fabiochiu/medium-articles huggingface dataset:
Holiday/Pandemic Fuel
By: Kyle Ford
Tags: News, Technology, Politics, Recommendations, Nostalgia

I post a lot (too much 🙄) about my email newsletter, but that’s only because I’m having a great time writing it, and love that people seem to be into it.

If you haven’t already subscribed, and are looking for a steady source of content to fill the void that is December 2020, I invite you to sign up! It’s free to get one issue/week, or (through the end of the year) just $18 for a full year of three issues/week. 🤯

You never shut up about it, but what does the newsletter cover?

I generally share a featured post from this site, along with links, tweets and videos about (for the most part) technology, entertainment, politics, ‘80s/’90s nostalgia and American evangelical heartbreak.

What’s in each of the three weekly issues?

The Sunday and Wednesday issues have different content but follow the same format (usually with a newer featured blog post on Sunday and one from the archives on Wednesday), and the Friday issue (called “Weekend Watches”) provides viewing recommendations. 📺

People are also saying that subscribers are more respected by their friends, more feared by their enemies and last longer in bed. 🤷

Alright, I’m convinced, where do I sign up?

👉 Right here, sweet friend.
29 mayo 2017
By: Kevin Costa
Tags: Ramblings, Travel Writing, Reflections, Nostalgia, Hemolo

It’s 10 o’clock in the morning in my last day in Buenos Aires. I can see the morning haze as I gaze out upon the water in Puerto Madero. I hope I remember this moment forever.

The adventures of this trip to Argentina have been many. Over the trip’s course, I met wonderful people, got scared to death of losing my bus ticket to the airport, felt like a teenage schoolgirl crushing on a boy in class, was filled with wonder and curiosity, and just lived.

My life has been filled many of what I would call “could-have-been” encounters of love or otherwise. This trip to Argentina was one of them. I was walking one morning past the Torre IBM in the city’s business district and I spotted someone who smelled amazing. I was trailing behind, trying to be cool when we made contact. It was only for a second; we instantly looked away from each other. I gazed up at the surrounding buildings, distancing myself a bit. It must have been almost comical to witness, I mas as well have been in a cartoon looking up and around aimlessly, whistling as if not to raise suspicion. Contact again. I smiled this time, thinking to myself, why not? What do I have to lose but my pride and my dignity. But the surge of confidence lasted only a moment before my bashfulness got the best of me and I distanced myself some more. But the eye contact the second time was enough. I’ll never forget the staring eyes burning into the back of my head as I walked away. As we parted ways, I remembered a similar time in Paris, a decade before. What could have been — perhaps something, perhaps nothing — will always be a mystery. For a moment, a bit of magic transported to a weird and wonderful place.

As I sit along the waterfront in the port, absorbing the last few moments I have left in the country. I reflect upon how I am going to be successful in my career. I think about how I can change and how I can shake up what I’m doing in my job, and how I will go about carrying myself. I am going to make a plan.

—

Almost four years have passed since I originally jotted down my thoughts on that beautiful morning in Buenos Aires. I certainly do remember.

Eventually I did make a plan. I did shake up my career. I moved cities and even countries, I changed jobs and companies, and I have lived through many more life experiences, both good and bad.
Vignettes of the mind — Lying on a cot in a silent old cloth mill looking at dusty sunbeams.
By: Shashi Sastry
Tags: Memories, Vignette, Nostalgia, Scenes, Short Form

Vignettes of the mind — Lying on a cot in a silent old cloth mill looking at dusty sunbeams.

Old part of Bombay. Defunct cotton mill, large and cavernous. Car left in a lane. Waiting alone in the mill for someone late. Supine on a wooden cot by the little office, hands behind head. Mill floor filled with silent machinery and looms, some tall, some meek, all dusty. A few sheet-covered hulks, others dark steel and yellowed belt intricacies. Ruined cobwebs. Faint smell of old oil mixed with dust. Quietude, world receded. Far above, gabled tin roof skylights. Beams of weak sunlight slanting down, pathways for ancient dust rising and falling lazily. Coos and flutters of pigeons unseen in steel girders. Tranquil and melancholy, with serene ghosts of the past. A museum of revoked purpose, now become nature. Peaceful as lying on a forest floor with sunshine through trees.
Unfortunately, one of the consequences of making returns so easy at big box stores and online
Tags: Shopping, Mail, Humor, Consumerism, Nostalgia

Unfortunately, one of the consequences of making returns so easy at big box stores and online mari ·Dec 14, 2020

is that customers will prefer to shop at Amazon or Target, etc. because they know they can painlessly return an item instead of shopping at a smaller, independently owned business. So those easy, bar-coded return policies have a dark side.
Snapping Out of Nostalgia
By: Toni Borkovic
Tags: Personal Development, Perspective Shift, Attachment, Nostalgia, Growth

When dwelling on the past becomes more than the frequent replaying of 13 Going On 30 and listening to our favorite angst-anthems, there could be an attachment that is to more than Mark Ruffalo swaying to Thriller.

In the events that our past ones come to haunt us: things we said or didn’t; off-foot beginnings or unhappy endings — it is all relative to our human experience of relishing in what we think we are going to relate to forever. If no other aspect of our lives retain the longevity such as nostalgia holds: is there a greater unpacking of regret and embarrassment in our previous actions than that of keeping our favorite rom-coms on loop can call out?

Could it be that we are too reliant on fictional arcs and antagonisms to be a filler for the dialogues we are avoiding reattempt of in the real world due to regret of past missteps: or is there the notion that we can never draw back from previous versions of ourselves enough to attempt a poke at the post-traumatic beast that is shame and fear?

Eventually, when we snap ourselves out of the nostalgic ruts that at one warm point served us the envy that is watching Jenna Rink: Big-Time Magazine Editor’s dreams of skipping the future come to fruition — are we still all too dependent on a figurative Wishing Dust that can erase our past turmoils, or at the very least, fast-forward us to our promising second-acts? Can everything in the past be considered a prequel rather the origin story of our unscripted insecurities?

Our attachment to nostalgia can only be selective if we are sensible in creating a detachment between the things we appreciate that have happened already, and a fear of what is coming next — although I think that is just called anticipation.

Maybe true nostalgia is finding acceptance of what is real that we cannot change; and what we can change was never a real threat to our present in the first place.
Forget Me Not: A Forgotten Entry in Tokyo
By: Hephzibah Cirene Ely
Tags: Tokyo, Filipino, Nostalgia, Travel, Japan

Using art to tell the stories of those who are yet to find their own voice
A Poem for Your Sunday: When Yesterday Was Today
By: Gregory D. Welch
Tags: Life, Poetry, Poetry Sunday, Nostalgia, Poem

Yesterday I took a time travelling trip

down the road called memory lane

it’s hard to believe 30 years or more

had passed since I visited these old friends

Ghosts in the cinematic sense

with addresses strange and wild

TV shows from the past

re-watched, re-visited, remembered

And the music that carries these old shows

what beautiful hauntings

as I relive the old years gone by

sure there’s a sting — nostalgia has a cost

But the beauty of those hauntings is worth it

it’s hard to believe that 30 or more years

have come and gone

when yesterday was today
I sure do, Jeremy!
By: Mauikai Gold D'Ala
Tags: Relatinships, Nostalgia, Self, Travel, Music

I sure do, Jeremy! It feels like forever ago now, but sometimes I miss having to stop the tape, put pieces of scotch tape over the two top corners of the tap to record the song I’ve been waiting for the radio to play so that I can catch the song (like a dream catcher of sorts) and play it over and over again until the lyrics and melodies & harmonies become forever imprinted on my brain 😜 Those would often my favorite memories of growing up in the 80s 😌

Great nostalgic read, even the reason for your departure to a city I’m still enchanted with today as I’m living in France – NOT the capital city, but an interesting culture to integrate with my Cuban marinade 😏
Holidays. Once a year I am reminded of my kin…
By: Justin Herrera
Tags: Holidays, Poetry, Strangers, Nostalgia, Family

On an empty stomach, I think

of the faces that I would see

when the air is filled with pine tree.

How eyes glisten from the lights that blink.

Once a year I am reminded of my kin.

Once a year I see those who I only associate with the holidays:

Friends of family, friends of friends, a second or third cousin,

The carolers from Palm Beach, and the Man dressed in red from Boston.

Once a year candlelit dinners fill our kitchen.

This year I am reminded of my species.

This year I see strangers who come together for the holidays:

The kebab cook who shares his mulled wine, the friendly teacher

who bought me chocolate, and the old Santa by Spätzlemacher.

This year I am alone with hundreds as we feast.

On an empty stomach, I think

of the faces that I will see

when the air fills with pine tree.

How eyes will glisten from the lights that blink.
Nostalgia
Tags: Nostalgia

in In Bitcoin We Trust
After 5 Long Years, I Let Go of My Father Figure.
By: Anirban Kar
Tags: Letting Go, Winter, Fiction, Nostalgia, Loss

After I had moved from a small homely town to an overwhelmingly chaotic metropolitan in 2008, I was scared like a lone injured puppy.

I was told the move was for my better academic prospect.

I later found out I was lied to!

The truth was, at the time, my parents were going through a troubled marriage. My mother wanted to stay away. She took me with her, causing me to leave my old simplistic life behind.

Though they sorted things out a few months after the move, it was too late to return. The semester at my new school had already begun. One would think it will be easier from that point since the parents have reconciled. But it went worse.

They deserted me on my own, refusing to acknowledge my anxiety and difficulty to cope up in this big new city.

They expected me to handle it like an adult when I was barely an early teenager.

Confused, distressed, I started becoming more and more hostile. I would scream, complaining about the move on every occasion, demanding to move back to my hometown. When it went offhand, I even smashed things and yelled out things I didn’t mean.

Underneath the raging fire of anger, disgust, I was a lonely, lost kid. When my own parents were failing to acknowledge it, an old warm stranger would see me as I was.

After two of my tutors left (due to my problematic behavior), he came to fill in.

“Can you count 100 to 1 as fast as you can count 1 to 100?”

It was the first thing he asked me during our first visit. He had thick black-framed glasses on his bright blue eyes, a snowy beard, and an assuring smirk. Moreover, his towering height along with his off-white shawl made him look like Dumbledore.

How did I feel when he took me under his wing?

Well, allow me to use a quote from The Great Gatsby.
I wait in my cage It is sunny outside The bars allow for the sun to come Through the dark glass I can sense the lines and their shadows But they are not there I wait in my cage It is chilly inside…
Tags: Film, Poetry, Thoughts, Nostalgia, Poem

I wait in my cage

It is sunny outside

The bars allow for the sun to come Through the dark glass

I can sense the lines and their shadows

But they are not there

I wait in my cage

It is chilly inside

My heart’s hand is warm

The other cold

Perfect balance for

Mixed feelings

Time will tell - show - heal



I wait in my cage

It is--

I don’t know what it is

But it is what it is

The waiting

The counting,

The feeling

The killing

Time;

Will tell

Will show

Will heal

I wait in my cage

It is time.
A letter to a soon-defunct address
By: Amari Low
Tags: Singapore, Raffles Girls School, Rgs, In Memoriam, Nostalgia

Reality check. My time at RGS wasn’t all smooth sailing. When I recall RGS, I see mostly storms. It was an overwhelming four years, through which I stumbled without knowing where I was headed. It turns out I was autistic without knowing it, weighed down by self-sabotaging tendencies, and I struggled with being hated without understanding why, and with hating myself so much I hurt myself (in punishment?), and with spats with teachers that often ended in punishments and admonishments that hardly felt real. It was all a part of it, growing up and realising hopelessness does exist.

But I remember the other things I dared to do, too, before the mortal anxiety and lasting consequences came. I wrote letters to crushes and folded them, corner to midline, corner to midline, slotting the corners into flaps. I stayed till the classroom was deserted so I could add paragraphs to my MapleStory fanfic epic without my parents’ knowledge. Sometimes, my friends and I collaboratively recited the periodic table during amphitheatre gatherings, naming successive elements until we reached roentgenium, the heaviest to have been synthesised back in 2010. Every afternoon, I’d detour to Block J to find my best friend. Sometimes we would head home via 190; sometimes we would conduct illegal — or shall I say legal — activities in the form of litigative VBA games on the school computers. I’d use the male bathroom on the regular, because I didn’t see the problem. Was that a sign?

It’s a palette of unplaceable colours, sounds and scents, each of which could set a thousand memories bursting into bloom in my mind. Good ones and bad ones. Falling asleep in the middle of Biology and waking up to an empty classroom, the lights all out. The drone of the counsellor as she proposed “holding my breath and counting to ten”, while I suffocated in her office’s perfume. Bawling in a bathroom stall, only to be tossed a note under the door from a stranger, folded into a paper airplane, with the message “everything will be okay” and a smiley face scrawled on it in red.

Event, place. Event, place. That’s how we tell stories. That’s how we situate memories. This happened in the east bathroom stall on the third floor outside my classroom, with the pink seats. That happened in the staff room on the second floor, and there was a little bell on the door that jingled when it was opened.

The place, the school, is an annotated map of remembrances. The place, the school, stood unshakeable, all our memories pinned to its walls. And I know I will find them there, if I just visited again. A stirring in a corner. A vision of an old day.

But the gates will be permanently shut by the time I come home.

When the lock is gone, the key is just a key, its shape remembering something that cannot be reverse-engineered.
why i’m trading my 11 pro max for the 12 mini
By: Saigon Garçon
Tags: Technology, Tech, iPhone, Apple, Nostalgia

I know you crave future nostalgia. Like you, I’ve already sacked 2020 and have thought up ways I’m going to love in 2021.

Frequently, nostalgia brings me back to the iPhone 5s where it defined my life in France. Many memories were created straight from a razor thin aluminum build that played Soundcloud mixes from mugs, captured drunk mishaps with quick clicks, and sent snappy texts with a single finger. Long nights, reliable battery, making it through wine and music, spring and summer, espressos and exams.

Phones are too big now. If I wanted a tablet, I would’ve gotten the iPad. But phones, in the tourbillon that I was thrown into with the mini monolith of the 5s, should convince you that memories can be made straight from your pocket with ease and light.

Currently, the 11 Pro Max is too much power for someone as average as me.
Abandoned Theatres | Nostalgia
By: Balaji Thangapandian
Tags: Madurai, Film, Standalone Theatre, Nostalgia, Abandoned Theatres

Abandoned Theatres | Nostalgia

Image: Madurai Ram Victoria Theatre 70mm

I wish I had the resources. I would never let a standalone theatre go obsolete, especially those located in Madurai. Not only did they grow cinema viewing but enlightened many. I'm one of those victims.

Deepa theatre was the first in Madurai to be equipped with Dolby sound in early 90s. It was shutdown, and converted into vehicle parking/ garage in mid 2000. I vividly remember watching Kuruthipunal, Dil To Pagal Hai, Border, Karuppuroja, Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge, Thunderbolt at Deepa in Dolby surround, and many other films only for the sound. Nostalgic.

Initially, 'Kuruthipunal' was released in Mathi theatre. It was mono sound. Incidentally, Deepa theatre released this film as a second release highlighting the theatre's Dolby Stereo Surround sound. That was the very first time in the early 90s, I was introduced to Dolby sound. The sequences where RPG launched had incredible surround effect. Almost everyone in theatre looked around if a real RPG was launched into the theatre. That's was the impact of Dolby and DTS sound systems when they were introduced in Madurai in early 90s.

I vividly remember Deepa theatre playing Hindi songs of Dilwale, Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, DilSe an hour prior to the show. People couldn't comprehend the sound experience. No one goes out for smoking. There was pin drop silence not when the actual feature film was on, but when the music/sound was played.

I recalled all these memories when I happen to enter the theatre again in 2016 disguised as a Documentarian.

------

This blog is not exhaustive. There will be addendums.

Authored by Balaji Thangapandian aka #BT - a spacefarer, who is also curious about film-making, connectivity technologies and military history.

mindofbt.blogspot.com

tbalajiocha@gmail.com

https://www.facebook.com/balaji.thangapandian

https://www.facebook.com/FilmTheorist/
TAKE ME BACK TO MY DREAM
By: Poonam Chawla
Tags: Dreams And Visions, Reflections, Nostalgia, Writing, Just A Thought

TAKE ME BACK TO MY DREAM

Time covers the distance

as the crow flies.

Memories take

a more circuitous route.

And

Dreams?

They do but

glimmer and fade like fireflies.

Take me back

to that moment –

the one right before

my expectations

were about to be met.

Take me back to that dream –

the one right before I knew

all dreams are pebbles

pinging in the well.

Alas!

I miss

the longing

the ache

the loneliness

of creation.

“I’m just a story written in your mind”.
Is There Something Weird About Nostalgia?
By: Gairika Mitra
Tags: Blog, Write, Blogging, Nostalgia, Writing

Is There Something Weird About Nostalgia?

To talk about the fact that nostalgia could be weird, is quite weird in itself, inn’it? Well, ever since we were kids, in all those literary texts that we read or came across we could think of those times when nostalgia would often be personified, and with every favourite phrase of ours, or humming a favourite line, or sipping on a favourite line, we’d be exclaiming remarks of nostalgia, and even perhaps exhaling the same.

Talking of the favourite phrase, for me, it’d be “Horns of a Dilemma”, one that I had read during my early second language classes. Now, this wasn’t a chapter from my hefty English Literature, this was from a famous Bengali short story, named “Mastermoshai”, the literal translation of which stands for The Teacher.

No matter the umpteen number of times, I’d be uttering the phrase from my mouth, I’d always be ending up adding the word nostalgia, or whichever figures of speech would that be adding up to. Nostalgic, would usually be topping the list, with it being used for the most number of times.

No, please be rest assured that as I pen, rather type this down, I don’t feel any nostalgia and that it’s just merely for understanding purposes that nostalgia is being allowed to be post-mortemed here. Getting to the weird part now, well it might be said that it’s often from the opinion of others do you get to understand that nostalgia could turn weird as well.

The other day, I recall humming this tune, “Country roads, take me home”, the one by the very famous and very talented John Denver that used some fabulous lyrics, especially reminding you of all your fantastic road trips, when you realised that more than listening to the song, you are just blurting out your own experiences.

The realisation didn’t come out as naturally as I am mentioning it here, it came only after someone did actually point it out to me. Thing is, to me the concept didn’t sound as strange and uncanny as it did to the others, but just that the weirdness still remains. Am sure it has gotten something to do with my previous anecdote, which I’d be referring to, and would be fervently using it, whenever and however, as I pleased.

Another story from my life says that the last time I managed to make an egg Xacuti curry before anyone could actually taste it, I began reminiscing about my trip to Goa, where we were sitting by the shacks, looking at the irregular crests and troughs of the giant sea ahead, talking about how far did we actually reach, and how much more did we have to cross, before we call it quits. Just then, as I about to talk about how we did walk on the sand barefoot, I could hear a voice tell me, “Well, yes of course, we are aware of your solitary contemplations. As of now, could we please focus on the Xacuti curry?”

Nostalgias are weird? Perhaps.
Christmas
By: Christine Frances Annette Andrews
Tags: Christmas, Poetry, Family, Nostalgia

Photo by Алсу Ягудина on Unsplash

As the days shorten, the weather turns cold,

We look forward to Christmas, the young and the old.

Some reason for cheer, to gather and play,

Presents to buy, for this special day.

The children are blind, to all of the fuss,

We keep Santa’s secret; it is only US!

Elders talk of years gone by,

Things not the same, I hear them sigh.

Where’s the log fire? Where’s the real tree?

They tell children stories of how it would be.

Nuts and an orange, were what Santa brought,

Not Toys and Games of every sort.

The children laugh with merry cheer,

They hear the same story every year.

Now I am roasting, out on the deck,

Surrounded by family, what the heck?

I was having a, well earned, rest,

I was woken by a mozzie pest.

“Christmas in England” I begin to say.

“Oh! Mum you tell us this story,

Every Christmas Day!”
Window Drama
By: Ana-Maria Schweitzer
Tags: Poetry On Medium, Sharethelove, Poetry, Nostalgia, Loneliness

Window Drama

Photo by Rhendi Rukmana on Unsplash

you press your forehead

against the cold window glass

while your hands hold with a tight grip

the hot metal of the radiator

outside no one notices

the steam your breath projects onto the glass

it is only you

and your breath

fixated on the window

like a painting

in a frame

if you keep this position long enough

maybe someone will stop

and raise the eyes

towards the silent showcase

or maybe no one will notice

the Morse signals

your breath is drawing

while your hands are getting

warmer and warmer

short term actor

of a window drama

say goodbye

the curtain will soon cover

this story

while raindrops

will clean the glass

on the other side.
Dancing With Your Ghost
Tags: Blue Insights, Poetry, Nostalgia, Sadness, Ghosts

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Many Miserable Returns
By: Bev Potter
Tags: Humor, Gifts, Nostalgia, Mail

When I was a kid, returning something in the mail was a big, fat pain in the ass. You only returned something if there was absolutely, for sure, 100%, no way you could wear it, even if you lost/gained 10 pounds or started binding your feet like a Japanese concubine.

First of all, you couldn’t return items in just any old thing you had lying around. It had to be a box, and preferably the box the item came in. (That’s why boomers never throw boxes away. They always have one room in the house that’s dedicated solely to the storage of empty boxes).

Then, once you packed the item neatly, neatly into the box, it had to be tied with string. Where did people even get string? Maybe at the sundries shop down by the saloon. They could pick up a big ball of string while they were buying 20-pound bags of flour and some stick candy.

And the shipping. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, the shipping. It used to cost as much as the thing you bought when you had to send it back because it only had one armhole and was fabricated from some sheep by-product that made you break out in hives. It didn’t matter that that wasn’t your fault. You paid the shipping. That’ll be $42.95.

And then you had to traipse to the post office and stand in line so long you started to think about settling down and starting a family right there in the lobby. “We can put the baby’s crib next to the ashtray.”

The other day, I took a return package to the post office for my boss. He “packaged” whatever it was (if I can even use that term) in the bag it came in, which looked like it had been mauled by wild animals and then burned. He had bound and gagged the bag with packing tape, and then slapped a wrinkled shipping label on the top? the side? with more packing tape.

I hefted this mummified matzo ball, drove to the post office, and pitched it into a giant metal maw that reminded me of the trash compactor in Star Wars.

And then I left, no human interaction required.

It’s the little things, like easily returning stuff you shouldn’t have bought in the first place, and then ordering more stuff you don’t need on your phone while you sit on the toilet that really makes you appreciate life in the 21st century.
Why do I like cooking Plov in a different ways?
Tags: Rice, Food, Cooking, Nostalgia, Tradition

PLOV is a national dish in Uzbekistan made out of meat, onions, carrots, rice, oil and spices. Depending on which type of rice you use, how much spices you put and how long you fry it etc you can have an absolutely different result. Uzbek language defines a wedding (or festive) plov — then exceptionally rich one, with the light color, lots of turmeric and sweet raisins. It looks festive, it tastes divine. Traditionally wedding plov is cooked in a HUGE pots, for a special occasions like weddings, anniversaries, or even a memorial events. At least, this how it was before we got to know COVID-19. There 800 people eating 300 kg of TOY OSHI — at my wedding, for example.

Photo from China Daily

Next is chayhana plov — the dark one with an earthy and slightly bitter taste, coming for nearly burnt onions and lamb lard. The special sort of darkish rice and loads of oil makes it really brutal. And yummy=) There is a disadvantage though — they say you do need some vodka and salty onions on the side, in order to digest it… I have only tried a green tea, as a digestive- it was still a challenge.

Plov on a linseed oil is a fancy version they usually cook in a famous “zigir osh” places for lunch. Again, big pots, big crowds to taste it, and a slightly more coast per portion due to the higher cost of the oil itself. It has a super dark color and nearly black stain on the plate, in case you manage to finish it.

I could talk much longer, as a plov eater with a long experience and passion (I have made my bachelor degree during (or maybe DUE TO) 4 years DAILY plov at the University in Tashkent)- about the differences and qualities of a plov types. But coming back to a question in a title “why do I like cooking the same dish in a different ways” I want to finish this post with a very special “mums plov”. As neary any woman living in Uzbekistan has her own original recipe, with her own little secrets to have her plov special and yummy. And when I am nostalgic of my childhood, or my parents house- I cook my mums plov. Not a wedding one — which is number one for me, not my own, which is number one for my kids(and super healthy, by the way, as made on extra virgin olive oil and minimal frying , not the one with stuffed wine leaves, which has a slight sour taste and aroma of early spring in Tashkent, and not even the one with quince which smells like uzbek winter.

And it is simple, with minimum spices, without the chickpeas or even risings. But surely with a marinated cucumbers on the side. And no, my mum doesn’t drink vodka :P
The Significance Of Memories
By: Maheen Rehan
Tags: Living With Purpose, Memories, Life, Nostalgia

Things might seem to act very intriguingly here, as you suppose your brain like a fabulous processing unit of your very own computer! When you save a file, you expect it to appear in your saved items immediately, the next day as you log in. Similarly, as your brain identifies an important piece of information from a specific event that just took place, it saves it in the memory center so that it does not gets lost. In biological terms, we commonly identify this ‘ Memory Center’ as the ‘Grey matter’ of the brain which is held responsible to store and process memories.

We have both good and bad memories. They don’t follow a particular time to remind you an event, therefore amid studying important notes, you are most likely to involve in recalling past memories and suffer distraction. This is natural but have you ever noticed you recall more embarrassing and bad memories than good and happy memories sometimes?

This is because scientifically, the more bad a memory is, the more recalling power it has than the good ones.

There are countless ways memory helps us survive. Living life could have been critical if memories didn’t exist. Why? Because the memory we store from our past, all the loads of information that our brain keeps help us remember past things all way down to our present and future. Frequently, we would have faced difficulty remembering people’s faces, even of our own parents! In addition, we would have not been able to improve our lives as human beings. For instance, if we did not remember mistakes we made from the past, we were more likely to repeat them and learn nothing from them. We would have been unable to recall phases of our lifetime and emotions associated with them. We would have been more like emotionless, stone-heart statues with no life in them. We would have been anonymous to ourselves, knowing nothing about our lifetime spent. Our childhood pictures would have been no use to remind us the golden days we spent, the cuddles we had with our grand parents and give us a nostalgic drive from the past. All the moments we spend, would have been meaningless if they were not to saved in the memory box of our brain.

Wrapping up, we should be very grateful to God for making emotional moments save in a small part of the very complex brain in the form of precious memories as they are very significant during the whole life span.

“There are memories that time does not erase… Forever does not make loss forgettable, only bearable.”

― Cassandra Clare, City of Heavenly Fire

KEEP MAKING MEMORIES!
Will We Have Vintage Gadgets In The Future?
By: Itspmagazine Podcast
Tags: Artificial Intelligence, Technology, Vintage, Internet, Nostalgia

Nostalgia is not as good as it used to be. 😬 Each generation talks about the “good ole days” and how life was simpler, better; even the toys were so much simpler and more fun back then. Then technology kicked in — what’s up next?

From manual to mechanical; kinetic to electronic; analog to digital; calculator to a personal computer; telephone to the Internet — “real” reality to virtual and augmented versions, human intelligence to artificial intelligence — and everything in between, and beyond.

Lately, each generation has found itself in the middle of some technological transformation. In the past 70 years, this has happened more often, and it has affected our society and personal everyday life in much more profound and significant ways.

In the 80s, many exceptional transformations took place — we could consider it the portal that brought us in direct contact with the modern digital technology age. Faster than any past transformation before, our work, family, friends, and personal lives changed in front of our own eyes and opened the way to an unstoppable and constant change. Moore’s law can give an idea of the magnitude here, but it may miss the full extent of today’s technological evolution.

We start the conversation today by looking back at the many electronic gadgets, our first electronic games, Walkman’s, digital watches, and the first computers of our younger age. Then we try to understand what made them so unique and so magical to have captured our attention at the time; in many cases, they actually shaped our future professional lives.

Will the young generations of today look back at a smartphone the same way we look at a VHS player back then? What made that technology so unique? What makes vintage electronics and gadgets still capture our attention and the desire to bring those back into our lives even today. Maybe even more than ever.

This is where technology and life meet, but we promise that these conversations will not stop here. We do not know where they will go, but if you stay tuned, you will know when we do.
Some Things Never Existed
By: Efa Ra
Tags: Some Things Never Change, Some Things Never Existed, Unbearable Lightness, Nostalgia

Jakarta, 11–3–2020

Drown into the desire for constant excitement

Driven by her insatiable need for admiration

Lacked the core of sureness

Yet, she’d die every night

Just to let her breathe, once again, in the reflection of his eyes

“Something’s up, isn’t it?” — She needed not be concerned.

Something about the way he looked at her. Something about the way he took over small gestures from her.

There were times when she’d forget everything though they were brave, and it would be for a time as though he had never existed.

And, there came some passing… fortuitous gestures of beings, like, coincidence of names, or hair like his, would revoke his existence — and the unbearable lightness of being, too.

She’d beg, somehow, to watch or stumble upon him again.

Or, maybe not at all.
Joy Delivered
By: Austin Bonds
Tags: Joy, Christmas, Nostalgia, Jesus, Hope

Joy Delivered

People love nostalgia.

I planned to begin this article with a warm, cozy look at the history of the Sears Wish Book. But this is 2020, so if you’d like to reclaim a piece of your youth, drop by eBay for a moment and buy one before continuing this piece.

I remember thumbing through the Wish Book in the late 1980s, likely fixating on the glossy pages adorned with Transformers, Micro Machines, Popples, and Legos. Sadly, the Wish Book is no more (along with Sears).

Enter Amazon. In early November, we received their Holiday Wish Book. 92 pages of gifts that kids and adults alike will love. Naturally, I gravitated towards the video games, namely the Nintendo Switch; my son landed on Paw Patrol, Doc McStuffins, and trains.

As a kid, I loved getting stuff at Christmas; as an adult, I love hearing the story of Christmas. My hope dimmed quite a bit this year. The inner light languished under the COVID-19 pandemic, national reckoning with systemic racism, a contested election, and the fresh stress of parenting a second child.

Frankly, this year is shit. That’s my summation of 2020. My anger and angst and exhaustion in a single word.

However, I’m so grateful for the days I open the YouVersion Bible app and the daily verse resonates with heartening strength that drops from the heavens like a restoring rain. Consider this morning’s reminder: “Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer,” writes Paul. I’m clinging to this supernatural imperative every day, from a book that won’t fail like the Sears Christmas catalog.

Be joyful. Be purposeful. Be faithful.

Hope reminds me of a potent, reassuring line from “O Holy Night,” the popular carol written by French composer by Adolphe Adam in 1847.

“A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices.”

Not hope in a new president or a vaccine or a Nintendo Switch or a Tesla or a dollar bill or social media or even a close relationship.

But Jesus. Hope in Jesus. God in human form who came to earth, died on a cross, vanquished death, and restored me to God.

“Nothing gold can stay,” writes the poet Robert Frost. Except Jesus. Jesus stays and advocates for wounded, weary people aching for a hope that thrills the soul towards complete restoration with the Almighty. Just like Linus-blue blanket in hand- said as he asked for dimmed lights on the stage:

“For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.”

Jesus Christ is Lord.

Jesus is joy.

Joy delivered.

Photo courtesy of Denise Johnson

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WAS & HOPE
Tags: Regret, Self Love, Hope, Nostalgia

A simple 3 letters, whenever you put it will give you that nostalgic feeling it can take you far away as it can make you fall down in your deepest regrets or realisations.

Getting lost in between I hope that I can do … and hope that I’ve done it, splitting yourself into regretting the past and hoping for the future but forgetting that your NOW is your past hoped future and will be your regretted past.

Why start griefing while you can live each moment at the right time, it’s not easy since we all keep thinking of the past to learn from it so we can avoid it in the future, but we forget that we have a limited time in this world and if we didn’t answer in the right time there is no point of all those lessons it’s already late.

You have the right to experience and express all of your feelings, sadness, happiness, even madness … but don’t let it grab you down, remember you have a life and you are the only one who can live it and take control of it.

Open your arms to your life, accept it, control it, design it, and be the one you’ve always wanted to be …….
40 Years Ago Today: Remembering John Lennon
By: Ed Newman
Tags: Memories, History, Beatles, Nostalgia, Pop Culture

BEATLES

40 Years Ago Today: Remembering John Lennon

Photo courtesy Gary Firstenberg

The amazing thing about the Beatles was how remarkable each one was as an individual. When they finally broke up and went their separate ways after Let It Be, it became apparent that The Beatles of the Sixties was just a launch pad for each of their different futures.

There was a sense in which I related to each of their paths. Paul formed Wings because he enjoyed the performance of his art. George was freed to allow his spiritual quest to continue to flower. Ringo must have enjoyed being celebrity because we soon saw him in Hollywood.

John went further inward, seeking treatment for his inner pain through Primal Therapy, and outwardly expressing the themes he found there, Yoko by his side. “Give Peace a Chance” became a mantra for all who were weary of the Vietnam War. He asked us to “imagine all the people living life in peace” in another of his songs that became an anthem.
Los fantasmas que recuerdan con nostalgia
By: Larissa Olvera
Tags: Fantasma, Arte Contemporanea, Literatura, Nostalgia, Fotografia

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Can you drink coffee on a ketogenic diet ?
Tags: Ketogenic Diet, Coffee, Keto Diet

# 1 CAFFEINE BOOSTS GLYCEMIA

For most people, caffeine causes blood sugar levels to rise — that’s exactly what you don’t want on a ketogenic diet, since it kicks you out of ketosis.

If you are not convinced, I invite you to test yourself with your blood glucose meter: take your blood sugar 10 minutes before and 20 minutes after coffee. If your blood sugar has not moved and is low, fine for you, but in reality the occurrence is rather rare, as many people are very sensitive to caffeine without even knowing it.

I agree with you: everyone is different, and everyone reacts differently to the same substance, and yet, if you want to avoid problems: test for yourself, for yourself!

# 2 CAFFEINE AFFECTS CORTISOL

The main problem with coffee remains its detrimental impact on the production of cortisol. You should know that in most of us, cortisol is already out of order, it is already overproduced, and our adrenal glands are already tired from this overproduction . Adrenal fatigue and the overproduction of cortisol are MAJOR factors that block keto-adaptation!

In addition, caffeine has a direct effect on stress and the production of cortisol (the stress hormone). In fact, caffeine works on the adrenal glands because it causes them to produce a lot of adrenaline and a lot of cortisol.

Not only does the overproduction of cortisol cause inflammation (which blocks keto-adaptation), it can also disrupt the production of estrogen and testosterone. (Testosterone decreases and estrogen increases).

And finally, the circle is infinite: caffeine stimulates the production of adrenaline by the adrenals, suddenly, we are excited but the body is tired, the organism no longer finds its homeostatic balance and no longer knows how to provide energy (apart from stimulating the adrenal glands !!). Suddenly, the snake dies its tail: you need more caffeine, to have an adrenaline rush again.

# 3 CAFFEINE IS DIURETIC

Coffee is a strong diuretic. That is to say that by drinking, we become very dehydrated , and suddenly, we tend to demineralize. Ultimately , minerals such as iron, magnesium, potassium will have a hard time being absorbed, which will cause discomfort such as headaches, cramps, fatigue, nausea, etc.

And I’m not even talking about the fact that who says dehydration means difficulty in metabolizing fat …
Guide to coffee freshness Gwilym Davies
By: Keith Parkins
Tags: Storing Coffee, Coffee Shop, Coffee, Coffee Freshness, Coffee Roasters

Guide to coffee freshness Gwilym Davies

Interesting point the age of the coffee depends upon whether used for espresso or filter coffee, different degrees of freshness suits different brewing methods. Use first for pour over then for espresso. Not a concept I have come across before.

filter 5–14 days

espresso 14–21 days

For brewing at home, always check the roast date when buying, buy the most recent roast date, we can always leave to rest when too fresh.

Which in turn implies, buy from a coffee shop where they know and care about coffee, or direct from the roastery.

In Coffee Aroma prominently displayed when the coffee served was roasted.

How we store our coffee is also important. Gwilym Davies has stored in the coffee bag in which the coffee was shipped. I would recommend squeeze the bag to ensure the air is squeezed out, then seal the bag.

When next in a coffee shop at the end of the day, when they are shutting down and cleaning their espresso machine, check if they empty the coffee beans from the grinders into airtight containers. If not, ask why not? Beans left overnight in the hopper will oxidise.

Do not buy the coffee beans from a zero waste shop where the beans are loose, as they will oxidise and have lost their aroma, equally likely absence of information on the beans, lack of roast date or where roasted, nothing on the provenance of the beans.

Somewhat depressing this was how I found the coffee beans on sale in Lincoln Eco Pantry, the beans loose in tins, shipped from the roastery in plastic boxes, then bagged in brown paper bags. Unfortunately Lincoln Eco Pantry not the only ones following this bad practice. It is OK to ship loose beans to a local coffee shop where they will be used in half a day. Not OK for a zero waste shop, scooping out loose beans, what is one sale will be stale oxidised beans.
That Time I Forgot What Milk Was
By: Alana Schwartz
Tags: Jet Lag, Kosher, Non Dairy, Coffee, Brainfart

I’m supposed to be lesson planning so of course instead I am on Facebook. Here is a fun story that I blame on lack of sleep and forgetting the English word for ‘parve’ (non-dairy). Unfortunately, my friend Kathryn was there as well to witness my brainfart; otherwise this would have been a story of me being jetlagged in an airport.

I had flown in from somewhere to NY. It could have been Israel, or Denver, but I cannot remember because all I remember is my need for coffee. So my friend meets in Starbucks. Was this at the airport? I bet coffee places in airports have way weirder stories than other coffee places just because people are so out of it when they’re jetlagged.

Anyway, because I’m lactose intolerant, I am used to ordering parve milk. This is easy to do in Israel where you just say the word parve or just soy milk and they say sure and sometimes during summer vacation their 8-year-old sons are working there and taking orders and you are just astounded at seeing this 3rd grader efficiently operating a full-blown espresso machine.

Anyway, since this was NY and people actually follow child-labor laws, an adult asks me what I want and my friend is with me and I say can I get a coffee with soy milk and then the barista goes, “We don’t have soy milk” and my mind goes blank because I just need any kind of non-dairy product. But my sleepy brain instead was just like no soy milk??? NO SOY MILK? WHAT IS THE WORD FOR PARVE??

Instead I ask, “What kind of milk do you have?”

I think that’s a pretty brilliant question.

So then the barista goes, “We have whole milk,” which my jetlagged brain just did not process. Isn’t milk always whole milk? All of the milk is entirely milk?? When is it not milk??

Then my friend goes, “My friend can’t have milk, because she’s lactose intolerant, do you have any milk alternatives?”

So I think in the end I got some kind of (parve) coffee creamer.

Basically words are hard when you’re tired.
5 คาเฟ่ สุดชิล วิวหลักล้าน!ในอ.สิชล ไม่มาถือว่าพลาด
By: ว ยร, นพ ลว ลล า
Tags: Coffee, Chill, Cafe

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