To think is to forget.
Coming to the end of my time here I begin to wonder how I will stuff these past two years into the porous suitcase of my memory. How will I reduce this experience into something manageable? I fear that the balance will tip into either wild eulogy or bitter diatribe. I am not inclined to poised retrospection; the positive will vanquish the negative or vice versa. Hopefully being aware of this will at least make the scales wobble back and forth for a little longer, although they will inevitably settle. Is it more useful to romanticize or demonize my time here?
To give a true account of what passes within us, something else is necessary besides sincerity.