Would I recall, a place.

The air feels easy, it was a morning or a late afternoon. Time unremembered, but for sure the grains of light was golden white, filtering through a broken window pane. I was asleep before I could see. The azan2 must woken me up, a block away from here. Remembered now, I was in a room, visit so not often. Always thought it was home.

Can’t describe the room much, other than the light and the fragmented textures of the thin cotton sheets. The fan is always on and off, whenever it wants to. The heat changes. The moist is still, keeps everything cool. Trying to remember other things that exists in the room. There was a baby crate next to the mattress laid on the floor, I slept in. There was large white broken closets, next to it is an empty wall with a clock and a Jesus Cross with dead palms tucked into
it. There was this dark olive green photo album, filled with photos I thought I knew, but never seem to make sense, If I had known.

Everything in the room makes me not alone. I’ve never felt ease in a place. I can’t seem to ration. Nothing was happening. I couldn’t think any moment in my life I felt like such. Its not home, I felt like I was belonged here. Or maybe just longing for the there. ...

Aku rasa tenang, dalam kehilangan.3

2 . The azan is the Islamic call to worship, recited by the muezzin at prescribed times of the day. The root of the word is adhina أَ ِذ َن meaning "to listen, to hear, be informed about". Another derivative of this word is udhun, meaning "ear"

An unremembered recalling. Informs the gaps of memory that may or may never existed. (I) We create our own narratives and fillings, to make sense of our fragmented experiences. The coming from, are composed of remnants and remainders of memories we choose to hold and kept in place. To historicize, is to make monument of a moment, captured in a photo album of significance.

(II) The remnant then becomes a reminder. The reminder intends to remain. In remembering the narrative tends to over ride the visceral, or what can’t be described, but rather be felt. I can recall the last time I felt about her. But can I remember how I felt about her. Is describing or labeling the how, is enough to represent a feeling. The present perception, knowledge and experience replaces the past. Some limited and waning memory.

(III) Recalling a story versus a sensations, has been the opposite. I remember what i felt, can’t seem to describe how. The narrative was lost, as the sensation exist in the memory of my finger tips, the gut, the back of my neck, and the lids of my eyes. Felt this before, never felt like this before. The pleasures and sensations of my body gets lost, the same way I question the from. It makes everything that I experience untrue, but rather real. The initial is lukewarm, ice is poured, now it can be cold, if the initial isn’t. It becomes colder, after it becomes warmer. Without change, I don’t know if I could make sense. Make difference. Or recognize what it is.

I remember many things, I can’t recall. (IV) The collected material or remnant of a moment are not a witness, but rather a participant or physical part of the memory itself. An evidence that follows with you in time, yet stays still in matter and memory, unless we alter it to change. A landscape, a room the actual space itself. The objects existing within the scape, the furniture or a plant. The photograph of the objects and its space, subject present in visual, not present in reality. Set still frozen in time. What changes are how we remember. A context misplaced, displaced as (V) we constantly change the way we view the past, with new experiences altering the way we see or remember

Materials we gather becomes a recollection of our memory. A mediator for us in remembrance or holding of. The gathering, is a drawing and writing of. This includes other forms of making. (VI) A recreation of a material is itself a representation and unfolding of memory, refolded in matter, in keeping. A translation and expression of our memory, comes in both or either narrative and non—, just the sensation. Maybe this is what it is. This archive of recalling, gathered objects, and other practices and gestures. That I still don’t know in means.

“I may or may not remember where I came from, at varying points of destinations. I try, in continuity. The coming from exists in the unlearning within the towards.”

3. Alexander Sebastianus Hartanto, Jurnal Harian 0024 (2018)

“Suatu saat tidak ada kemauan atau signifikansi untuk diingat. Masa lalu tetap di sana, saat kita bergerak maju dan berubah ... ”

Konstanta yang sama, itulah yang mengurangi ingatanku. Saya ingat, ketika ada kekuatan, pemicu, saraf yang menarik. Air mengalir ke arah sampai ada sesuatu di jalan menuju. Kekuatan, insting dalam praktek atau oleh alam sebagai respons. Fase napas Anda, dengan kepala tegak lurus ke depan. Seorang teman menyarankan saya ketika kami berlari di tepi pantai, suatu malam. Begitulah cara perlombaan selesai. Jangan pernah melihat ke belakang. Gerakan konstan, tetapi Anda masih. Masih bergerak, sampai seseorang memanggilmu. Dalam sehari, saya memiliki sekitar 179 pemberhentian sepanjang 15 jam setelah bangun. Diperkirakan seperti bijak. Dengan demikian tidak pernah selesai perlombaan atau balapan. Tidak dapat menemukan atau mengingat, dalam pencarian konstan tampaknya merupakan perhentian harian. Tidak menyelesaikan lomba.Yang datang dari tidak pernah diakhiri, sehingga seseorang tampaknya tidak dapat melanjutkan, dan membayangkan ke arahnya. Bagaimana orang akan melanjutkan, jika awal tidak pernah diketahui, agak hilang. Seseorang tidak dapat mengarahkan, jika keberadaannya tidak dapat ditemukan, atau tidak masuk akal. Saya akhirnya berlari lebih jauh, dalam waktu 4 bulan kemudian pemberhentian saya kurang dari 29. Memori menjadi mati rasa, saya berlari ke mana-mana. Saya kira itu baik-baik saja. Perubahannya mungkin adalah jalannya dan berhenti, di antara interval yang secara bervariasi menciptakan pola tersendiri. Dengan harapan trek akan mengayuh dari, menuju ke barang-barang baru. Siklus barang konstan, karena setiap jalur yang Anda lewati, menjadi berasal.

“Somedays there is no will or significance to remember. The pasts stays there, as we move forward and change...”

The constant same, is what diminishes my memory. I recall, when there is force, a trigger, a pulling nerve. The water flows in direction until something is in the way of the towards. A

force, an instinct within practice or by nature in response. Phase your breathe, with your head upfront straight still. A friend suggested me as we ran by the shore, one evening. Thats how a race gets finished. Never looking back.

Constant movement, yet you are still. Still moving, until someone calls you. In a day, I have around 179 stops throughout the 15 hours of wake. Estimated like wise. Thus never finished a race or the race. Not able to find or remember, in constant search seems to be the stops of the daily. Un-finishing the race.

The coming from never concludes, thus one can’t seem to move on, and envision the towards. How would one continue, if the initial was never known, rather lost. One can’t direct, if the whereabouts can’t seem to be located, or have no sense. I ended up running further away, within 4 months later my stops was fewer than 29. The memory grows numb, I was running towards nowhere. I guess thats okay. The change perhaps are the runs and the stops, between intervals that varyingly creates a pattern of its own. In hope the tracks cycles the from, leading to new belongings. Cycle of constant belongings, as every path you passed, becomes a from.

Alexander Sebastianus H.


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