The Long Term Memory Curse

I am cursed with an incredible long term memory. Here I am in my mid twenties, and, from what I've seen and heard, people in their mid twenties have a vague recollection of their school days... yes, there were some people, we had some fun, skinned some knees... and that's it. I, on the other hand, remember full names, faces, pet phrases and detailed anecdotes that are of no consequences whatsoever. Examples:

The Tuesday Incident
In grade/class 6 - I was 12 or thereabouts - one of my classmates, Sabih - or, in the spirit of full-namingness, Sabih bin Fakhar (I hope I don't get sued or something for using his real name) - mentioned during a conversation that the following day was Tuesday. I was bored. So I decided to make a big deal out of it. I pretended to be shocked and horrified that he would say such a thing. I whispered loudly to the people around me: "Oh my God! Sabih said tomorrow is Tuesday!! How could he??" (Of course this was all in Urdu - apologies to purists, but I am willing to compromise the linguistic integrity of this account for the benefit of my greater readership.)
My friends, being heartless jerks like I am, promptly picked up on it. Within seconds, a dozen people were berating Sabih for his use of the word Tuesday. We carried this joke a bit too far - too far meaning we spouted variations of "Sabih said tomorrow is Tuesday. How could he??" for the next 30 minutes - reducing the poor fellow to tears. He was a friendly, gentle soul, and I certainly felt bad when he cracked. We were, thank God, able to joke about the event later (on Wednesday and Thursday... but NOT Tuesday). Water under the bridge... Why do I remember this? God knows.

KG Lady (Haha... KG... cagey...)
I remember the name of my kindergarten teacher: Natasha Cowasjee. We had KG1 and KG2 back when I was young... I believe she may have been a KG2-er. So I was how old... 6? It's not like the lady's name was ever mentioned or reinforced after my time in her classroom either... sometimes I scare myself. I think my KG1 teacher was a lady whose last name started with a P... was it Pinjwani?? Mother?

The Math Problem
When I was trying to get into school in Pakistan - this would have been 1985... so I was 4 - I had to take an "admission test" which basically consisted of me standing by the Head Mistress - Mrs. Tahir, argh, I remember her too... I say argh not because the lady was hideous, far from it, but because the extent of my memory frightens me - and reading a few selected letters and numbers from this book she had. I handled the colors, letters and fruits (I think they were fruits) just fine. But then we got to a complicated math problem, 2 + 4 I think it was. Mrs. Tahir said, "What is this?" and I, not having the foggiest, blithely waved my hand and said, "Oh, I'll learn that later."
If my sarcastic streak had been any sort of developed back then, I would probably have said, "You silly woman! This is exactly what my father is going to pay you his hard earned money to teach me." But I didn't. I did notice that the mother had been unable to suppress a laugh when I waved my hand... I only understood why much later... when I was 22.

Anyway, those were some stories from my distant past. My distant past is fascinating. Someday I'll tell you the story of the time I hung upside down from a see-saw for what felt like several years.

You'll notice the first sentence of this post. Specifically the "cursed" part. Allow me to explain. I've recently become somewhat addicted to communicating with friends and aquaintances using Orkut (http://www.orkut.com/) a free networking service (kind of like Facebook, you Americans). One evening, I was idly browsing through one of my friend's friends lists and I found all these people I had known between seven and ten years ago. Naturally, interested to see them around, and wondering how they were doing, I "added" them to my own list. Some of them just plain rejected me. Others didn't respond. The few that bothered to add me sent messages along the lines of "At first I thought you were some random pervert" or "I had forgotten all about you." I suddenly realized that a whole bunch of people must think I'm some sort of sick-in-the-head psycho with too much time on his hands... "Weirdo I don't know... why does he think I'm his friend?" and it's really their sub-par memories that are doing me an injustice. Am I really that forgettable? *sigh*

So, in a completely understandable reaction to the callousness one with an outstanding memory must endure, I've been wishing I had rotten memory cells. Maybe then someone would come running up to me and say something like, "Shahyan!! Remember when we belly danced for 15 hours straight in 1996??" and I'd be able to look down my nose at him or her and say, "Sorry, Scum of the Earth, do I even know you?" and walk away. Ignorance is better than rejection, what.

Anyway, if you're reading this and have been stalked - or so you think - by me, don't worry. It's just my phenomenal long term memory under the mistaken impression that you actually know who I am. And your memory sucks, fyi.

What's funny - and a little bit sad - is that I can't remember what I had for lunch yesterday, or what I did at work today (which may actually be nothing, knowing me).

What's also funny - and a little bit sad - is that I started this post thinking I was going to write about my plans for the summer...