22 June | Thursday 10:00 | Katona József Library
“If I write it down, I don’t have to remember it—I tell myself, because I feel I need to forget, I need that comforting amnesia, but I also know that it’s just a vain dream. Written sentences get grooved into your grey matter deeper than memories, slowly replacing them, until you can recall the sentences noted down more clearly than the memories that prompted them. There is no point in continuing—I turn the page again to his notes from 2012, and I watch stunned as the loosely piled up images of my life, some of them fitting together well, others more poorly, let go of the hands of their matching memories to look for new companions among the memories of my father’s life, to take their arms instead.”
Excerpt from the book
