Art of Remembering

I'm currently reading the book Moonwalking with Einstein by Joshua Foer, and interestingly enough I went through a bit of self-analysis about my own thought process and ability to remember things.

For those who know me, my notorious short-term memory is bordering rude. Names escape me right after the moment they have been heard, dissipating into the thin air which the very syllables traveled through. Dick? John? Bob? What was it again? The garbage awaiting to be taken out of the house sits unapologetically at the my door step as I return home, despite all the little voices of reminders in the previous night telling me to take it out as I leave the house next morning. Apparently, even the visual cue of seeing the garbage at the door step can still somehow be missed. Telephone numbers? I'm lucky if I can recite my own mobile, let alone some one else's. And it seem, this 20th century handicap plagues not only me.

However, emotional events are imprinted in my mind. When I am upset, angry about something, every twitch of my muscle and strain in my voice amplifies intensely to the extent where I become extremely self aware. Then this heightened self awareness becomes associated the actual event, which explains why I can easily recall a previous argument with my boyfriend, for example, and bundle my old anger and new hatred all into the present distraught moment. My boyfriend is always amazed by my ability to recall a distant argument we once had. In essence, my emotion serves as a "index." Whenever triggered, they help me recall all similar situations in the past during which I demonstrated this emotion.  And it seems, this ability to index memory with emotions is shared by many women.

The book also mentions an common practice among mnemonists in which they associate a visual object with an idea they wish to remember. This part of the book reminded me so strikingly of my own path of learning Chinese characters. Despite never attending a local Taiwanese school, I would say my Mandarin level is at par with possibly many second-tier university graduates. I have no doubt that I owe much of my learning of Chinese characters to inspiring authors, varying greatly from the 李白、白先勇、金庸、朱少麟、九把刀、張小嫻、張愛玲... and so forth. Being able to subconsciously learn all these characters and their meaning by associating "strokes within a squarish form" fascinated me, made me look cool and knowledgeable, and most importantly allowed me to better convey myself. The last note being super important to me since I can be quite talkative and hate to be misunderstood. So my need to be heard and understood correctly coupled with the fun task of assigning meaning to all these 橫豎撇點捺折勾 allowed me to memorize a great deal of characters in a relatively short time -- about 3-5 hours a week in a Chinese as a second language setting for 7 years. That may sound like a lot of time and a solid Chinese capability may seem only natural, but let me assure you that many people in my Chinese class don't nearly grasp the Mandarin language as precisely as myself despite having spent a good 5-6 years in local Taiwanese schools. In fact, one of my Mandarin teachers, Mr. Ben Wu, was so impressed by my ability to write poems and short stories, he once commented on my work 文思泉湧、才華洋溢 and asked me a few times if I truly never have studied in a local school. In part, that is why I think I'm a bit of a grammar nazi... The inconsistency of form irritates me like sand in the eye. Imagine how just one stroke in the Chinese character can completely change the meaning of a word. Take 孑孓 for example, just the direction of the stroke can change the meaning and pronunciation of the word. This precision fascinates me -- the ability to embody  "meaning" and "depth" into a somewhat squarish looking block of strokes. This, is art. To be honest, I don't remember a Chinese character by writing it a million times, but instead seeing it like a "picture." Perhaps that is in part why my stroke order is all messed up for some words.