This memory has always been very vivid to me, but I never thought about it much before writing this narrative. I never understood the significance of it, or even if there was any at all. I think I remember it so well because my emotions were so strong that day, something I’m not used to. But I never really thought about why they were so strong.
Maybe at the time, I was too close to the incident to properly analyze it. And maybe I was too young to look at it objectively. But in writing this short story, I was really forced to figure out why I was feeling the way I did. At least for me, I usually revisit memories but never really think about finding meaning in them. In writing this, I started out with the usual memory, trying to recall everything I saw and felt. That led to my first draft, just a bunch of messy writing. Once that was on the page I tried to take a step back. I tried to look at everything on the page and organize it in some way. And I tried to analyze it as if it were someone else’s story, and see what meaning could be extracted. Once I found what I thought the story was about, I restructured it again to fit that theme more effectively.
I wanted to leave some things vague or unstated, because I think writing can be powerful when the reader relates in some way to the themes or characters. And more people can relate if they are allowed to find their own meaning in a piece. However, I was unsure that I got anything across at all, so in this aspect having others read it really helped. Their feedback gave me clues on how they interpreted it.
In the end, I think that the narrative itself isn’t perfect. But I am glad that I wrote it because I worked hard on it, put in my full effort, grew personally as I analyzed that memory, and ultimately have a piece of work that I am not ashamed of. That’s all I ever wanted out of writing this.