They Say Empathy Is Key, I Say Apathy

The Forgotten

Sometimes when I'm alone my mind tends to wander. And recently it has come across the thought if those in the past knew they would be forgotten.

Now I'm not talking about the ones we learn in history as a whole, like peasants who would revolt for sake of their future, or the corrupt people of power who destroyed all opposed in their way. I'm not talking the victims of devastating events and crisis who have merely become a statistic we read about in our books.

I'm talking the ones like us. Like you. Like me. The ones who went on about their life despite the world about them. Their Names. Their faces. Their memories. The insignificant mark they had left on this world, like a mere smudge on a white board that has been wiped away.

And so I wonder. About families who lived their lives back in 1905, how did they live their day to day lives? What about those in the Victorian times. Or the ones in the Bronze Age? How about in the Middle Ages? What were their names. Who was their mother? Who was their father? What did they want to be? What were the most fondest memories they held dear. Did they have siblings? Did they draw? Were they happy? Did they ever wonder that they'll be apart of history. Did they ever believe the world will forget them?

I think I'll be forgotten. I know I will. Sure maybe one day if ever, I'll have kids. They'll remember me. Maybe they'll have grandkids. I'm sure they'll remember me. And maybe my grandkids will have children. I hope they know of me. But what happens after that? Will my children's children's children's children's children even know of me? Will they know that I have thought about them? Will they think about me? Or will I fade away in background like the rest. The ones before me, the ones who have not been erased but merely muted out.

To be forgotten or not forgotten, that is the question.

( Edit: why did I write this ?!?! )