It seems to me if you can’t remember your childhood, your life will feel artificial. Your first encounters with the reality of being in a human body, and all that that means, and the state of shock that comes from trying to exist in this world — those are moments that rarely repeat themselves later. And maybe that’s why those early memories are so fragile. Because children are also fragile.
Life has taught me that wherever there is a sense of “nothing happening,” or a blank space, a memory hole, usually something is being hidden. There is a kind of silence that is really closer to gagging on something unspeakable.