#firstmemories

[mykinxxzone]

✨ [Update] ✨

📢 New: @(firstmemorie) just posted on Instagram!

[seekingidlewild]

Credits: forkaotungg, firstmemorie

[illusoryfem]

I have the seashell-picking instinct v strong in me. If I see a seashell I will be picking it up. If there are too many & I'm not able to pick them all I'll still pick up a good amount. I don't particularly like them aesthetically it's bc my firstmemory of the beach is me & my father picking seashells before it all went to shit, so whenever I see one I remember, "Oh. Me & Father. Two decades ago." It's tattooed on my brain so I take it home

[jeromyalexander-dot-com]

Plastic

#Plastic, #FirstMemory, #ShortStory, #recovering, #CalmAndPatient

The idea, the concept, the very reality of plasticity, no not spasticity this time.. swap the s for an l.. and well, never mind. All black, an open void and echos from the other side of the galaxy. “You’ve been in an accident.” I shook my head no. “You’ve been in an accident.” I shook my head violently side to side. Murmurs and beeps, whispers, clicks.. saline. Come back. Faces floating,…

[genebremerjr]

#firstmemories https://www.instagram.com/p/B-OcNYUDPVQ/?igshid=15h8bm0rjn2ax

[soberichemodan]

Первое детское воспоминание на зеленой скамье

Было теплое время года, скорее всего весна. Мне было от одного до трех лет. Это видимо, был чей-то день рождения и пока взрослые сидели за столом, наша соседка Катя, которая всего на 10 лет меня старше, и которой видимо как и мне было скучно со взрослыми, носила меня по дому. Хорошо помню, как мы подошли к книжному шкафу со стеклянными дверками и разглядывали корешки книг. А потом мы вышли во двор, мы жил�� в частном доме, так что двор принадлежал лишь нам и можно было лазать вдоволь по самым тайным его углам. Но это будет позже. А в тот раз мы с Катей отправились на длинную зеленую скамью, которая стояла под окнами нашего дома. Эта скамья много раз меняла цвет. Ее сделал еще мой прадед, когда построил дом. В нашем семейном альбоме хранится очень много фотографий моих предков и все они сделаны на этой скамье. Могло бы быть и наше с Катей фото, но нас никто в тот момент не запечатлел.

[americasinger95]

Scatti rubati e dimenticati ☀️🌴💞 Ph: @dannygrillo97 #stolenshot #summer #memories #train #scattirubati #meandmylove #lovestory #firstmemories #trip #holidays #sunnyday #letsgo #travel #traveller #tanned #tan #A #cap #americanstyle #italiangirl #italiandoitbetter #puglia #comeback #forgottenshot #blondie #station #unestatecolmioamore (presso Puglia, Italy)

[tomsfoma]

My earliest memory is from when I was 3 years old.

I was living in an apartment with my mom and dad. My mom picked me up and had me look through a window next to the front door. She said “Look Tommy, a rainbow,” and pointed at it. I pretended I knew what she was talking about, and feigned amazement.

“Whoooa,” I murmured.

“Do you see it, Tommy? Right there?” She pointed in the direction of the rainbow which I had absolutely, definitely not seen. Until I did.

“WHOA!” I shouted, as she laughed.

So basically I’ve spent my whole life pretending like I know what’s going on.

[asksirlintalot]

And there she was…. sitting alone in the darkness…

(( we’ve decided to do some art for the various story chapters done so far for use with twitter, this is for the first two, First Memory and Dark Memory uvu ))

[greetthemountains-blog]

Post #40- The Pull of the Moon

My first memory is of the moon. Most kids have a first memory of a person close to them, a special gift, or a defining moment… like starting preschool or becoming a brother/sister. Not me. Before I became a sister, started school, or had the mental wherewithal to start picking out favorite toys, I remember the moon.

My parents and I were on our way to visit my maternal grandparents who lived in Philadelphia at the time. The trip was a long one, over 13 hours, and so it was common for us to drive at night. I don’t know how close we were to my grandparents, nor do I remember the details of that specific visit. I only remember sleeping in my car seat in the back of our blue Subaru, and my mom calling my name to wake me up.

“Sarah,” she called softly. “Sarah, wake up and look at the moon.”

Groggy, but curious, I lifted my head and saw in front of me the largest, brightest, most vibrant yellow/orange moon I have ever seen. It filled the whole sky and hung on the horizon. It was absolutely massive… and beyond gorgeous. Even at my young age, it took my breath away.

I was young when I had this memory. I was still an only child, and I don’t believe my mother was yet pregnant, so I couldn’t have been more than 2.5-3 years old. (Even my parents can’t remember my age, though they do remember the moon). Still, that night made a lasting impression on me.

In that moment I fell in love with the moon, and all of nature with it. From that time forward I have never tired of seeing the moon, or starts. I could stare up into the night sky every night, all night, and never get tired of its beauty. Every time I see the moon, whether during the day or late at night, my heart rushes with excitement, and I’m filled with awe. Even in my 30s the moon causes me more joy than some kids feel Christmas morning.

Since that time, I have never seen the moon look as big as it did then. I know, being so young, my perspective might have been skewed- making the moon seem larger than it was, but I treasure the memory as I have it. And, I search. I search every night for the moon. I delight in its current beauty. Though I do wonder if I will ever see it looking as majestic as it did over 30 years ago.

Regardless, the moon pulls me to her, and hangs as a sign of the ever changing power of nature. She is merely a reflection of the sun, but her beacon pulls some of us to her on an almost nightly basis. She is there to remind us that this world is so much more than what is below our feet. This life is so much more than what is at eye level. And if we spend our life looking towards the heavens, we will surely find ourselves standing in awe at the wonder of everything below, around, and above us.

[mykinxxzone]

@(firstmemorie) posted on Igs - FOOD SUPPORT

[bearinglight]

he has the prettiest eyes

pic credit: firstmemorie on instagram

[briancolley]

from tonight’s @rfdrawingclub I present to you a sketch of (very possibly) my first memory. I’m probably about two-and-a-half, I’m in the backyard at dusk, and I’m playing with my parents and a big red-orange bouncy ball. mom or dad throws it straight up into the darkening indigo blue sky and it seems to suddenly transform into the brightly lit full moon. that’s what I remember anyway...somehow that’s still stuck inside my brain, tucked into a memory/dream pocket somewhere in there. et voilà. 🔴 ⚡️ 🌕 #childhoodmemories #sketchbook #rfdrawingclub #moon #memory #moonmagic #firstmemory #etvoila https://www.instagram.com/p/BzuO2fzFu0z/?igshid=jriep2u1xo8e

[theaquarianphoenix]

(That's me in the background, about age 4, and my little brother in front)

                                         My first memory

I am 4 years old. I know this because my mother is in the hospital after just giving birth to my little sister. I am home with my dad, and my two brothers. My dad has taken out the vacuum and asked us to help him clean the house. It is an old Electrolux vacuum cleaner. It is blue and the hose has an argyle pattern that reminds me of a pair of socks.

I am gathering up some gum wrappers and I throw them in the path of the vacuum cleaner as my dad is rolling it across the floor. I can see the vacuum, still running, drop out of his hand. He yells something at me. I cannot specifically recall what he yells, but it is akin to “Idiot!” This is followed by a hard blow to the top of my head with his fist. For a few suspended seconds, I feel my brain rattling around. Then the immediate sensation of burning hot tears and an equally fiery hot lump in my throat. I force myself not to let the tears spill out because I am terrified my display of hurt will garner further punishment. In my shaking, lisping four-year-old voice I quickly say, “I’m sorry dad, I’m sorry!” I continue assisting with cleaning.

The feelings that overwhelm me are shame and fear, in equal parts. Shame for having, I thought, acted so stupidly. Why was I so bad? I deserved to be hit. And fear, because I know my father is capable of much worse if I don’t act in accordance with his expectations. The fear, is also never really knowing what those expectations are from one day to the next.

There is a long, loud silence that follows, from myself and both of my brothers. Just seconds before we were laughing and goofing, as young children do. We keep our heads low and do our best to be dutiful and good.

I so desperately want my mother. Where is my mother? I know that, at the very least, after helping with the chores (when we are alone), my mother will let me cry in her arms. My mother will rub my face with her hands and tell me to let it go. But she is not there. I am utterly alone. I am utterly terrified. I am profoundly changed. I am no longer innocent.

[adamdunlap]

The first shoe I designed and produced. I called it the "Take Flight 1.0." Launched in summer 2015. . I have a list of "first memories." There are maybe 10 or 15 of them, and they all took place in "The Pink House," which is the house I was born into. I don't know which memories were first or when they happened exactly, but we only lived in the house until I was 3 and a half so I know they all happened before then. . In one of these first memories, I was drawing, and I told my mom I wanted to be an artist when I grew up. Now fast forward about 30 years. I've started 3 companies, sold one, built brands, traveled around the world. I'm a business man. A marketer. A brand manager. A business developer. Right? But the light bulb went off about 2 weeks ago: I'm not a business man - I'm an artist, just like I first said I wanted to be. . For maybe 5 years (maybe as much as 7) I've been saying, "I'm not a business man. I'm an artist that's really good with numbers." I don't know why it took so long to crystallize, especially when I've been saying it for so long. . An artists is kind of an general term, so lately I've been conceptualizing myself as a designer. I've designed shoes, clothing, a training facility, websites, logos, brands, and business systems. I create. It's what I do, and this shoe is an example. . I didn't design everything about this shoe. I was more like the conceptual designer, and then I added aspects to it and altered other aspects. Every product that has ever been produced by Take Flight had my input and adjustments before moving to production. For years I called the company, "My artistic outlet." Now that outlet is acting. . I still love these shoes. And they are still for sale at TKFLT.com 👟 . 📷 Photo by @daniel.broccoli 🙏 . #Parkour #ParkourShoes #TakeFlight #TKFLT #Designer #Artists #Actor #Nike #Jordan #FirstMemory #ThePinkHouse https://www.instagram.com/p/BsuR1LRha71/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=5g9asc50w1ri

[misspinkindecisive]

First Memory Theory

Today I was thinking about the meaning of our lives, and the possibility of past lives. After some petrifying thoughts, something interesting came to my mind: We all have a first memory, the very first memory from our lives. Mine is waking up in my parents' bedroom to the sound of my Mother's voice telling me it's time to go to nursery school. From the time before, I remember nothing at all. But when I woke up that day I knew how to do things and who the people were around me. Even though I had no memory of them. Isn't it strange? Of course, it is only my case. But something popped into my head. What if before our first memory we are not in control of our minds? What if that period is sort of a "basics for life" session with our past lives, who have experience in this world? Of course, it is just a mere idea, and definitely not foolproof. Even I can find errors in it. For example, what if it's the first life of a soul and it has no experience etc. But then again, who the hell knows how does souls work? Maybe there isn't such a thing as new souls anymore. Maybe there're just young and old ones. After all, only on this blue planet alone lives 7.5 billion people, let alone the rest of the galaxy. Anyways, I think it would be an interesting reason for why don't we remember that time. The scientifical one is probably that our mind needs the necessary development before being able to comprehend things on a higher level and store memories. But still, I wouldn't mind if my theory was correct, that would mean a lot of reassuring things to me.