Memories. That is my final answer if I ever found myself on the spot, asked what would be the one thing I feared the most to lose. Memories are faulty, for good and many a reason. What we “see” with our eyes, the light reflecting off physical objects then absorbed by our retina to be process by our brains, somehow slip, bad adherence. the brain is a slippery, subjective surface. i’m thinking jelly fish texture. And now consider the multiple other senses alive within a moment - the smells, sounds, emotions, annoyances, fears, etc. etc. When I ask myself, I tend to remember the good, the feel-good sensation from some moment. Sometimes I fail to remember at all, for example the minute-by-minute account of all the activity exerted in the last week.
What else has the ability to “capture” memories, other than our faulty brain-storage system? Cameras, film? that debate in itself is an entirely other beast, one which I leave alone now. On Tuesday I choked. actually, it was just me slumped in a one-person Sofa - communal, corteroid texture,soft. i let the fabric eat me, hoping the dirtied fibers could also, would also whip these feelings of remorse clean. the cause of such misery was born from the events that went down half an hour earlier, in a specific location — 3rd floor of list. in this chemical haven of corrosives and organics that shall not go down the drain, i lost my memories. it was a mess, i was a mess, the developed film was a mess. as opposed to the bright, translucent film set within perfectly uniform rectangles (like looking up at a NYC super tall apartment complex), I found myself looking into black rectangles. the lights out, maybe no lights even existed. the tiny people, shrunken palm trees, frozen moments did not appear.
what i had been anticipating for weeks devolved into a pit of loss, as if i’d lost a family or a tribe. don’t let me get started on extending the metaphor to amnesia or Alzheimer’s. in the moment, that discreet moment, let me guide you by the hand into my pit. now that both of us, all of us feel our feet on the soft gravel, take one last loving glance to appreciate your hands before they, both of them, become swallowed in the mudslide, your throat croaking and muffled. yeah dramatica. pulling back from this dark hole, i ask myself, how did this dark-room failure trigger such an overwhelming response? because i felt as if i’d lost something i had given great care in protecting. because within each uniform frame existed a special world, frozen and picked out from the unending flow of events and senses. because each frame bore the marks of light from another time, particles of light deliberately, or unconsciously chosen. these frames linked the present moment of looking at that photo to another time, one chosen and captured with love. it is love. can we see love? perhaps not as a single body in itself of 100% biodegradable eco-friendly LOVE. but i would argue that love manifests itself in many ways, through language, choice of words spoken, gestures, actions, commitment, etc. etc. and for me, these frames speak the language of love, for the moment.