The past is inextricably mixed up with the present. What we perceive in the present invokes the past buried within in our memories, forming the experience of here and now––our reality itself.

Indeed, our world is comprised of more than just objective reality; it is also a narrative woven from memories of the past that have been filtered by the sieve of our interests.

To what degree is a story just a story, and to what degree is it real?

Just as the world of a movie is a narrative, physical phenomena are also a kind of narrative. Events we experience are cut and reshaped by our personal interests, and the fragments of the events resulting from this process are, in time, made into a story using the mechanism we call "interpretation". By nature, there is no clearly defined boundary between fiction and fact.

My days with her were a type of story, but they were also an irrevocable reality.