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Wasuremono by Rachel Davidson


Have you forgotten anything?

The refrain in schools, buses, trains, bathroom stalls, any place you leave in Japan. And at the elementary schools where I teach, there are lost-and-found corners for otoshimono, lit. "dropped things." Everything ends up there, from cartoon-branded hand towels to tiny coats, from hair scrunchies to gloves; the adorable debris of everyday life in Japan.


Have you forgotten any piece of yourself?

Hearing the reminder repeatedly, it's metonymy at its finest: your pack of tissues, hat and umbrella become you. And so a well-intended concern for your quotidian belongings collides with the transience of human existence.

What kind of personal history do we create through every thing we've loved and left behind?



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