Clear Memory

Author: Anni
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2004-10-01
Features: The book adopts a novel calendar-style chapter arrangement, allowing readers to start from any point. It also includes a wealth of photos with Anni's personal touch—whether it's private items like slippers, bed sheets, or white cotton shirts, or fleeting moments captured by her lens, such as light, clouds, and white pear blossoms. As Anni says, "I've taken many photos of clouds and light. Different times, different textures, different tones. What's the same is that when a person looks at the clouds and sky, life seems both yet." These photos and words complement each other, permeating the book with Anni's unique style.
I don't know when I started to gradually become a person who often laments. This book meticulously records, lightly reflects on clouds, light, the fireworks of the square, rain, and the disappearance of loved ones. It speaks of the edge of the heart and time, the immeasurable and unattainable emotions, the silence of confrontation, and the clarity of inquiry. I've never understood the meaning of life, yet I feel an abundant, unspoken affection for it. Gradually, I became silent. Gradually, I grew accustomed to taking photos of ordinary, small moments, as if recording time. A Canon camera has been with me for nearly two years, its exterior gradually worn, yet it feels like an old friend, sharing all my subtle feelings. Too slowly, one learns to communicate with objects rather than people. Perhaps, with people, we will eventually grow distant. Like the blue planet we inhabit, people will live and die as wheat stalks do, yet its rotation remains indifferent. Each of us ultimately lives in the depths of our own selves. Yes. One day, we will all grow old and die. Happiness may be an ultimate symbol, but it doesn't bring liberation. There are certain things, certain people, that make us silently grieve in solitude, without regret. There are certain things, certain people, that remind us of the light we once shone in each other's eyes—so intense, as if we were shattered, yet still lingering in our thoughts. Here and now. This is the divinity of life. You will never know how or why it comes, or what its final outcome will be. Its nobility cannot be measured. Like the wounds and memories hidden in our hearts, we must always maintain a sense of reverence—for time, for beauty, for pain. Our lives may also be like the simple existence of a white-flowered tree in spring. Whether striving to bloom or quietly wilting, we embrace it all with willingness and gratitude.