The trope of memory loss in media, though overused, has always fascinated and frightened me. The idea of losing your memories—the very things that make  you the person you are—and becoming completely unaware of your identity in an instant sounds terrifying.

As I see the amnesia-afflicted protagonist scramble to piece together who they are from little notes their past self left for them, sometimes I wonder: what kind of notes would I leave for myself?

So, allowing a little suspension of belief (because, really, would I still be at college if I couldn’t remember things for longer than an hour?), here are six of the most essential pieces of information I would need to—

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Note #1: Your memory only lasts an hour. Your name is Daphne Cao and…

Let’s get the technicalities out of the way. Nobody wants to suddenly find themselves unable to recall who or where they are or how they got here.

It’s a cliché of the memory loss trope, but informing my memory-less self of basic biographical information, like name, age, birthday, usernames/emails, social security number, and passwords, is pretty crucial. And, honestly, I’m sure I could work out any of the missing information if I had full access to my phone and computer.

Granted, if I wrote all of that down on one note, I’d probably spend all my time fighting off everything from identity theft and credit card fraud to my emails getting used for someone’s tenth free seven-day trial, so perhaps I’d give this note to a trusted person to keep safe…

Note #2: You’re concentrating in English and you live in New York (no, not like the city— you’re from the suburbs, about a 40-minute drive away).

Now what would I do if I couldn’t answer the obligatory “What are you concentrating in? Where are you from?” icebreaker whenever I meet someone new or am supposed to introduce myself in a seminar class? I may be unable to remember any new people I meet with this memory loss, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be cordial with the foolproof, I-have-no-idea-what-else-to-say-but-don’t-want-awkward-silence college small talk.

Note #3: Your 10 closest friends are…

Censoring the second half of this note to avoid any possible tension with those who didn’t make the cut, I’m sure my amnesia-afflicted self would want to know how familiar they are with the people around them.

Although done semi-subconsciously, I know I become a completely different person when I’m talking with my closest friends compared to passing acquaintances. I can’t imagine the embarrassment I would feel if I used an inside joke I had with one friend group with another. Or, worse, if I brought up a get-together to someone who wasn’t invited to it (which, shamefully, has happened even with all my memories intact).

In essence, this note is just a reminder to myself that these people know me enough that I can let loose, no filter required.

Note #4: You have a mom, a dad, and two siblings. Make sure to text and call them back.

In a similar vein to the last note, I’d like to at least have basic information on the people I’m closest to. On top of that, I think they’d want to know that I’m doing alright even while away at college with memory loss.

I already have too many accidentally missed calls and texts from my parents even with my memory, and I don’t need that number to increase.

Note #5: DON’T eat at the Ratty.

Look, the Ratty is the most convenient option for a Keeney resident like me and, granted, hiking all the way to the other side of campus just to get a half-decent meal is less than appealing. And, really, you can get used to the underseasoned meat and suspiciously oily vegetables and either not-quite-ripe or just-beginning-to-rot fruit after a while because, frankly, that’s the best you’re gonna get at a college dining hall.

But while my tastebuds can become accustomed to Ratty food, my stomach refuses to agree with it. I’ve spent enough time trying to focus on my work due that night or what my friend is saying to me while my stomach feels like it’s a ticking time bomb.

So, honestly, I’ll gladly take the hike when the Ivy Room is closed or getting old.

Note #6: You love to write and are committed to writing a page a day, so don’t forget to.

What would I be if not a person defined by their passions? 

Okay, kind of a lie. The first half is definitely true, but saying I’m committed to writing a page a day is a bit of a stretch; it’s more like semi-committed-when-I-feel-like-it-and-have-the-time.

But if I’m going to suffer from memory loss, I may as well try to take advantage of it as much as possible. Perhaps the illusion of momentum will be enough for me to turn that semi-commitment to real commitment just as long as my memory-less self doesn’t realize there’s a suspicious lack of these supposed “one page a day” writing pieces.

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Overall, it’s hard to narrow down all the necessary information you would need to know if you suddenly couldn’t recall a single thing about yourself. Certainly, if I lost my memories and all my past self had left were these six notes, I’d be cursing myself out in my head for missing plenty of important details.

Like, thanks for telling me to not eat at the Ratty, but what even are the other dining halls? How do I get there? Where do I keep my room key? Or even my ID for that matter? Do I really have to walk up that giant hill just to get back onto campus? Also, what the hell is a plane tangent to a curve and why did I leave all my readings for the night before they’re due???

Amusing irritations aside, I know that, more than anything, I would miss the people I’m close to the most. Though this list started as just a silly idea, considering what would really be the most important pieces of information has made me think about what I value most in life. And, yeah, it may be as cliché as the amnesia trope itself, but it really is the moments and memories I’ve made with those I love.

So, hopefully, I won’t need to utilize this list anytime soon. (Knock on wood!)