Memories That Have Gone with the Wind

Memories are like a stream. When it is running slowly through our hearts, we may feel either happy or sad.
“It would be better to forget.” People always say that when something sad suddenly came into mind. But is it really better to forget? Memories, no matter happy or sad, prove our being there. Although sad ones wander in our minds and afflict our hearts, they may help us to be more mature when we can smile to them. If we forgot everything in memories, who would we be, then?

Just as the heroine Tamina in The Book of Laughter and Forgetting wrote by Milan Kundera, during the war time, the only thing she wanted to get was a diary. She was afraid of and hated forgetting, so the diary, which recorded her dates with her husband, was vital to her. Her husband had died, but she found his face fading in her memory no matter how dreadfully she missed him. Then, there was a change in her: she became fidgety and crazy, at last even depraved. All her changes were only because of the diary, or say, of her memories, without which, she could not find herself.

During the time when the Czech Republic was conquered by Russia, Tamina was an epitome of Czech whose history was deprived of and her memories were an embodiment of the Czech history. The names of streets, as well as the political situations were changing. All the uncertain things recreated the Czech history. The people suddenly had no past, no history and no memories. They had no sense of belongingness, even no sense of existence. The only thing they could do was to struggle— struggle for the Czech history and for their past.

What happened then? Tamina at last decided to forget everything. She was guided to an isolated island, which was surrounded with water and full of children. The environment was simple and pure, with neither past nor future. However, absolutely pure world would always be more terrible. The experiences of Tamina on the isolated island confirmed that. Once, she played hopscotch with the children. Two groups quarreled about whether she had stepped on the borderline. At that time, Tamina raised her hand and confessed that she had indeed stepped on the borderline. This caused great dissatisfaction among the children in her group. From then on, Tamina had no right to join in their games.

What did her story mean? It meant that gaining no achievement after struggling, some Czech began to subject to the governance by Russia gradually. But they were not Russian and they had no Russian culture in blood. Thus they stepped on the borderline, just like Tamina. Stepping on the borderline, they no longer belonged to Czech; stepping on the borderline, they had no rights to be Russian. They dropped themselves into a dilemma. Stepping on the borderline, they became people in the third world. They had neither past nor future.
Now, Tamina didn’t want to stay on the island any more. She intended to flee—— flee to the world she belonged to. Thanks to her strong body and excellent swimming skill, she decided to swim to the shore. After swimming overnight, Tamina was tired out. But when she looked back to see how far she had covered, she was shocked: She hadn’t moved an inch yet! Dejected to try once more, Tamina closed her eyes and sank to the bottom of water…
This indicated the result of stepping on the borderline. When realizing their mistake, the Czech who stepping on the borderline wanted to go back. But it was too late. Stepping out meant they could never be back. Even if they struggled, they couldn’t move an inch. The result was to die— die without expectations; die without struggling; die without past or future. The Book of Laughter and Forgetting is really an easy name. Can that part of painful history be forgotten with laugh? I see every word of this book is wet bloody and every sentence of this book is full of tears. I hear laugh from Milan Kundera— sad and bitter laugh, laugh to tears. He cannot forget that part of humiliated history, which is carved on his heart and in the bones of Czech…
The stream of memories is running slowly. It has been running through Milan Kundera’s heart, as well as my heart…