I have been reading The Book of Laughter and Forgetting by Milan Kundera that I bought from a second-hand bookshop in Pittsburgh. Different from all the books I have read so far, this one is falling apart even as I read it. The front cover peeled off in the first month of reading. Now the back cover has peeled off as well and the front cover, which I didn’t throw away, has half disintegrated. The pages of the book are yellowed and fragile but still pretty readable

It is a strange experience. I am used to reading books with the hope that they will stay with me for a long time. I enjoy writing down my thoughts in them so I can revisit them later. Admittedly, I don’t often do that. However, I like to think that I will someday. In this case, however, it is clear that the book won’t last long. Anything I write will be gone in a few months; there is no expectation of preserving my thoughts for my future self. Eerily, I find this liberating. I have been writing my thoughts without the fear of them being judged even by my future self. Strangely enough, the book is also a meditation on the experience of forgetting. Kundera argues that a people who have no past, who have forgotten their history, can be easily shepherded by the powers that be. On the other hand, people who are constantly bound to their past can never live in the present, nor can they control their lives.