Who are we without our memories?
Yōko Ogawa explores this question in her book, The Memory Police.
The unnamed protagonist, a writer who pens stories for her editor R, lives on an island under the control of the Memory Police. On the island, a mysterious force causes people to collectively forget about things which are disappearing from the island.
To recall disappeared things, the young writer begins to interrogate herself on the importance of her memories. After arriving at an impasse, R tries to explain to her how his memories feel like to him:
My memories don't feel as though they've been pulled up by the root. Even if they fade, something remains. Like tiny seeds that might germinate again if the rain falls. And even if a memory disappears completely, the heart retains something. A slight tremor or pain, some of joy, a tear.
With the passage of time, many of our memories will fade, leaving behind only the most precious ones. Yet our memories, even those which appeared to have dissolved into nothingness, can be reignited at any time.
Our memories represent realities in the past, the potentialities which we've actualized. No one can take these memories from us, for they're the building blocks which form our unique personal identity.
Who we are as individuals is ultimately shaped by our memories.