What are we but a collection of memories? Not much. A body, some desires, occasional suffering and joy.
The memories give context to everything else. Change them, and you change everything.
This is why my chronic illness is so terrifying. It’s in my brain. Literal brain damage. It’s being treated, but I wake up every day with a low lying terror that I have forgotten something important.
A human that is cisgender would be cool.
Honestly though, how would I appreciate it if I don’t keep memories?