I have a pretty poor memory.
It may be partly adaptive – I feel as though I have spent years training myself to forget pain – but it’s a hindrance as much as a help. While I have an uncanny ability to reel off song lyrics, I cannot for the life of me hold onto the names of even people I’ve met several times. Anything that happened more than a few years ago feels as though it happened to someone else. And I struggle to remember the specifics for even the most meaningful events.
So I’m glad that the intro for Sam Wong’s Meditation describes a memory that is treasured despite its haziness. It was “sometime in february”, he writes, and given all the Meditations so far that have been records of an exact date I cannot help but love this inexactness. And “maybe it started raining”. The weather always seems so immediate and important at the time it’s happening, but do we ever really remember it unless it crashes our wedding or shuts down our school?
I don’t think this Meditation would be the same without the rain. It’s simple as it is, an over-the-shoulder view of two people walking, arm in arm, down a dark residential street to the sound of a piano. The rain is constant, but they have an umbrella. Sam writes in the intro that he wished they could have walked forever that night, but after a while the game ends.