LAYLA:
I was anticipating the chapter on Memory to be framed in a more conventional, human-centric way. Instead Whyte zooms all the way out and writes about the concept of Memory, rather than focusing solely on memory recall.
“A full inhabitation of memory makes human beings conscious, a living connection between what has been, what is and what is about to be.”
Whyte describes it so beautifully and philosophically that I had very little to add. So I let his reflections lead me to my own musings on the word, which did involve memory recall.
Our memory isn’t fixed or solid. It moves like a current, changes like quicksand, and adapts to our mercurial moods: a shapeshifting life companion fused to our side. Depending on our present mindset, memories can be a source of great comfort, excitement, gratitude or else fear, anger and fuel with which to torture ourselves (and others).  
The way we remember a particular event or period of time drastically changes based on where we’re currently at in our lives. We can cast a rosy glow on what came before or colour it all with miserable brushstrokes.  In fact, how we recall a memory can be one of the biggest indicators of personal growth. The same memory remembered one year, two years, ten years apart can affect us in completely different ways.
A memory that once brought intense pain can become bittersweet, letting a smile come through the tears. One that gave a squirming sense of shame can become funny. One that once inspired self-loathing can flood us with empathy: for our past selves, for others, for human frailty and complexity. Lessons learned and integrated.
With the passing of time, even the sharp edges of traumatic memories can begin to blunt.
There will come a day when our choices, our passions, our feelings, our legacies, will all become memory. First in the minds of our loved-ones, and after they too are gone, in matter itself, transcending human consciousness.

PATRIZIA:
“Memory,” writes Whyte, “is the living link to personal freedom.” I hadn’t even finished reading this definition when a siren started blaring in my head. Why? Because the idea of memory as a liberating force clashes directly with what Daniel Khaneman asserts in Thinking, Fast and Slow, my personal bible.
Let me explain the concept simply and concisely. Our consciousness, Khaneman suggests, is composed of two “selves”: the experiencing self and the remembering self. The first is the protagonist living in the moment, physically and mentally perceiving everything happening inside and outside of us. The second is the director: it decides which scenes to cut, which to keep, and how to edit them to construct the narrative of our lived experience. This narrative is then handed over to memory, which informs how we view the past and imagine the future, all while making decisions in the present.
True power, therefore, is wielded by the remembering self, often at the expense of the experiencing self.
“What we learn from the past is to maximize the qualities of our future memories, not necessarily of our future experience. This is the tyranny of the remembering self.”
“Strangely enough, I am my remembering self, and the experiencing self, who does my living, is like a stranger to me.”
As proof of this theory, Kahneman presents the results of various studies which I won’t detail here; instead, I strongly recommend reading his book.
However, if you want to grasp just how much the remembering self dominates the experiencing self, try answering this simple question: Imagine you have to choose between a pleasant, fun, and relaxing vacation that you will remember and share for decades to come, and an extraordinary vacation filled with unique and fantastic experiences of which, upon your return, no trace would remain in your memory—nothing to recall, nothing to share, as if it had never happened. Now, which of the two would you choose?

BRUNELLA:
Memory is the most important and ingenious cognitive ability we have inherited, a precious gift shared by animals. Its workings are complex and still not fully understood by science. The depth and intricacy of how it operates is astonishing: encoding, consolidating, storing, retrieving.
For Whyte, memory is a pulse running through all of created life; a wave, a continuous “then” that generates an ongoing “now.” It creates itself through experience, settles in the mind, and then radiates outward, forming a living connection between what has been, what is, and what will be.
Memory shapes every aspect of our lives: there is no action or behaviour without it. Solid or elusive, vivid or blurred, complete or partial, accurate or distorted; memory works tirelessly and shapes both our personality and character. So alive and powerful, it also has a quiet way of regulating itself: forgetting.
I’ve been blessed with a good, vivid memory, and yet I’ve always been deeply afraid of losing it. Maybe this fear goes back to my childhood. At the time, the “smemorato di Collegno” was constantly in the news- a strange case of an unidentified man with two competing identities, a kind of living “Who is he?” mystery. On top of that, my closest childhood friend had an aunt who had lost her memory and behaved in alarming ways.
In memory, one can float, drown, disappear (as Whyte says). To lose memory is to lose oneself. Can you live without memory? At my age, I find myself unsettled by the occasional gaps in my memory- maybe they’re due to lack of sleep, tiredness, age- but what if they’re hiding something more?
I make an effort to train my memory, and I remind myself that it’s also helped by physical activity, a healthy diet, and enough sleep. Fortunately, tobacco, alcohol and drugs- which can seriously damage memory- have never been part of my life.
The past has made me who I am, and the present brings it back to life through memory. I live among memories, because every object in my home carries a story, a recollection; and whenever I want to go back in time, there are photo albums or old records to listen to.
It is memory that keeps alive those who are no longer here.