By: Megan Conley
I always wished I had a pensieve. Swirling around with its mysterious silvery-blue liquid, its misty cloud would illuminate one corner of my college dorm room. I can imagine myself meticulous extracting that metallic thread of a memory from my mind. At any moment I could pull out a handy vile of tears and relive a fading moment with a single drop. Being completely honest, what Harry Potter nerd wouldn’t be right there with me?
As the great Albus Dumbledore himself says in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, “One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one’s mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one’s leisure. It becomes easier to spot patterns and links, you understand, when they are in this form.”
I can’t help but be envious of Dumbledore. So often, my memories are mixed up and jumbled. A montage of images passes through my mind, filling me with a bittersweet taste of nostalgia. I think back to the week I spend in Europe that passed way too quickly, the late-night campfire talks with my best friends, and the messy conversations that ruined relationships. They all seem like ages ago.
Whether I want to go back or not, one desire remains the same. I wish I could remember what was said. I wish I could remember how they looked. How I felt. Although I realize I must move on, the desire lingers. But the truth of the matter is, as much as I try, I can’t go back.
Recently in my Developmental Psychology course we discussed this crazy concept of memory. According to the schema theory, people reconstruct memories in their mind. They unconsciously fill in the gaps based on our personal mental frameworks. In other words, we become storytellers even with our own memories. As much as we think we may be recalling the truth of moment like watching a documentary, we have actually twisted and manipulated the scene to what we want to remember.
Harsh, right? Considering my fervent desire to relive these moments, my memory isn’t even accurate? As I pondered this concept more and more, my childhood desire for Dumbledore’s pensieve only increased. I want to relive these moments the way they actually were, not in some convoluted thought I am grasping to retain in my head. With a quick dive into the silvery liquid, things could go back just for a moment. Everything might make sense.
I must admit, while I have wished for my own pensieve ever since my first read of the Harry Potter series, these recent desires are not random. As the school year comes to a close in a matter of days, one of my closet friends will be moving to the other side of the country. In my mind, a battle rages. I want more than anything for her to stay, but know there are much greater plans for her somewhere else. As much as I suppress the daunting countdown in my head, time’s passing is inevitable.
And here enters my desire for Dumbledore’s pensieve. If only I could relive the memories we have made over the past two years: the times we drove through the country just because, ran through crowded streets of Chicago, laughed until our eyes flooded with tears. With that pensieve I could dive back into those moments anytime I wanted.
But the truth of the matter is, she would not be there. The pensieve would not bring her back. Just like in the Goblet of Fire, Harry immediately found comfort in finding Dumbledore beside him at the trial of Barty Crouch Jr., but as he began to yell at the headmaster, there was no response. He panicked. Indeed, he could see exactly how Dumbledore acted and hear exactly what he said. Yet it was nothing more than watching a movie. The pensieve could not yield true interaction.
Why, exactly? Memories can’t be truly relived without being changed. We would make difference decisions and speak different words. No moment can be duplicated; at least not as good as it was the first time. Maybe that’s why these moments must be left in the past.
Yes, all of these memories are good; perhaps some of the greatest I have ever had. But like Harry, I trust that better moments are to come.
I always wished I had a pensieve. Swirling around with its mysterious silvery-blue liquid, its misty cloud would illuminate one corner of my college dorm room. I can imagine myself meticulous extracting that metallic thread of a memory from my mind. At any moment I could pull out a handy vile of tears and relive a fading moment with a single drop. Being completely honest, what Harry Potter nerd wouldn’t be right there with me?
As the great Albus Dumbledore himself says in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, “One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one’s mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one’s leisure. It becomes easier to spot patterns and links, you understand, when they are in this form.”
I can’t help but be envious of Dumbledore. So often, my memories are mixed up and jumbled. A montage of images passes through my mind, filling me with a bittersweet taste of nostalgia. I think back to the week I spend in Europe that passed way too quickly, the late-night campfire talks with my best friends, and the messy conversations that ruined relationships. They all seem like ages ago.
Whether I want to go back or not, one desire remains the same. I wish I could remember what was said. I wish I could remember how they looked. How I felt. Although I realize I must move on, the desire lingers. But the truth of the matter is, as much as I try, I can’t go back.
Recently in my Developmental Psychology course we discussed this crazy concept of memory. According to the schema theory, people reconstruct memories in their mind. They unconsciously fill in the gaps based on our personal mental frameworks. In other words, we become storytellers even with our own memories. As much as we think we may be recalling the truth of moment like watching a documentary, we have actually twisted and manipulated the scene to what we want to remember.
Harsh, right? Considering my fervent desire to relive these moments, my memory isn’t even accurate? As I pondered this concept more and more, my childhood desire for Dumbledore’s pensieve only increased. I want to relive these moments the way they actually were, not in some convoluted thought I am grasping to retain in my head. With a quick dive into the silvery liquid, things could go back just for a moment. Everything might make sense.
I must admit, while I have wished for my own pensieve ever since my first read of the Harry Potter series, these recent desires are not random. As the school year comes to a close in a matter of days, one of my closet friends will be moving to the other side of the country. In my mind, a battle rages. I want more than anything for her to stay, but know there are much greater plans for her somewhere else. As much as I suppress the daunting countdown in my head, time’s passing is inevitable.
And here enters my desire for Dumbledore’s pensieve. If only I could relive the memories we have made over the past two years: the times we drove through the country just because, ran through crowded streets of Chicago, laughed until our eyes flooded with tears. With that pensieve I could dive back into those moments anytime I wanted.
But the truth of the matter is, she would not be there. The pensieve would not bring her back. Just like in the Goblet of Fire, Harry immediately found comfort in finding Dumbledore beside him at the trial of Barty Crouch Jr., but as he began to yell at the headmaster, there was no response. He panicked. Indeed, he could see exactly how Dumbledore acted and hear exactly what he said. Yet it was nothing more than watching a movie. The pensieve could not yield true interaction.
Why, exactly? Memories can’t be truly relived without being changed. We would make difference decisions and speak different words. No moment can be duplicated; at least not as good as it was the first time. Maybe that’s why these moments must be left in the past.
Yes, all of these memories are good; perhaps some of the greatest I have ever had. But like Harry, I trust that better moments are to come.