Who are you?
One book that I’ve read recently was ‘The Day Lasts More Than a Hundred Years’ by Chinghiz Aitmatov.
Honestly, it wasn’t my type, but something impressed me really much: the myth of the mankurt.
The mankurt was a man who was turned into a slave by the juan-juans tribe, in a very painful way: they were cutting his scalp, applying camel skin on his bleeding head and then let him stay in the hot sun of the desert. This process was leading to the lose of memories, of all feelings and past moments.
This horrible thing made me thoughtful. Like really, really, really thoughtful.
If you don’t have memories, then who are you?
The memory is the one that keeps you alive, right? Thanks to it you take decisions and it also influences you in nearly everything you do. Everybody plants his roots in the past in order to build a future, but what would you do if you had no memories?
How would you love if you couldn’t even remember the face of your lover?
How would you continue your life if you couldn’t even remember what your name is?
How would you know what family actually means if you couldn’t recognize anyone who had raised you?
How would you live if your life was sunk in a continuous desert, and the unexisting memories would form an unreachable empty space in a dark mind blinded by too much light?
But you, my dear, would you truly live?
Or you would continue your life in a foggy dream, too close to an indefinite agony?
Would you actually exist?