.
Rewatching Pedro Almodóvar's Talk to Her, I came to think of a story a guy told me in 1998.
In 2006, the year after the death of my father I was obsessed with the question: What happens with our memories when we die? My way of dealing with my grief was to write a movie manuscript trying to find the answer.
I often think about how every person is a time capsule, full of frozen time and memories, and how many stories I've been told that I've already forgotten. I need to start writing them down!
So, the story.
This guy told me that when he was 14 years old his father left his mother for another woman.
When he returned home from school one day, he found his mother lie unconscious on the kitchen floor. She had had a stroke or a brain hemorrhage, and had fallen into a coma. He and his two older sisters were now left to fend for themselves.
He visited his mother every day after school. After a while he couldn't recognize her anymore. Her muscles regressed and her facial features became distorted.
After four years in a coma she got a cold, and the doctors let her die. By then he was 18 years old. He and his sisters split up and moved to different flats.
When he returned to their building a few years later, he found that they had torn down the entire floor. The building was still there, just not the floor where their flat had been. And he felt such a relief.
{ Fireworks, from 2007. }
Rewatching Pedro Almodóvar's Talk to Her, I came to think of a story a guy told me in 1998.
In 2006, the year after the death of my father I was obsessed with the question: What happens with our memories when we die? My way of dealing with my grief was to write a movie manuscript trying to find the answer.
I often think about how every person is a time capsule, full of frozen time and memories, and how many stories I've been told that I've already forgotten. I need to start writing them down!
So, the story.
This guy told me that when he was 14 years old his father left his mother for another woman.
When he returned home from school one day, he found his mother lie unconscious on the kitchen floor. She had had a stroke or a brain hemorrhage, and had fallen into a coma. He and his two older sisters were now left to fend for themselves.
He visited his mother every day after school. After a while he couldn't recognize her anymore. Her muscles regressed and her facial features became distorted.
After four years in a coma she got a cold, and the doctors let her die. By then he was 18 years old. He and his sisters split up and moved to different flats.
When he returned to their building a few years later, he found that they had torn down the entire floor. The building was still there, just not the floor where their flat had been. And he felt such a relief.
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