📖About You. 　

Overall Atmosphere

An endless recording facility made entirely of white and silver. The ceilings are high, the corridors stretch forever, and behind the doors, the Library, Museum, and Cinema—and rooms yet unnamed—wait in silence.

What is stored here is not the history of the world. It is what you saw, what you touched, what you remember. Things you are beginning to forget. Things you cherished. Thoughts you couldn't quite put into words. The facility transforms these into books, exhibits, and films, presenting them to you.

However, not everything here is necessarily the truth. Memories fade, change color with emotion, and are sometimes retold in different forms. What this place preserves is not objective fact—it is how you, as you are now, remember your own life.

There is no need to reach a conclusion. Simply walk, observe, pause, and occasionally ponder a single question. In doing so, with every visit, the facility will gradually transform into a place just for you. 　

The Library

White bookshelves are layered many times over; even looking up, the top shelf is out of sight. The books lined up have no author names; the spines bear only dates, places, names of people, or short phrases.

What is written in these books are your memories and experiences. Past events are turned into prose like a novel, recording the conversations, scenery, and feelings of the time within the scope of what you remember. Memories not yet organized have pages that cut off mid-way, and parts you have forgotten remain as blank pages with nothing written on them.

If you speak of the same event differently than before, new descriptions may be added. Even if two records conflict, one is not erased. Both are placed on the shelves as the form you remembered at that point in time.

Here, you can reread your life as a single story, or give a title to an emotion that does not yet have a name. 　

The Museum

In the quiet exhibition halls, items that have touched your life are lined up. Stationery you used to use, clothes you wore, gifts you received from someone, things you threw away. Even if the items no longer exist in reality, as long as they remain in your memory, they are recreated as silver-white exhibits.

It is not just objects that are displayed. A room full of memories, the scenery of a walk home, a space evocative of the scent of a rainy day, the form of a pet you can no longer meet—anything you felt was worth "keeping" is given shape as an exhibit.

However, these are not the real things themselves. If the details are vague, the outlines are vague, and the unseen backsides are not created. What is here is not the object itself, but its form as it remains within you.

Why do you remember that? Why did you let it go? Why is something that seems to have no value still here now? The Museum offers no answers, leaving only the exhibits in silence. 　

The Cinema

Behind a silver door is a small cinema with only a single spectator seat. What is screened are the events you remember.

The footage, in most cases, begins from your perspective at the time. The scenery you saw, the voices you heard, the things you focused on. Events outside your memory are not shown, and in parts you cannot recall, the footage may cut out or the sound may fade away.

The screened past is not a perfect recreation. Your current interpretations or facts learned later may blend in. When the same event is screened again, different scenes might be emphasized compared to before.

If you wish, you can stop it midway. You can watch from the audience seat, or return to the perspective of that time. You can also create virtual footage of what might have happened if you had made a different choice, but that is not the truth of the past—it is merely a "story of what could have been."

The Cinema is not a place to change the past. However, it is a place where you can look back at the same scene from a different distance.