What is it about summer that captivates the human spirit? The essence of summer seems to hold an ineffable allure. For me, summer represents freedom from the oppressive weight of winter garments and the luxury of extended, idle days spent in the rooms of air conditioning.
Many summers ago, I once wrote: “The most vivid memory is of us racing down that empty street on a summer night, my feet in sandals, glancing back to see if he was catching up.”
Now, as I revisit that sentence, the street, the race, even my own self from that time—none of it comes to mind. I’ve always prided myself on having a good memory, but today, that once cherished moment has transformed into an echoless void. It’s made me realize that memory operates in ways beyond my control. The disparity between the tangible words on the page and the void in my mind is speaking in a poignant irony.
Was there something intrinsically special about that summer? As I pondered, I found myself shaking my head: “In truth, all the summers blur into one another.” Perhaps that summer was unique, yet in retrospect, it blends seamlessly into the continuum of summers past. As adulthood settled in, summer became synonymous with picnics on grassy fields and the gentle haze of sunlit tipsiness— always chasing after something ineffable, yet somehow stumbling through the years in a daze.
Not too long ago, I wrote: “This summer is different, very different, probably the most memorable of all.” It felt as though I had finally grasped the fleeting essence of eternity and the profound juxtaposition of the ephemeral and the eternal. It was the sudden realization of both “this is it” and “this is just it.” Despite the words I wrote down, I sensed the inescapable destiny—just another summer.
I once believed that writing could immortalize experiences. But when my mind fails to revive those cherished memories, how does what’s written differ from a mere fairy tale? My deep sorrow isn’t about the events themselves, but the realization that even the most significant moments eventually fade into mundane anecdotes shared over dinner. Or worse, they vanish entirely from memory, forgotten by everyone, including the one who lived them.
So, what is summer? It has transcended being just a season; it has become an evocative image, a cornerstone of aesthetic contemplation. The mention of summer conjures vivid scenes that encapsulate its essence. Perhaps after an exceptional summer, each successive one strives to recapture the spirit of that defining moment.
As temperatures reach their peak and then gradually descend, so does the fervor of summer. Whether it symbolizes sun-drenched beaches or the vibrant pulse of life, no matter how diligently I attempt to etch every memorable moment into my mind or bestow them with special significance on paper, in the end, people disperse, leaving nothing behind and taking nothing with them.
Summer and eternity have never been nouns to describe the concept of time, but rather, measures of magnitude.
Side note: memory is highly based on repetition. The reason why I forgot that particular event was probably due to a lack of repetition. Therefore, I guess it wasn’t that significant after all. Sad, but also not sad. The nature of forgetting is very sad, but once it’s forgotten, there’s no subject for the sadness to direct towards.
Or could be that my memory ain’t that strong.
You might say: “That’s why we have cameras nowadays!” They work the same as words. They capture facts, not the moment itself.
“That’s why we need to live in the present!” Yeah, I agree.
(I’m so done with editing lol whatever it seems alright so im handing it in as my monthly writing hw)
19til29 