Memories

She is a woman of the world, with her home filled with artworks, antiques, and books gathered from various times and places. However, there are moments when she reveals her childlike side, seen in the way she sits on the pedestal, her bare feet, and her tousled hair.

Most of the time, she possesses a captivating presence and charisma, but there are instances when she delves into her thoughts. During these moments, her gaze wanders, as she reminisces and relives memories from her past.

From her red hair, cats emerge and fill the room. They all have red hair like her, but each cat is unique and distinct. Some of the cats resemble a beloved cat she once had and still mourns to this day. Are these cats a representation of the memories that linger within her? Or do they symbolize the people she encountered throughout her life? Could one of these cats represent me?

She holds a book of memories and a quill, as if she wants to create new memories. However, the quill lacks ink, preventing her from actually writing with it. I wonder if she deliberately halts the creation of fresh memories or if she simply yearns for creating memories with "old-fashioned" tools, even though it's almost impossible to do so.

I met her when I was in my early twenties, and she was sixty years old. She used to say that her late son sent me to her as a kind of gift. Looking back now, I realize that as much as I disliked that idea at the time, she became like a substitute mother to me, just as I became a substitute son to her. Our relationship was intense and sometimes stormy. I sought her approval and validation, while all she wanted was me to need her.

When I look at the painting today, it feels like I'm myself gazing at a distant memory. Some of the cats in the painting seem to look at me as if I'm an intruder who has invaded their territory. They embody a past that confronts me as I confront it. In these moments, past and present merge into a singular entity, making me reflect on who I used to be compared to who I am now. I think about the stark contrast between my youth and her old age, my absence from her life and yet her lingering presence in my thoughts. I contemplate the relationship that ended and the lasting impact it left behind.