Reflective Essay: Growing Up In Memory

As I have been reading memoirs about memory for this class, each essay made me recall or even examine my past memory closely. However, the more minutely I tried to recall what happened in the past, the more confused I got because I could not see the clear image and believe I get lost in my own memory, which I thought, I have preserved perfectly in my brain. The loss of the details in each memory has made me a little bit sentimental, feeling like losing something important in my life. But, upon reading those essays, I came to realize that remembering correct the past is not as important as growing up within memory. However, the feelings that were acquired from the past experience tend to linger distinctly. The essay that is related to my experience

most is ‘Memory and Imagination,’ by Patricia Hampl. She says, “we only store in memory images of value. The value may be lost over the passage of time, but that’s the implacable judgment of feeling: this, we say somewhere deep within us, is something I’m hanging on to” ().
There is a memory I have a strong feeling of ambivalence even though a great deal of its detail have been lost in elapsing time.

It is my memory of first year in the United States. Back then, I was a between 16 and 17 years old girl who would be called, ‘fob,’ which means ‘fresh off the boat.’ I was quite shy, not fluent in English, exotic looking and nervous but excited at the same time. Coming to the U.S. all by myself, leaving behind familiar culture, friends and family was quite challenging at such a young age, but I was all ready to endure hardship and obstacles of language barrier, cultural difference and loneliness. However, the trouble that pushed me into the well of suffering that I could not see the bottom came from the most unexpected source. It was my host family; they were white with a middle-class background, living in a rural area. They seemed like nice and friendly people at first. They brought me and my roommate to various events and places where I can learn American culture, helped me learn English, taught us the basic manner accepted in the U.S. and even celebrated my birthday. Nevertheless, they had a contradicting side as well. The family had eccentrically strict house rules which gave us heavy house chore, and eventually it led them to treat my roommate and me like housekeepers in the

end.
Their house was located in the farming countryside. It was the biggest house I ever have lived in; it was a two-story house with two dining halls, five bedrooms, four bathrooms, two office rooms and a large basement with fitness equipments, a pool table, a piano and a TV with a couch. I was a bit excited to live in the nice looking house, not knowing how much of chore I would have to do up to the point the host mother was satisfied. I understood the house rules and thought it was reasonable until I found that the host family does not do the chore as much as my roommate and I do, and the host mother furiously yelled at us when we did not finish doing the chore on time. The conflict with the family was not only caused by excessive amount of chore given to us, but also the host mother’s defensive attitude that treated us like we were rebellious, spoiled children even though in fact, we were pretty polite, shy and decent girls who were five years older than her daughter. I remember how often I cried at night when I was living with the host family. Every time I talked to my mom on the phone, either I would have to hide crying voice that was about to burst out or cry aloud. It was the most frustrating period of my life when I cried frequently and almost regularly. I think I felt...
Eventually, I decided to move to California and met great people here, and it seemed like I recovered from the hurtful memory. Sometimes, I felt thankful for them helping me get used to the culture and ways of living here. However, I have never contacted or talked to them since then. I think I did not want to recall the memory by keeping in touch with the family. Besides, the feeling of discomfort when thinking about the year, often expended to anger, bitterness and sadness.
emotionally exhausting relationship with my host family.
It has been almost four years since I have moved to California from Wisconsin, and for most of people, it might be plenty of time to forget the details of what happened back then. I might remember incidents wrong, or I cannot be sure if my brain fabricated little parts of the memory. Sometimes I have this strange feeling that my mind may made up all these stories because when I recall the past, it seems too old and faded out like someone else’s worn-out black-and-white photograph, or maybe I cannot accept that such things happened in my life. However, the feelings of frustration, sadness, loneliness, anxiety and insecurity that cling to the memory tell me that everything was real, and they are still inhabiting deep inside in me. It is undeniable that I grew up stronger, harder and more independent afterwards, but the effect of having negative emotions leaves bitterness behind.