'I'm Not in Love Anymore'
The pendant was large, too large for my taste, but I hardly had time to notice it in great detail. It was the hands of the old lady handling it that I saw, the wrinkled hands grey with time. Light bounced off the pink glass as she turned the pendant from side to side, inspecting it. Her back was turned toward me a little, and I noticed that her hair was exceedingly white. A change of posture, and as she faced me, she fiddled restlessly with the pendant. "Isn't this nice? It's a nice pendant, no?" I smiled assent and nodded, wondering what I should say. I was about to leave, when suddenly she turned toward me again and drew herself across the space that separated us until she was painfully close in proximity. She looked at me closely, and I could almost smell her. Our eyes met, and in a moment of shock I read the restless pain in her eyes that did not focus steadily on me. "I'm not in love anymore" she said, slowly and heavily, her accent thick and unforgiving. She looked at the pendant once more and repeated herself more loudly, "I'm not in love anymore!"
What was I to say, or do? Was that a good thing, or not? Should I nod, smile, or look somewhere else? All I said was, "Ok" for lack of a better word. I watched her walk out of the store, alone, and I had a feeling that although age had gotten the better of her, so had emotion. The incident came to mind a few more times that day, and in secret empathy, I wish this woman well in her life, and I hope there will be people to take care of her and love her.
[owari..ka? Kiraikara...]
"Memory is insubstantial. Things keep replacing it. Your batch of snapshots will both fix and ruin your memory. You can't remember anything from your trip except the wretched collection of snapshots."
-Anne Dillard, "To fashion a text" 1988
I don't like that. I don't like it at all. Memory is the topic of interest today because I have to do a chapter's reading on it, and I've discovered Anne Dillard and ceased to be fond of her in any way. Is this what my memory is? A collection of warped and crumpled photographs? Have I distorted my memory to help me remember only what I love? Is that why Singapore becomes more and more of a perfect place as the months pass? This wretched thing, this wretched woman...
[So Jaded.]
kanashii nee...
The pendant was large, too large for my taste, but I hardly had time to notice it in great detail. It was the hands of the old lady handling it that I saw, the wrinkled hands grey with time. Light bounced off the pink glass as she turned the pendant from side to side, inspecting it. Her back was turned toward me a little, and I noticed that her hair was exceedingly white. A change of posture, and as she faced me, she fiddled restlessly with the pendant. "Isn't this nice? It's a nice pendant, no?" I smiled assent and nodded, wondering what I should say. I was about to leave, when suddenly she turned toward me again and drew herself across the space that separated us until she was painfully close in proximity. She looked at me closely, and I could almost smell her. Our eyes met, and in a moment of shock I read the restless pain in her eyes that did not focus steadily on me. "I'm not in love anymore" she said, slowly and heavily, her accent thick and unforgiving. She looked at the pendant once more and repeated herself more loudly, "I'm not in love anymore!"
What was I to say, or do? Was that a good thing, or not? Should I nod, smile, or look somewhere else? All I said was, "Ok" for lack of a better word. I watched her walk out of the store, alone, and I had a feeling that although age had gotten the better of her, so had emotion. The incident came to mind a few more times that day, and in secret empathy, I wish this woman well in her life, and I hope there will be people to take care of her and love her.
[owari..ka? Kiraikara...]
"Memory is insubstantial. Things keep replacing it. Your batch of snapshots will both fix and ruin your memory. You can't remember anything from your trip except the wretched collection of snapshots."
-Anne Dillard, "To fashion a text" 1988
I don't like that. I don't like it at all. Memory is the topic of interest today because I have to do a chapter's reading on it, and I've discovered Anne Dillard and ceased to be fond of her in any way. Is this what my memory is? A collection of warped and crumpled photographs? Have I distorted my memory to help me remember only what I love? Is that why Singapore becomes more and more of a perfect place as the months pass? This wretched thing, this wretched woman...
[So Jaded.]
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