ENTERING THE FUGUE
Singapore, August 2020. My father's descent into dementia began some five years ago. Watching a warm and intelligent man gradually lose his faculties, I found myself pondering human consciousness, the vagaries of personal memory, how our faculties are so variable person to person. And so fragile. "Everything you can imagine is real" [... Picasso] and perhaps we each live in our own bubbles of reality. How do we really know who we are? How can we really know someone else?