Almost eight years ago I began a side project, My Earliest Memory.
It’s been featured on a few radio stations, had submissions from all over the world and been the catalyst for at least one art exhibition.
I don’t purposefully chase submissions; in fact, I often forget about the project these days until a submission suddenly drops into my inbox. In the days of everyone wanting to be an ‘influencer’ or ‘internet famous’ I’m happy to be slowly building up this archive.
Lots of people tell me there’s a book there. I’m not so sure. Why print it when it’s available all the time, the majority as a Tumblr site (until that particular platform finally closes its doors, which today feels like it can’t be far away – one of the reasons I popped it on a server I have control over).
That said, I also consider closing it down. Not removing it, just not updating it even if new memories drop in (like one did today). However, I’d be denying that memory an audience (even if that audience is just me).
I looked back over the archive earlier, randomly clicking and reading. There are some gems on there. Some very sad moments. Some joyous. Some mundane. Others silly, profound, or incomprehensible.
All of them are uniquely human.