<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><channel><title>Memory on Romit Raj</title><link>https://www.romitraj.com/tags/memory/</link><description>Recent content in Memory on Romit Raj</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en</language><lastBuildDate>Wed, 30 Sep 2026 00:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://www.romitraj.com/tags/memory/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>What my agent remembers, and where it keeps it</title><link>https://www.romitraj.com/posts/2026-09-30-what-my-agent-remembers/</link><pubDate>Wed, 30 Sep 2026 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>https://www.romitraj.com/posts/2026-09-30-what-my-agent-remembers/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;Ted Lasso recommends being a goldfish. It is, he says, the happiest animal alive: it forgets everything in ten seconds and moves on. My agent took that advice. Hermes is a goldfish — every conversation starts from zero, and anything it &amp;ldquo;knows&amp;rdquo; about me is either written into the prompt or fetched from somewhere else. And for a while I was one too: it would ask me again about things we had settled a week ago, and I would explain them again, from the beginning. The difference between us is that I could do something about it. So I spent a few weeks giving it a memory. We are goldfish, the agent and I, but only one of us was going to stay that way. This is what I learned about the options, what each of them actually means, and the architecture I ended up with.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>