I have reached that age where the memories of my twenties, when they come back to me, are an epiphany, a shock, like when one suddenly sees a memory of one's early childhood that one had not thought of for an eternity, in all its vividness. My twenties seem to me as distant, as unreal, as mythical, as ideal, as my early childhood. I am rediscovering whole sections of my life and my personality like an amnesiac who has been given his photo album and diaries after leaving the hospital. Another observation: at each age, we give a different order of priority to the past ages of our lives. My most cherished or haunting memories at 20 or 30 are not the same as they are today, and that's probably a given, but it sometimes makes me wonder how much nostalgia is "sincere"? What exactly it means.