“Time’s arrow is the loss of fidelity in compression. A sketch, not a photograph. A memory is a re-creation, precious because it is both more and less than the original.” — Ken Liu, An Advanced Readers’ Picture Book of Comparative Cognition
Time is relentless and ruthless. We are building moments of to-be-memory as we speak: these will become fragments, scattered scenes, ghosts of echoes, remnants of spices on tongues. For now, they are freshly inked and imprinted, but they will fade. (Can we ever expect otherwise?)
This isn’t inspirational talk; this is crippling fear. I need to, no, I want to live in every moment of my life, even the dull ones. I want to drink in every detail and nuance: the colors of surroundings, the scents, the physical brushes of contact. This doesn’t mean I must be active and moving around constantly—it simply means I should be more aware.
It’s terrifying because sometimes I imagine that my memories will be dull and grey and listless when I grow older. That’s when the other voice, the stubborn voice, comes and gives a good whack in the head. Perhaps it’s inevitable, but you still have the harder option. You can still try. Try to live so that your memories are vibrant and moving and rich. Try to get a little drunk on life.
Try to trust your stupid fucking heart.