Ludlum wrote about Webb, about how he is made to forget his identity and how he fights to win it back and sets his record straight. Although the story shifts very rapidly from the drama of forgotten identity to revenge etc, that memory loss is kind of scary, if applied to, in the context of real life.
Actually, in the Bourne series, even though Jason does not remember himself or anyone else who form his life, everyone who matter (somehow) seem to know who he was/is on some level.
That got me thinking. How would it be if the exact opposite of what happened to Jason happen to someone? That again is one of the most terrifying things.
Sujatha explores this in his ‘Nilungal Rajave’. Not unlike Jason, loss of the memory of self is almost forced on Raja. Raja’s real identity is over-laid by more powerful memory of some random stranger. Now, even within his own memory, he becomes/ thinks he is that stranger and not Raja. Being Raja in appearance, but knowing all that the stranger knows (which rightly the stranger can only know), Raja is suspected by police and family; And questions on his motives arise. Raja struggles to uncover his identity while dealing with rejection and neglect from the stranger’s family whom he believes to be his. (The Medical/Pharma parts of the story has strong semblance to Mind bend of Robin Cook).
So the question is - which of the two would be worse, being forgotten or forgetting?
What if, I wake up one morning and everyone I know, just like that, has forgotten me? What if, the life I have lived so far is farce and what I’m now, in the no-previous-memory state, is my real existence? What if, I remember who I’m clearly and account for my life until that point while not one soul seem to realize who I’m?
On the other hand, what if I don’t recollect who I’m while all people, supposedly in my life, seem to be the clues to solving the puzzle to unravel my own identity?
Personally, forgetting who I’m will be a welcome bliss when compared to being forgotten by everyone else.
I could even now be living someone else’s life believing it to be my own. But as long as I have (whom I can say as) my friends, my family , my enemies, who know me more than I know myself, this make-believe identity should appear more real, than the distant real-personality that which would seem so fake with no one to believe it.