Entry 1 - Fall 2005

It’s frightening how quickly I’m starting to forget about the hurricane now that I’m back in my newly mold-free house. Sure, there are reminders- blue tarps on roofs, trailers lining my neighborhood, dead grass, McDonalds restaurants that have yet to open- but as long as I’m going to my own school and my own house every day, I barely notice it anymore. I can’t decide whether this is good or bad. The memories I have of life during and after Hurricane Katrina are like objects in a junk drawer. I’d like to keep them hidden and pretend that they don’t exist, but at the same time I can’t bear to throw them away. So I push them back, back, back. Back into the dusty of my memory along with reminders of that Algebra project I failed because I didn’t ask for help, the computer that I broke with impatient clicking and other lessons I’ve learned the hard way.

When you lose everything you ever owned except for two days’ worth of clothing, you eventually realize that the loss of that flat-screen plasma television that you had to own doesn’t make you cry half as much as the loss of those crumpled letters written in unsteady script from your third-grade love interest. You can’t replace fervent declarations of undying “like”; you can easily buy another TV.

But I am starting to forget. I hope that one day I’ll be able to remember-sadly, for those memories can never be anything but sad- but also move on, happier. And who knows? Maybe I’ll even start rebuilding my collection of love letters.