Memory may be the most unreliable but closest to the real thing in the world. All memories will undergo their own arrangement and reshaping, and they will be repeatedly mixed and blended into their own shaping components. No memory can be reproduced in the state it was in when it happened, even in such a dreamy way as images. It’s as if no two hugs in this world have the same thickness. The evening breeze from any car window is a kiss of thousands of different humidity. The silence on all the benches at dusk implies a difference. The mood of every cotton candy-like cloud in the sky can never be the same again. The red skirts dancing in the cafe may become purple-red pink brick red in the memory. All memories are like a dream that changes based on reality, but the happiest moments in life are also the most insignificant moments. When I watched it, I was thinking about my happiest moment. At first, I realized that I couldn't even think of one. Gradually, I thought of one, two or three, more and more, most of which contained tears of happiness and excitement. But in the end, my memory was locked in the dusk of a summer long ago, and it was so similar and similar to the other summers in my memory. The smell of coolness is permeating the air, walking barefoot on the floor and passing through the cold from the soles of the feet, two hands are holding a big watermelon from the refrigerator. The drops of water left on the arms, and thin drops of sweat burst out from the neck. , When running, the wide white T-shirt was blown up by the wind, sitting on the sofa, the evening sun hit the wall, and my mother and I were sitting side by side with you, taking a bite of the watermelon. The whole room is golden yellow. I can't get this kind of gold from any map, so it can only exist in my imagination forever, and it has become the most unique color in the world. When I try to find another such twilight in my future life, I always feel that orange should be lighter or brighter, and I have never encountered a moment when orange and light are so coordinated. Whenever I think of this picture in my memory, I want to cry happily. If I go to a place called heaven, such happiness with tears is enough.
However, after retaining this happiest memory, the film also provides a huge paradox, that is, all the remaining memories will disappear. Choosing a memory is also equivalent to choosing a memory to forget, so not choosing a memory is just not to forget. Mr. Mochizuki could not let go of his fiancée for a long time, so he chose not to forget, and tried to keep the traces of love with his tenacious and lasting memory. When love is dead, all evidence is destroyed except the only memory in the mind, and everything becomes unchecked. All the sweet words, the whispers in the ear, the gentlest touch of the fingertips, the sincerity and despair in my heart, all the elements that make up love cannot be preserved in the visible form of objects, except for a person who tightly composes these fragments in his mind. Only memory becomes the last evidence, so not forgetting is Mr. Mochizuki's way of preserving love, and a way of proving his existence. However, after consulting the video left by his fiancee, Mochizuki realized that he had participated in the best memories of his fiancee. The interlaced hands on the bench, the protruding joints, the sailor suit wafting in the breeze, such a silent moment is Traces of the existence of love. Finally, Mochizuki finally decided to forget all this and only remember the staff of the inn. It is not so much that Mochizuki chooses to remember the inn, it is better to say that Mochizuki is finally willing to abandon the past.
Nietzsche once said that memory is a shackle. I think this memory is not only good or bad, but all moments. Memory is just a sweet and bitter baggage, not suitable for long-term burden. Life is like a long and narrow tunnel that has contained too much joy and pain, but I no longer want to remember too much, I no longer have the energy to smash through the hideous past, or I am reluctant to discard the memory of day and night. As long as a quiet night and the benches on the park in late autumn, this kind of memory is enough for me to spend the rest of my life
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