Memory Practice 4


'I realised that the things I once thought were clear can never be rebuilt. They had already
caused me to lose Icarus’s wings. After losing those wings, I saw a part of life that was not
truly mine.'

In this ashen weather, their thoughts drift toward the shadowy imagination. Sometimes, the death
eats their anxieties. They may shake off their unease by forming relationships with a medium that
creates memories of today. How many days in this place can they completely feel free? It is the
most unattainable thing for them. No one knows how our everyday changes anomalously, and the
comfort they can offer one another in the face of the fragility is limited.

During the long, colourless hours, they take their breath away in the countless choices. In their
choices, there are no ideal and irrational forms. The best choice for them is simply to
keep moving forward. Their letter may mean like that. If they cannot continue doing something,
they will easily lose themselves. Their conversation throws questions about the detachment from
death, the precariousness of the memory in front of death, the falsehood of clarity, and the
ambiguity in the pursuit of meaning in life. However, perhaps all of this is merely the act of
staying awake —if only for a moment longer.

Staying awake still means there is something to be filled in this moment. Finding something new
in the complete state is impossible for them. It has always been like that. Sharing the
incompleteness seems unfamiliar to them. It is the act of sharing that incompleteness brings
people closer together when all of the completeness comes down. They imagine the idea of
completeness but are merely an escape from their incompleteness. When they finally choose
completeness, it inevitably brings about another incompleteness.

'So, I’ve been thinking about how I might let go of meaning in this life.'

What had A been reading all this time? Despite witnessing an inevitable incompleteness for quite
a long time, nothing changed in him. One day, A felt as if he were reading a mistranslated text —
something poorly translated that spoke about him without truly knowing him, pushing him further
into emptiness. Re-translating it might take a few years for him. A didn’t even know why he
should make such an effort. Perhaps, the act itself might hold meaning.  

B began to overturn what she had been reading all along. It wasn’t a mistranslated text for her.
It was well-organised, well-packaged, and neatly delivered. However, she thought she might have
misunderstood it. Perhaps she hadn’t misunderstood it at all.