Who is Mynghers?

Who is Mynghers?

I am Mynghers. Or rather, I was. Now I am only a faded memory of who I once was. Always in the wrong place, at the right time.

Mynghers' story began on a summer afternoon, an ordinary day that would remain etched in his memory. His father had returned from a vacation with friends, a trip that had shaken the foundations of the family. Why? Mynghers wasn't sure, but the heated tone between his parents hinted that there was something more: perhaps betrayal? Perhaps accusations? Ultimately, it didn't matter to him. What he was anxiously awaiting was the gift his father had promised.

And the gift arrived.

It was a set of games from the 1970s, packaged in one of those plastic boxes that held little childhood treasures. He tore it open with feverish hands, revealing the contents: binoculars, a camera, and perhaps a pair of handcuffs. The handcuffs were a hazy detail in his memory, but the binoculars and the camera stood out clearly.

But there was a problem. The long return journey, from the cool of the mountains of Macugnaga to the sultry heat of Agliate, had had a devastating impact. The father, unaware, had placed the set right under the rear window of the car. The relentless sun had melted some of the toys, transforming them into a tangle of deformed plastic. The binoculars, although a little crooked, still worked. The camera, however, had miraculously survived, intact and mysterious.

As he looked at his new toys, Mynghers could hear his parents’ heated voices in the background. His mother was scolding his father, whose behavior during the vacation had sown suspicion and tension. But Mynghers wasn’t interested in those arguments. No, he had two toys that promised hours of fun. And yet, the camera had a special attraction for him, a fascination that went beyond simple childish curiosity.

There was one obstacle, though: the film was missing. The camera, as he had received it, was incomplete. It was like a puzzle missing a final piece, a toy that couldn’t work. For days, Mynghers persisted. He used tantrums, pleas, and even attempts at invented explanations to convince his mother to get him the film. The mother, exhausted and confused, turned to the neighbors, hoping for some advice. The film seemed an exotic object, an unusual request for a child of the 1970s.
But in the end, miraculously, the mother found a way. No one knows how, no one knows where, but the film appeared, as if by magic, in Mynghers's little hands. It was in black and white, and yet, for him, it was like holding the key to a new world in his hands.

That day, something changed. Mynghers was no longer just a child with a new toy: he was an explorer, a storyteller ready to take shape through the lens of that camera.