2 am the time of recollection, the time that every movement I make seems to be a reach for the cake that recalls Proust’s memories. This one too, it’s so easy, so much, so sporadic in the days of social media that it’s everywhere. Can there be so many bookmarks of memory, so many recalls, that the ones we see as a long dead set, loses its saturation? In the end, the memory becomes a form of grayish color rather than the splendor of blackness. It could also be argued that in the past we didn’t have the chance to evoke so many distant memories. That now, due to the infinite life stream of information, we can appreciate the recalls for the past existence we have passed by in our everydayness.
This song, the beginning theme of an anime was one of those important memories that would be forgotten had I not hear the first second of this song. Shooting down from the clouded sky is a blue witch-like figure who would introduce the demon slaying capacities of human warriors. Yu Yu Hakusho, the anime from my Chinese past along with Dragon Ball and Sailor Moon.
To think in the mind of a 7-year-old, that one day he would be in another part of the world, looking into the world knowing only of the world he walked on, and knowing nothing of the outside world. Imagine that same boy, looking into his case of CDs in 2005 showing Yu Yu Hakusho, in Chinese Dub, the dub that young 7-year-old Wei would think to be default human language, and thinking, “this sounds wrong, I want the English version.” Finally, imagine the wonders he thought when he found Ultraman on YouTube, and disappointment he felt when the Ultraman of his 1997 imaginations were tainted by the rewatch of 2007, compared to the graphics that time to this time.
Memories are indeed strange, they create our timelines, our minds, they are us. But we seem to access it actively, and passively, but it’s never our mode of being. We simply do, rather than thinking about what do, we do not access the memories every chance we get. We simply do.