We humans are both blessed and afflicted with the gift of memory. For every one we cherish and share with others there is another we shudder at and lock away as deeply as we can. They're all in there, good and bad and everything in between. Sometimes we conjure them up voluntarily, other times they come forward on their own.
Torreblanca's "Parece Navidad" begins with recollected fragments of scenes and conversations. The memories come slowly: stairs, a boat, how the day felt, a face, a blush, a smell, doubts, blame. They build and build until their burden begins to show. Anxiety mounts as the fragments become pieces of a whole, linking together, hurling forward cold deserted mornings, more faces, promises, unanswered questions, hours, days, weeks, meals, calls, fake friends, lies, lies, and more lies.
The mind becomes an on and off switch, beyond your control, turning the memories on and off. Is is Christmas? Is everything a lie? What is real and what isn't? Your head is pounding. Your only wish at this point it to get all those fragments out of there. Pull them up by the roots and cast them away. How do you do it?! Can you even try?!
We humans are both blessed and afflicted with the gift of memory.