about...memories??

Yesterday, I just remembered this conversation from a book that is about a couple. Let’s suppose the boy is B and the girl is G. The talk starts with the girl, G, saying,

G: “Let’s go to every event this summer, and make many many memories.”

B: “……I don’t like the word ‘memory’.”

G: “Why not?”

B: “Because……..Do you remember that story we read in school?”

G: “Which one?”

B: “The one of ‘What was the Color of the Dress of that Girl?’”

G: “Mmm…..No…..I don’t remember.”

B: “It’s about this two girls, …lets call them A and B, talking about their childhood.
And they ended up talking about this drawing exhibited in the hallway of their school.
A drawing of a girl picking up flower behind a red sun set…..

Are you sure you don’t remember?”

G: “No…..I have no idea which story you are talking about.”

B: “Well….the story goes on…..
And girl A says, ‘Oh yes, that drawing of a girl with a yellow dress?’
But then girl B says ‘No, the girl had a dress dyed with the color red of the sun set.’
Girl A says, ‘No way! The dress was shining in the sun set, bright yellow!’
Both of them didn’t give in their opinion; Yellow! Red! Yellow! Red!.

So they decided to go visit the school.

‘What would the color be?’”

G: “What color was it????”

B: “There was no color. It was a black and white drawing.
The dress was colored in black.
But the two girls, A and B, believed there was a color to that dress.”

“Can you see how inaccurate the memory’s of a man can be?
Putting colors to something blank, dramatizing, beautifying.
Giving something more than reality.”

“That’s why I don’t believe in ‘beautiful memories’”

G: “Then what do you believe in?”

B: “You!! The ‘you’ standing in front of me right now.”



From "We were there" 4th volume.


When I first read this comic book, I was shocked. I mean I have never thought of memories in such a way. I always thought memories as a precious collection of jewelries or something. It was the only thing where you can use the term “forever” since for sure past will not change ever. Before reading this, I wanted memories. Small pebbles that I will be collecting to decorate the white and wide paper I have. Probably, the fact that I move every three years made me be more intense about obtaining evidences that shows I once existed in that place. But now I am not as confident as before about wanting memories.