bit of poetic freedom and go with an image and memory I know is in my, albeit I cannot recall no matter how hard I try.. – I am maybe 1 year old and for the first time I utter the word “Mother”…

As I get to this stage in my imaginary journey, my brain starts to run wild, reloading many more memories. I tell it: “Stop, give it a break. Give me a moment to immerse myself in the joy of reliving these memories. I know you have many more to offer me. Save them for another day, when I need a moment of happiness, a moment to take account of my life and being. For now, these spontaneous and random moments are enough. Life is good.. Enjoy… One moment at a time…”