Forgetting To Forgive

When it comes to grudges, I've got memory like an elephant who'd watched its entire family slaughtered by human poachers for their ivory tusks. Doesn't matter that I failed 'O' Level History because I just couldn't remember dates and names and events, or that I can barely recall what I had for breakfast that morning most of the time - when it comes to grudges, I can bear 'em like nobody can.

Remembering a grudge - bearing one - always remind me of my primary school days when, during chapel, some teacher would be expounding on the importance of forgiveness. She (whichever teacher it was saddled with chapel duty) would always remind us that, "If you've forgiven, you'd have forgotten. You can't forgive and not forget. If you can't forget, then you have not forgiven."

I always had a problem with that: I thought I really could forgive; I just could never forget. Does that then mean I really couldn't ever forgive?

These coupla days, however, I've realized that's a-okay.

Because when it comes to forgiving and forgetting, the one person I can never forget (or forgive) is me.

So I guess it's all right, then.