I was hesitating whether “first sight” might be better than “freshness”, then I thought no – that’s so pathetic, and by “freshness”, I mean the kind of novel, intense feelings that strike me only at the very moment I first encounter something. The image of that sight might be inscribed in mind forever, however, the feeling never comes back. Anyhow, I’ll keep discovering and encountering new sights, so it doesn’t matter. Only images accumulate, as the years went by.
I often look back upon those images in my mind’s eye, and I used to enjoy talking about them. I then came to realise that there’s no point in doing so – nobody else could really perceive what I was talking about. People could never share others’ feelings, let alone visions. Even if people could have the same pair of eyes, it would never be possible for them to have the same spectacles. Pathetic as it might seems to be, everybody lives in this world alone, in solitude. But after all, when we came to this world, we were all by ourselves, and the same holds true when we live, so in a way, there’s nothing to be afraid of.
Only the images keep accumulating, until the time comes when everything in this life get simultaneously obliterated. Wow, I wish I’m able to witness it myself – must be spectacular.
I have similar feelings of freshness when I meet new people: People seems nicer at first sight, I suppose. If only memories refresh itself every day. Then every morning is really a NEW day, with nothing left from the previous day, and I can say “Good morning! My name’s Eileen. Nice to meet you!” to whomever I meet. Such a wonderful world.
I know life might be unbearable like this, but shouldn’t life be like this at the same time? For fragmentary as it seems to be, it is in these fragments we perceive the sense of reality, which might only be delusions in masquerade. Sometimes we might feel the life we are living seems so miserable as if real, but that does not happen very often. So I suspect most of the time we could still safely say it is not real, and so nothing matters.
I confess I’ve been doubting about reality, but I might as well have gone too far. Or rather, I’m not in the position to say.
“And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.”
(Raymond Carver: Late Fragments)