Cinematic memories

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Yesterday I almost died.

I miscalculated the amount of peanut butter I could swallow in one go and I found myself trying to breathe through a ball of fat stuck in my throat. I said to myself not to panic, it would eventually go down… But it was taking too long and I was running out of air in my lungs. I thought drinking some water would help the lump go down but it made matters worse. I started to suffocate. And that’s when I saw it: The End.

Did I think of my family and friends? Was I glad I would not have have to wake up early in the morning ever again? Did I wish I had lived a more meaningful life? Nope. I just begged «please, not like this, not like Homer Simpson eating that wedding cake topper in that Halloween Special!!!». Then the lump went finally down. After taking a few anguished breaths I promised myself never again to miscalculate the amount of peanut butter I could swallow in one go or, for that matter, never again to eat peanut butter.

Memories I make my own

This experience made me think about all those memories I have which are not mine, nor memories. They are but scenes out of the many films I have seen and to which I am transported more often than not. A plastic bag flying around will always bring me back to American Beauty, a day that «looks like rain» to 300, a boring story about what someone did over the weekend to The 40 year old Virgin

I am absolutely fine with the idea of stealing experiences from fictional characters and making them my own. I just hope the next time I am about to kick the bucket I do so more gracefully than gobbling peanut butter and I get to think of someone more attractive than Homer Simpson.

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