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Thứ Bảy, 19 tháng 11, 2011

1. I had a weird dream the other night. I saw an old couple in a conversation. The man had died and now come back to talk with his wife. He asked if she wanted to come with him. She hesitated for a while, and finally said yes. But as soon as she decided to leave everything behind to be with him, he asked: "But who are you anyway?". I woke up that moment and couldn't sleep again, the old man's voice and his haunting question played itself in my mind over and over again. I tried but had no way to shake off the pain of the old woman. "He doesn't remember me", I didn't see, but I felt she was sobbing and broken hearted.
Death can separate people, but only temporarily. At least there is still hope afterwards about a reunion. But forgetfulness will do away with everything, all emotions, love or hatred, all memories, all relationships. If the other person doesn't remember you, you have never existed.

2. Every week, I allow myself to be with my love on Friday night only. So I open a book, and feed off my hunger for reading which has been held back all week when I have to take care of other work.
I crave for books more when I am upset, disappointed, sad, worried, jealous, or any negative emotions you can name. In other words, I like to read more when I want to avoid thinking about the current situation and be lifted to another world. Reading comforts me. I am addicted to it, more or less, because it is my way of keeping balance. Some people find solutions in drinking, dancing, drugs, sex, computer games. My escape is books. That's why I need to read to keep myself sane. Not only because I am so attracted to the intellectual or I can't wait to expand my knowledge, but a more practical reason is I can be, however temporarily, emerged in others' thoughts and leave mine for a while.
When I come back, usually the pain has subdued a lot and become much more tolerable. More than often I just go straight to bed after finishing reading. In that case the role of a book  is in a sense not much different from a bottle of wine. It helps me forget.
Same principle applies to music, except that books are thoughts and music is emotion. When I want to borrow someone's emotion to influence mine, like when I want to cry but couldn't, I listen to music, and then I could release all the stress in tears, no need for a verbal reason.

3. Reading to me, as drinking, dancing, listening to music or having sex to some others play the same role of creating another reality. This created reality overlays the real reality, and while people know the created reality sooner or later will vanish and leave them to cope with the real reality again, they still do it. That means, the act of engaging yourself in forgetfulness is addictive. You want to forget, you need to forget, and you love to forget. Every once in a while, people do a suitable activity (I can't drink nor dance, for example) to leave the real reality behind. Consider this way, sleep and especially dream, are also acts of forgetting. In sleep, we forget everything for 1/3 of our lives. In dream, we create, act out and participate in other realities, even just as audiences. We feel it, sometimes even physically move along with it, to such an extent that we get confused at the moment we wake up of which reality we are living in. We come back to the only one constant reality, namely our wakeful life, and keep on creating new overlays night after night, forget this dream as soon as we wake up, and forget the wakeful life as soon as sleep comes.
After all, we live a rhythm of alternative forgetting. Just like days and nights, birth and death.

4. So why does it hurt so much when we come to realize that we have been forgotten by someone we can not let go?
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