Kazuo Ishiguro's When We Were Orphans

Another book which will be donated - with a huge dose of regret - to the used book section of the public library is Kazuo Ishiguro's When We Were Orphans.

The book is a story of memory, intrigue, and the need to return. Moving between London and Shanghai during the inter-war years, it is also a story of a childhood vision of the world surviving deep into adulthood, indelibly shaping and distorting a person's life. Like almost all of Ishiguro's work, it is filled with exquisite insights of human emotions.

But what will leave an indelible imprint in my mind is the following excerpt:

"For the truth is, over this past year, I have become increasingly preoccupied with my memories, a preoccupation encouraged by the discovery that these memories - of my childhood, of my parents - have lately begun to blur. A number of times recently I have found myself struggling to recall something that only two to three years ago I believed was ingrained in my mind for ever. I have been obliged to accept, in other words, that with each passing year, my life in Shanghai will grow less distinct, until one day all that will remain will be a few muddled images. Even tonight, when I sat down here and tried to gather in some sort of order these things I still remember, I have been struck anew by how hazy so much has grown."

I don't know why, but the words induced in me fear, anxiety, and sadness. Fear that one day my memories will fail me. Anxious that what had been ingrained in me for so long are no longer what I think they are, but rather my attempts to varnish or prettify the truth. Sadness that I will one day end up like protagonist Christopher Banks, where places and people whom I love would become hazy and eventually fade from my memory. Will my life in Hong Kong, Beijing, Seoul, and even the U.S. be one day reduced to "a few muddled images?" Will people whom I love and care about, such as Ab FS, also be reduced to "a few muddled images"?