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Significant Moment In My Life

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Insignificant Significance The house smells like summer. I step out onto the cool tiles of my bathroom floor as I hear a myriad of cicadas buzzing through the walls. The silky humid air smells like my aunt’s house, like the countless muggy nights spent in the peak of July without air conditioning. Even years later, I can still feel the sticky mauve cotton sheets scratch my legs, the sweat on my forehead, the groggy daze. Why are memories like these so vivid to me when other more traditionally “significant” memories aren’t? When I try and remember crucial moments in my life, instead of remembering my move to Michigan, or the series of hip surgeries I had to watch my younger brother go through, I seem to only be able to conjure up little insignificant lapses of time— I think of sleepless groggy night’s at my aunt's house, or of when I was 9, standing in my red rubber boots in the middle of our tomato garden, as my mother was trying to take a “calendar picture” (she liked to get custom calendars of my brother and I to send to our relatives every year) of us, thinking to myself that I was going to remember this moment forever. I don’t know why my 9 year old self thought that moment was so important that she deemed it absolutely necessary to remember it for the rest of her life, or why my brain still thinks that it’s relevant enough to delineate it just as vividly now, 8 years later; however, it did teach me one thing: the most vivid moments in my life are not the most

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