documentation, a forever doomed act of preservation
lemme jot this down...
“History belongs to the victors.” - Winston Churchill
I think one of my greatest fears in life is the abyss of despair we call forgetfulness.
To say something is forgotten is to give it a terminal sentence. Gone forever.
Recently, I have realized the inevitability of forgetfulness through many means.
Science, describing the phenomena of false memories.
Experience, having sensations of memories on the tip of my tongue but being unable to recall.
Triggers, showing me the volatility of my memories and how they are in my subconscious, but impossible to light on fire without the right spark.
This fear that my story will sink into the depths of Forgetfulness AbyssTM pushes me to endlessly document. Write, write, write. Click, click, click.
If I don’t preserve Ashna Nirula, in this point in time, in this headspace, in this frame of being…who will? Who will make sure that my “special” human experience is perceived correctly?
The uncomfortable truth is that if I don’t document my story, the world will write it for me, or it won’t be written at all.
This is true on a wide scope. If we personify the future as a being of consumption, Future can’t read or perceive what was never written. Future’s idea of its past is all based on the documentation that survived and was analyzed.
For centuries, greedy and powerful people have taken advantage of this, suppressing and destroying narratives that disagree with their opinions, and highlighting the ones that enhance them.
It overwhelms me because sometimes I wonder how differently I would perceive the world if all past cultures, ideas, and perspectives were documented and analyzed equally. What if narratives of women defeating men were all that survived from past civilization? What if the West didn’t keep records, while all other countries did? What if beauty images of hairiness and obesity were preserved, instead of smooth skin and slim figures?
These questions threaten to drive me i n s a n e.
They distort the reality that I live in. Some stories are forever lost. Some people forever wiped out.
History belongs to the victors.
But WAIT!
This vacuum we have created here on this lovely digital platform promises to f**k Churchill’s statement. Yes, we both needed the pre-requisite of a device and an internet connection to be here, but arguably it is easier than ever before to be a victor. To write your own story. To add your voice in this chorus of noise and false truths.
Yes, it may get a total of 3 views.
Yes, it will never totally communicate the whole story.
But it’s out there and thus can be scraped by whatever future algorithm domineers us all. It can’t be erased as easily as tossing the scroll into flames. Or executing the only person with its information. It exists here!
Isn’t that truly remarkable?
It’s like if you were to line up every single story in this world and give it a pen and paper. The means to be realized from the intangible to tangible.
So I just need to ask, what are you doing with your paper and pen?
I say go be your own author. But what do I know. You’ll do what you want to in the end.
I just wouldn’t be able to stand anyone else being my storyteller.
Because honestly — who knows you better than you do?