Memories are a fickle thing, aren’t they? And yet we spend the majority of our lives living through them. Each second that ticks away is another entry in the book that is our mind. Each moment passes us by. The Now. A single point in the time stream. It never stays stationary, what was Now quickly turned into Then. The only means we have to appreciate each passing moment is by seeing through the clouds of our mind. That leads to the question, why do we so eager to place our trust in them?
This story started in a mundane evening, where restlessness took me away to the Place. The boys are watching a film nearing its final act. A scene where the main character had just woken up from a psychotic breakdown, talking with his doctor. That was when I questioned aloud, “is there something missing?”
I have watched the film before. I swore that the dialogue had been different. The main character should have been saying that he was not trying to kill himself, that he was just trying to be able to feel something. There should have been a scene showing his wrist, cut, and bandaged as he was saying that. And yet there was nothing of the sort.
A friend of mine that had watched the film before said that there had been no such scene, the scene had gone the way it was supposed to. Of course I insisted on the contrary. How could it be so when I could clearly picture the missing scene in my mind?
Then an exquisite thing happened, another friend of mine spoke up. She said that she had also seen the scene that I was describing before. A testimony that I was not alone in having seen the scene.
Now, this friend of mine, she is quite the lovely lady. If I were to describe her, I would say that she is a burning ember. Full of unbridled joy, lively, passionate, a fiery creature of beauty. But there is also a hint of bitterness there. Hidden beneath the anger that at times would manifest itself as a torrent of fire. Something dark, black as charcoal would be even as it smoulders on. Something that could have only come from having went through pain. A pain that would follow in the trail of one or a few disappointments. But I digress.
To close the matter at hand, I said that perhaps the film I had watched was a different version, an extended cut, or something of the kind. Not quite being able to believe that my memories had been wrong. Especially when another had confirmed to have seen the same scene.
When I got home, I could not stop thinking about it. It was hanging heavy on my mind. So I did the only logical thing that would put the matter to rest. I put the film on and gone through it looking for the missing scene.
I could not find it.
A fickle thing, isn’t it? Memories. Not only have I not found any answer, I am now left with more questions. Where did it come from, the scene as it was pictured in my mind, as clear as the light of day? Why did she say that she had also seen it if there was nothing of such? Had we both been remembering a picture from a different scene? Or were we just so eager to see what we wanted to see?
Shani Pribadi 