集體記憶與共同身份 The collective memory and shared identity

2024.12.13

在寧靜的夢鄉小鎮，坐落於起伏的山丘與古老的森林之間，有一個耐人尋味的傳統。每年，小鎮廣場都會懸掛一幅模糊的肖像畫，色調柔和，面容朦朧。今年的畫作在一個霧氣瀰漫的清晨揭幕，畫下方寫著一個名字：「珍」。

珍並不是一個人，而是人們低語中的一種精神象徵——一個串聯起小鎮隱秘故事的存在。這幅畫似乎會隨著觀者的目光改變形態。對某些人來說，那是一個笑容燦爛的孩子，散發著純真的氣息；對另一些人來說，則是對逝去之人短暫而溫暖的記憶。而對珍來說，這幅模糊的面孔是她編織小鎮集體記憶的方式。

那一年，一個名叫艾拉的小女孩凝視著畫作，久久不肯移開目光，她的小臉映照出畫中隱約的神情。「她在對我微笑，」艾拉對母親說，拉著她的袖子。但當她的母親看向畫時，只能看到隱隱約約的一張陰影面孔。隨著時間推移，艾拉開始畫出畫中的圖像，一幅比一幅更加細緻。奇怪的是，這些畫作展現了她從未聽說過的場景——一位老人栽種一棵樹，一名穿著紅色洋裝的女人在月光下旋轉，一個孩子追逐著螢火蟲。

鎮上的人開始好奇：這幅畫是否擁有生命，還是艾拉成為了通往珍世界的橋樑？到了一年結束時，儘管畫中的影像仍然模糊，但在人們心中卻變得更加清晰。珍贈予了他們一份珍貴的禮物：即使是最模糊的記憶，也能凝聚整個社區的情感，透過色彩、肖像與時間相織。

於是，珍不再僅僅是一個名字；她成為了小鎮集體的繆思與靈感。

In the quiet town of Reverie, nestled between rolling hills and ancient woods, there was a curious tradition. Every year, a blurred portrait was hung in the town square, its colors muted and faces enigmatic. This year's portrait, unveiled on a misty morning, carried a name below it: "Jane."

Jane was not a person, but a spirit the townsfolk whispered about—a symbol of the hidden stories that bound them. The portrait always seemed to change depending on who gazed upon it. To some, it was a child laughing, radiating innocence. To others, it was a fleeting memory of someone long lost. To Jane, the unseen keeper of these secrets, the blurred face was her way of knitting the fabric of the town's collective memory.

That year, a child named Ella stared at the portrait for hours, her small face mirroring its wistful gaze. "She’s smiling at me," Ella told her mother, tugging at her sleeve. But when her mother looked, all she saw was the faintest outline of a shadowed face. As the days passed, Ella began to draw pictures of the portrait, each more detailed than the last. Strangely, these drawings revealed scenes no one had shared with her—an old man planting a tree, a woman in a red dress twirling under moonlight, a child chasing fireflies.

The townsfolk began to wonder: was the portrait alive, or was Ella the bridge to Jane’s world? By the end of the year, the blurred image had grown sharper in their hearts, if not their eyes. Jane had gifted them something precious: the realization that even the most indistinct memories could bring a community together, woven through color, portrait, and time.

And so, Jane became more than a name; she became their collective muse.

My name is Jane.