A Tale of Love and Darkness

When I first heard this title, all I could think of was a cheesy romance novel. Who names a book, especially an autobiography A Tale of Love and Darkness? It seemed absurd, but after the reading... perhaps this was accurate description?

A Tale of Love and Darkness is a collection of stories from Oz's childhood. He remembers so much, whether what he did, where he went, who he was close to or even the day to day routines of his life. I am a bit jealous of this ability. I am only twenty and can barely remember more than a dozen or so brief glimpses of an experience of my past. Memory, moments lost that can never exist again. Although, we may have the same people in the same place doing the same thing, the moment can never be regained. Because we are not who we were then. People change, our lives our experiences transform us. The places we inhabit also change around us reshaping within. Jerusalem, much less Amos Street was not the same from his childhood, having changed in the moment Oz was brought into the basement apartment. My roommate loves to say that time is linear, so it doesn't matter how much you procrastinate I will still have to face the test, struggle, or burden of tomorrow. It will always come (unless the Mayans are right after all). This moment following the next, building, towering on top of one another reaching past Babel into the sky to try and touch the heavens. Only  to never succeed. Autobiographies while allowing me to peer into the window of another live also in turn force me to re-examine mine own. My family, my place, my memories. How they have changed and how they have created me. It was because of Oz's experiences, his family, his city Jerusalem that he was molded into the man and the writer that he is. So to it is because of my family as loud and large as it is, and my place in the middle of nowhere, and my memories or the glimpses that remain to echo the pictures telling the past, that I am... me. While my mother has not struggled with depression or committed suicide and while my father is not an librarian dreaming of the academic world, and while I am not a writer, internationally known and respected. I too have a place. I too have had hardships that have changed me. I too am a collection of moments. I too am human.