I was
told that throughout the course of my own life, I would experience a continuity
which would demonstrate for me that regardless of the changes in personality
that I would undergo, I would remain the same man. Yet, the most careful
attention has revealed for me a profound disunity.
How
many mornings have I awoken, utterly disconnected from the previous night?
How often have I read unfamiliar letters penned in my own hand, how often
have I listened to old recordings of my voice with no sense of kinship
with these disembodied soliloquies?
Were Michael Arnold to recount his life history, he would tell of his childhood in the orchard valley of Oratia, his fortunate acceptance into the distinguished Dilworth School for 'children from straightened circumstances' where he spent a term of eight years under full academic scholarship, of his degree in the Arts awarded by the University of Auckland, and subsequent diploma in Philosophy, and of his current position as a helpdesk technician for Xtra Internet.
These moments disinterested me; they seemed to have detatched themselves from the man and become the skeletal components of an impersonal characature. As I observed the procession of events, I found that I tended to disregard the job interviews, the official ceremonies, the sexual liaisons, the witnessing of important events.
My strongest memory remains his ferry ride to the Amedée islet whilst visiting New Caledonia at the age of 16. The sun concentrated vigorously on the sea, which, leaning over the back rail of the ferry, appeared so intensely blue to him.
One of the passengers took a photograph of him on that occasion, this awkward European smiling uncomfortably in thick, inexpensive sunglasses.
