Remembering, Longing

Desires and how they fit into wanting to forget

I spend most of my days feeling like a reconstructed version of who I once was. I’m not sure if I can pinpoint whether or not this is a pleasant feeling, but it’s been a long time since I’ve felt like a single operation. It feels like there are fragments in my joints trying to signal to the others and every move I make has thousands of voices behind it.

Kaiba (2008) is an anime where memories and consciousness can be stored in a cloud, and physical bodies can be sold to the highest bidder. Poorer families would sell their children’s bodies for money and kept their ‘computers’ around. Those with money could browse around for bodies that kept them young and good-looking. The boy in the story wakes up with no recollection of his own identity, but only a necklace with a portrait of a girl.

Unrelated to this particular point I’m trying to make but Kaiba does such a beautiful job of telling us how capitalism muddles down our bodies, our identities, into nothing but clumps of mush ready to be commodified. Kudos to Masaaki Yuasa. Genius.

Kaiba (2008) by Masaaki Yuasa

The start of the new year woke up my dissociation, and there have been times when I’d go through a whole month feeling like I can only really piece together a couple of days. I was honestly glad that this is the way my body has chosen to operate; I can’t feel the hole in me expand if it’s a different wave of sadness every day. I’m so grateful for my life and the privileges that have been handed to me, as well as the opportunities I’ve worked hard for. But sometimes, I wish I could forget. Feeling like I am enough to live the life I have been given, is a very foreign concept to me. I have yet to learn that you do not have to prove your worth in order to feel love.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004) dir. Michel Gondry

I went to my own first real art show this past weekend. I’d never had my work shown anywhere before, and even though this was one hosted by the art school at my college, somehow I still felt unworthy to be there. As if I didn’t put as much of myself into my work as my peers have. It just felt like, as I was showing my roommates what I’d spent so much time on this past year, I was wasting their time. It felt like what I was showing them was not up to par with the school’s or my own standards. Why do I always automatically jump to that ledge? They were having a good time and were proud of me but all my brain could feel was shame; I was berating myself for not working harder and putting out better work. Why can I not accept their love for what it is? I don’t expect the people I love to do anything to receive my care, so why do I treat the love that they try to give to me as if it’s a transaction?

I don’t really know where I’m going with this particular spool of thoughts I’ve decided to unravel. Just wanted to talk about memories, I suppose. Thank you for reading as always.

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Songs of the week:

Poem of the week:

Reasons for Staying, by Ocean Vương. I’m hoping that one day I get to the point where I can make a list as rich as his, a life that feels as rich to me as his does to him.

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