I’ve been making memories all my life. Videos of my first steps, the family holiday in Israel, my role as Gratiano in the school play. Then came my graduation, our wedding, that incredible boozy fortnight in Magaluf. And on and on. They told us the memories would live forever, digital ghosts on distant servers that our descendants could watch.
Over and over, I parse the e-mail from the Home Office. “Storage maximum has been reached globally. All citizens are required to delete 50% of their data.”
What to amputate?