Fissures

Ahem.

First of all, I want to apologize for the previous post (Cracks).
It was late night, there was a lot of stuff, it got too intense and (ugh) emotional.

So I'm sorry if it got a little incoherent.

Wait. No I'm not.

I mean, I'm sorry if anyone got offended.

But I have got the chance to re-examine the circumstances, and I'll have at it again with a more rational process.



I still hate my life. That hasn't changed.

And I do want to die. But what I wrote, that was a bit of a rushed thinking. It's too simplistic, it didn't look at every aspect of the problem.

I mean if I really wanted to die, I could very easily off myself at anytime. There are a lot of ways to end a human being, you just need to get creative. Heck, I even carry a kitchen knife in my jeans pocket when I go out. The point here is: it's easy. But of course, the fact that I'm still here typing away on my laptop means that I don't find that solution feasible or desirable. Or at least not yet.

The biggest obstacle in deciding whether or not to kill myself is, I have to admit, my family. I happen to be the first-born son of a first-born son, so that means I'm sort of like the crown prince in the family. This is honest. They all expect me to carry on the family name, be the patriarch, and so on and so forth. Again, this is completely honest. So you can see that should I decide to kill myself, there would (I assume) be a lot of grief. My father, my mother, my grandparents, my cousins, perhaps my friends also (although I think they would have an easier time than my relatives), and my younger brother, the single male human I love most in this world. And I don't want to cause more grief in this world.

So, killing myself is off the table. Oh, and hoping for someone to kill me out of mercy is not really feasible in this day and age. And paying someone to do so is just so unrefined. So, there.

But there are, as always, other ways.

One can argue thusly: the main objection is the grief of family members. If we should eliminate said family members, there would be no one to feel the grief, right? Correct. But this is a huge task. I mean, if I wanted to do it elegantly, which I do. If I should start with the easiest, of course I would start with my grandparents. They are, I admit, rather superannuated, and have many ailments appropriate to their age. It would be easy to, say, poison their food. I just have to find an agent that creates a natural effect (as opposed to, for instance, dumping a large quantity of mercury in their bowls). It wouldn't be that complicated either, there are a lot of substances they can no longer tolerate. As for the rest of the family, I perhaps could design traps or resort to poison again or just use my knife. What I'm saying is, it's really not that complicated. But the problem lies in their numbers. If I started killing my family one by one, sooner or later the suspicion would fall on me. Which, again, would cause a lot of suffering in the family, even if said family is reduced in numbers. Besides, it would be very, very hard for me to kill my brother.

So, killing the rest of my family, while perfectly feasible and will bring about much-desired relief and freedom, requires large expenses, and will take quite some time to see any return on that investment. No.

What about just simply severing ties? I don't believe in that. Deep down, I and they (maybe) would never be able to completely forget about the other(s).

No, I believe that death would be preferable. As the North Wind in the Fables series say, "Death cancels all obligations."

Of course, the best possible outcome is the Apocalypse, which would save a lot of work on my part and hatred and suffering on all parties involved. But since it involves other, less measurable or predictable entities, I can't very well engineer it.

Or can I...?
No, no, let's keep this solid.

So that's it. I just have to decide whether to put an end to all of my family, or just hope for some miracle or natural catastrophe which kills either me or all my family.


Quite rational thinking, don't you think?

Cracks

FRIG.

Pardon my language.

FLIP.

FLUB.

FRACK.

FUCK.

FUUUUUUUCK.

I think I can now say that I HATE MY LIFE.

I hate it. I hate it.


You know what crossed my mind, last Sunday, when a ginger cat passed in front of me?

"I wonder if it would be hard to surgically remove that cat's heart. And lungs. Maybe it's easier to start with just the head. Simply cut the neck. Oh, this reminds me of that idea I had about a guillotine. For kittens."

That.

I don't know if that's relevant, if it's a reliable indicator of my hating life, or just a sign of severe depression, or even insanity.

But I do like the color red.


FUCK.

I hate my life. Usually when I hate things I don't want them ended.

But this is an exception.

Come, Death! I'll probably resist, maybe I'll fight you all the way, but know this: I WANT TO LOSE.

So come at me. Hurry.

Holiday Observation

Yes! Today happens to be a celebration (?) for Muslims the world over. Well if not a celebration, at least a holiday. A religious one. One in which we commemorate and emulate (?) the actions of Abraham and his son, either Isaac or Ishmael, whichever one you prefer. It's called Eid ul-Adha? Eid al-Adha? Idul Adha? Again, you choose.

It's very interesting, you know, we turn slaughter and bloodshed into a religious festival that survives to this day and age. Not only Muslims, mind, Jews do it too, I think. Or at least they used to do it. Christians do it too, at Easter, only they substitute a man in place of the multitude of animals. And they don't kill a man every Good Friday, they only remember the event. But the point still stands, blood is still the currency for salvation.

But it hasn't always been like that, right? It could have been otherwise. I mean, imagine a world where once or twice a year we gather at mosques or churches or synagogues or any other type of shrine, and instead of purchasing (at not so cheap a price) and subsequently killing thousands of innocent and kosher/halal animals and shedding all their blood in one bloody day, we just have an enormous ORGY? Sumerian-style, maybe?

I mean, it doesn't even have to be communal adultery or fornication, just... A LOT of married couples having sex side by side, right?

Fun!

Oh, and a happy birthday to my cousin, age 14, who won't (and shouldn't) be reading this anyway.

* If you are religious and you feel offended by this, or are nonreligious but feel offended anyway, well, it was not my intention to insult you. So I suppose it is excusable. But for good measure, I'll apologize as well. Sorry.

I find it hard to convey sarcasm in conventional writing.

So! Today's piece of writing is going to be personal. So for those of you not wanting a slice of my sick, twisted soul, feel free to turn back now, wimps. I mean, why are you guys even here anyway? It says clearly on the page description what to expect, right?

Ahem. Moving on....

At junior high school, I fell in love with books. Not that I didn't have access to a library back in elementary, but I just started reading a lot, and I mean A LOT, in junior high. And anyways I was such a goody-two-shoes back in elementary, which is perhaps unrelated to the issue at hand, which is my starting to love reading in junior high. Let's focus on that and just forget about the, um, rather embarrassing cause of my not going to the library in elementary school.

Anyway! So I loved reading, and my favorite topic was, surprise surprise, philosophy. I mean, aside from mythology. But I guess they are somewhat related, philosophy, mythology, along with religion, so it's not that surprising when you think about it. Darn.

But yeah, I read about those three (for you guys who inexplicably missed the previous paragraph, they are philosophy, mythology, and religion) extensively. I devoured the Greek mythology series by Menelaos and Yannis Stephanides, I read about the philosophical content of science-fiction movies (I can't remember the exact title of the book), I even dabbled in LaVeyan Satanism at one point.

Okay, that last one is a lie. I went to a Christian junior high, so it's highly unlikely that I would find a copy of The Satanic Bible by Anton LaVey, printed by Avon Books as fiction, which enabled me to procure a copy from a bookstore in this country.

But I did read a lot of Anthony de Mello. Who is Anthony de Mello? He was a Jesuit priest, I think, who wrote a lot of anecdotes and short stories (a lot of which are really funny) based on a lot of the world's cultures and religions. So in short, he's sort of a spiritual teacher, a mystic, if you will. His stories (meaning stories compiled by him, not necessarily authored by him) are not really Christian in the narrow specific sense, but they are fun to read. Thoroughly recommended.

Now, from reading those philosophies, religions, mythologies, and even a bit of mysticism, with a teeny tiny splash of agnosticism and atheism, I sort of made up my personal philosophy (at the relatively young age of around 15), which is this: be satisfied with what you have, and enjoy life. Be happy.

That, fellas, turned out to be a bad career move.

Well, for starters, I think I pissed off some of my friends by acting as if I forget about my needs. That's exactly the point! I aspire to be some sort of tranquil mystic who is pleased by just sitting under a dead tree and playing his flute, who still sings happily after they cut off his arms, who gives all his treasure happily to a robber and then proceeds to sit under the moon and contemplates it until he falls asleep naked. I want to be able to live without anything.

And if that pissed off friends, you can imagine what my parents would be like if they managed to find out about this deeply buried aspiration of mine. They seem to view my lack of desire for, well, things, as an absence of will and assertiveness and commitment. Which might be true, I guess. But yeah, it probably won't be suitable with their aspirations about me which (I think) involves some measure of riches and a wife and children and being the patriarch of our clan. And work, of course, lots of work to get there.

So, as I said, bad career move. If I continue along this path, I almost definitely will not end up successful in the world. Society, even my family, will probably shun me. And, perhaps I might even die a lot sooner than other people my age.

Wow, tough choice, huh?

I found something I like doing.

You know what I just did?

I painted my papier-mâché bowl (for lack of a better word) with some watercolors.

I haven't tested its water resistance, though. Partly because it hasn't dried yet, and partly, I have reservations because, well, I painted it with watercolors. Maybe I'll need some kind of finish, some sort of lacquer or something like that.

But so far, I am pleased with papier-mâché. After this bowl/plate hybrid thingy I think I'll try making a mask or two. And of course, in due time, after I get better at it, I'll try making a small crossbow.

Seems like a logical progression, don't you think?

Shame. Contempt. Rage.

I don't know your name.

I know where we met.

At a bookstore. One of my favorites.

I know how you looked.

Perhaps as tall as me. Shorter hair than mine. Infinitely more beautiful than me. Close to perfection.

I don't know your name.

I remember what you wore.

A light blue shirt, slightly large for you. Simple. Practical. Lovely.

I remember the things you said.

My hair. Sheep. My studies. You wished me luck. How I wish to hear it again.

I don't know your name.

I know your age. Two years my senior.

I know where you study. Over the seas, in Japan. Studying sheep for your master's degree.

I remember how your eyes looked when you saw me.

But to know how you saw me,

A boon not meant for me, I think.

And I don't know your name.

I do not know your name

I know how I could find out.

I know how I could try to reach you.

I know who to ask.

But I cannot.

Not without mortal embarrassment.

So I beg you forgive me.

For being cowardly.

For being embarrassed of my own feelings.

For settling for a shadow instead of fighting for the light.

What a wretch! What a fool!

Just like King Julien! Maybe.

Okay, hello everybody.

It is my birthday. Honestly. At least it is now, perhaps it no longer will be by the time I'm done writing.

And this turned to be one of the most truly pleasant days for me in the last... I don't know, really. In any case, this is a rare day, at least in terms of my general pleasure.

I'll tell you what I got/did/experienced today.

First, I received quite a lot of birthday congratulations, from family and friends. And it was around noon. That was quite unexpected. But it made me happy. Happier than I normally would be around 1 PM, so, it's definitely something. Thanks a lot, guys. Really. That was not sarcasm. If this were the TV series Spartacus (any of its derivatives) I would have said "Gratitude."

Secondly, I went shopping for books at Kinokuniya, the one in Pondok Indah Mall. Granted, not as spacious or well-stocked as the one in Plaza Senayan, but still very delightful. I procured two books: And Another Thing, which is the last book in the Douglas Adams' series The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, written by Mr. Eoin Colfer posing as Mr. Adams (and for some reason, one of the opening quotes was from the Tenacious D movie, so, another fun surprise); and Thief of Time, a Discworld book written by Mr. Terry Pratchett. I haven't gotten around to reading it yet, but I expect highly of Mr. Pratchett, and he has never failed me yet, so yeah, hopes are high..

Third, I saw the new Spider-Man reboot. A bit late, I know, but it's nice, watching movies in a half-full or perhaps even quarter-full theater. Had a box of popcorn and a cup of blended chocolate rum. Delicious. And the movie itself did not disappoint. Perhaps I'll write some of the things that occurred to me during the movie, but later. But I'll say this: although The Lizard is considerably better-looking than those action figures based on him, and despite the lack of any offensive, um, appendages, it's a pity that he is more often nude than not.

So yes, this was a happy day for me.





But no, of course I won't stop there. I had to realize something about myself.

Which is:





I am happiest when I am alone.

I was alone today. Buying the ticket, browsing, paying for and reading the books, having lunch (noodles with dumplings, thanks for asking), watching the movie, I did all that alone. By myself. Without company. Solo.

And I loved it.

When I was alone, I was free. I could go where I wanted. I could do as I please. I could be whatever I want to be. I could pretend to have a limp, I could hit on cashiers (yeah, I do that when I'm alone), I could terrify young children simply by looking at them.

When I was alone, people didn't know me. I was anonymous. Invisible. A blank page. An unshaped lump of clay.

Newborn.

Unbound, untethered, unencumbered, unknown, today I experienced freedom. Total freedom, complete freedom. Not one of those 'substantial freedom' of Hegel's, but to be able to act without fear of any consequence.





...But then, what about those birthday congratulations? Wasn't I also happy when I read those?

Yes, I was.



Okay, I made up my mind.



I shall from now on strive to live without bonds, without attachments, save the ones I willingly and happily make.



And I'll laugh more often. I like laughing.

'Spread Your Wings' by Queen

Alright.

Yesterday I made a promise to myself that I would write here, again. So here I am.

This post is, I think, a bit different from the others. It's considerably more personal.

Let's continue.

Yesterday, I made quite a few promises. All of them to myself. I promised to write more regularly, I promised to exercise more - which means at all - and most of all, I promised to, you know, do something this summer break, as opposed to just lying around at home, watching movies or playing video games.

Not that watching movies, playing video games, or even lying about on holiday is such a bad idea. In my opinion, those are perfectly acceptable ways to spend my time. But hey, why not try new stuff? Like exercise. Sports. Yeah. This doesn't mean I'm not happy with my body, mind. But I might just enjoy it, right? So, as usual, I'm going to use the best reason for doing things: 'Why not?'

So that's what I'm going to do. At least during this summer break. Starting now, June 25th, 2012. Exercise. Take driving lessons. And piano lessons. Experiment with papier mache. And, of course, still playing video games. Kingdoms of Amalur: Reckoning is highly addictive for me, man. But I think I'll try to cut back.

After all, I'll be having one of my birthdays soon.

Don't follow me, I'm lost too.

What are we?

Hmm. That question needs explaining, doesn't it?

Alright. It doesn't mean 'What species are we?'. That is quite easily answered, since there is already some sort of guideline on how to distinguish and classify species("Question 42. Do you have some sort of backbone? Then you are probably a chordate, unless you happen to be a statue of the skeleton of a Tyrannosaurus rex. Proceed to question 771." That sort of thing.). The question addresses an issue far deeper and general and universal than that. Presumably. Let's try to continue for the moment. I'll start from the thing that got me thinking about this.

Clive Staples Lewis, of Narnia fame, wrote in the book The Problem of Pain these words: "They wanted to be nouns, but they were, and eternally must be, mere adjectives." He was referring to Man's rebellion against God; that when Adam and Eve took and subsequently ate the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, they did so in attempt to secede from God and to assert their independence as entities. According to Mr. Lewis, that was the sin. We, as creatures, are adjectives that describe God; or perhaps, if I'm allowed my own opinion, also adverbs that describe God's works. Pantheists and panentheists will perhaps agree to a certain degree. It also fits the part 'God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him' from Genesis 1:27. Perhaps this could partially explain the period in human history when we were all very religious (or superstitious): we are only extensions of a being or beings, thus we might as well do as they wish.

That sort of thinking apparently lost popularity (if it ever had any) some time ago. As Mr. Lewis said, the transition happened from adjectives to nouns. We start to describe the world, and ourselves, as nouns. One evidence has already been given: the classification system, as pointed above. It seems that for some period of time, we - perhaps better defined as early scientists and philosophers - were concerned mainly about what things are, and how are they to be classified. As another example, let's look at the four classical elements: water, earth, fire, air. Some people seem to have thought that all things are created from these four elements. Sure, now we have over 100 elements, but the idea is still basically the same; the focus is essence, of what things are made. This sort of thinking might have lead to alchemy, with the hope that everything has a common substance, and they only need a few modifications. Even now, we can think of every word as nouns. 'Verb' is a noun, correct?

What if 'verb' were a verb? I first read this in a Calvin and Hobbes strip, where Calvin said that he liked to verb words. 'To verb' here means to take a noun or an adjective and then use it as a verb. An example, given in the comic, is that 'access' used to be a thing, but it is now something you do. It got verbed. Another example, common nowadays, is the usage of the word 'google'. Really, there are lots of examples: bottle up feelings, fully booked flights, bagged the money, Shyamalan a movie, Jedi the heck out of people, and of course, 'was Batmanned until he lost consciousness'. While not that uncommon and surprisingly natural and easy to understand, if used inappropriately (or appropriately, depending on your intent), verbing could certainly weird language.

So what?

To briefly summarize: the human thinking might have evolved in those steps: adjectives, nouns, then verbs.

That.

Look at today's world. Really. We focus on action, right? Change. We want to 'do things' or 'get things done'; questions on 'what things really are' or 'whether certain things violate certain basic principles' are set aside, perhaps even forgotten. But I'm not here to debate ethics. At least not now.

From shaman to philosopher to engineer. That's how I see our evolution as a species. Of course, probably this is an oversimplification. But the real process could be more than this; it could not be less than what I have described.

So what are we? We might really be adjectives, but we wanted to be nouns, and now, our worth is defined as one would define verbs. Confusing? Hell yes. Even I am unsure of all this.

What of the future, then?

Oh, maybe we'll move to the 'conjunction' phase, where we are simply connectors of ideas, and the best humans are the best emissaries between beings.

Maybe there will be a 'pronoun' stage, when all men are basically placeholders for an idea, a general concept of Man.

Of course, there's always the possibility of the 'interjection' phase.

Fuck. Bloody hell. Bollocks.

On Walpurgisnacht, this happened.

I am bored.

So very bored.

Not that my life's empty and devoid of things; on the contrary, there are lots of things that should occupy my interest right now. Well, that proves it. It's all in the mind.

But honestly, for some reasons which are currently unknown to me, I am suddenly losing interest in most of the things in life.

Not all things, though.

Food. Food is one thing that still excites me. (No wonder I'm fat.) I love the way food feels and, most of the time, tastes. Is food beneficial? In some certain quantities, sure. In excess, maybe not so much. But that's the way it is.

While I'm skirting the subject here, let me comment on something that's been on my mind for some time. Ever thought why most glasses nowadays have bases that are smaller in diameter than the rims are? I find it somewhat annoying sometimes. Perhaps not downright annoying, more like... an itch, maybe. I mean, really, why? Does it make the glass more stable? Common sense says 'no'. More pleasing aesthetically? Depends on the individual using it, and I'm sure opinions are divided. Maybe they're made that way to mislead the user on the subject of liquid amount. When the glass is full, the user sips, and the liquid level falls to some degree. No problem there. But then the user sips again, presumably in the same volume as the previous sip, and the liquid level drops again, but this time it drops more due to the difference in the circumference of the glass. To what effect? I don't know. Maybe it creates - at the commencement of the drinking - an illusion that the glass is containing more than it really does? Again, I don't know.

Ah. Or maybe, maybe, the glass is shaped that way because liquid pours better from that shape? Or that shape is easier to clean? Or it's easier to store (being more space-efficient)? Probably one of those, yeah.

Sigh. It's halfway solved. As usual, with mundane and uninteresting explanations.

Back to my boredom.

Of course, at least two highly intelligent (fictional) characters get really bored. I'm talking about Light Yagami (from the manga 'Deathnote') and Sherlock Holmes (created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and has been portrayed by various people, most recently by Benedict Cumberbatch in the BBC series 'Sherlock'). Naturally, I identify with them. Oh yes. I consider myself highly intelligent, certainly. I have an ego the size of... me. Which, as suggested above, is quite large in terms of spatial measurements.

Maybe that's the problem? Too big an ego? Creating the mindset that the world is simply not enough for me, ergo, boredom?

Not my problem.

God, I think Your job now is to show me the real world in all its majesty and glory so that even I, the great I, am humbled.

Shouldn't be too hard for You, I think.

I am. Today. Sorry, Master Dodgson.

Saturday night. And, for some reason, I'm sort of in high spirits.

Perhaps some might view it funny or strange or downright creepy that I usually get psyched in the nighttime, which has been associated with darkness (somewhat obviously), cold, evil, horror, the supernatural, the supranatural, vampires, werewolves, ghosts, murderers, rapists, kidnappers, monsters, the dead, the undead, fear, sorrow, melancholy, the unknown, which mostly inspire gloom and dread (maybe with the exception of vampires and werewolves, albeit for weird and inappropriate reasons nowadays). But that's alright. I do.

In fact I've just been reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, by Stieg Larsson, translated into English by Reg Keeland. It took around one sixth of the book to get me going, but by the time I'm halfway done, I can't put it down. Read it. Interesting. And, by the way, possible minor spoiler alert.

The book is partly what puts me in a rather uppy mood tonight. You see, the eponymous character is a problematic person, who glides through school without exceptional achievements. If I'm not mistaken, she dropped out of college or something. Her academic history is not... good, in short. Of course, as with all problematic main characters, she is virtually perfect in at least one area of expertise, namely investigation. (I'm not done with the book, so I can't really say more than that, thank you very much.)

And that's what lifted my spirits tonight. If you know me at all, I suppose you ought to know that my grades aren't exactly what you'd call brilliant. Especially last semester. Ugh.

But stories like that, those are the ones that I (and I presume those similar to me) delight in. What kind of stories exactly? You know, stories in which the dropouts (or near-dropouts) are actually quite capable people, and simply has not shown all their capabilities yet, for whatever reason. Stories like this give me hope.

It led me to a revelation. A stunningly simple realization.

Your life doesn't (necessarily) end if you fail college.

See? Imagine sometime in the future, maybe a year from now, when confronted with a doubter, and you say "Give me a year," and a year later you have learned, maybe mastered, all the skills you need for your life. Possible, right? Pleasant, even. Satisfying.

All those might sound pathetic. Well, if it's pathetic to have faith in yourself, then I suppose I am pathetic.

Maybe I'll become a Peripatetic. Who knows?

The future is not real. Not tangible. Not writ. Nonexistent as of yet.

We are free.

Or at least I am.

P.S. Well, back to the book. It gets really interesting in part 3, specifically around chapter 16. People die in it.

One of the promptings from the dark and locked off parts of my mind.

Hello.

It's been quite a while since I last saw you.

Well, not really, I saw you on the first day of the term. Which was not even a month ago.

But that was not a proper meeting. More like passing each other on our own way to someplace. It was exactly that, now that I think of it.

Our last real meeting was on your birthday, way back in the dark age that was 2011.

Fun? Of course. Always a pleasure to see you. With her, as usual. There was the slight annoyance of meeting him on the way to your place, but the meeting itself was nonetheless pleasant.

Fun. Happy.

But not nearly enough.

Not nearly enough.

I think of you nearly everyday.

I wish I don't, but I do.

And the more I think of you, the more I become unsure.

I realized... I don't really know you that well.

Forgive me, but that is what I feel.

And this... this FRIGHTENS me.

I hate being frightened.

What do I fear?

Not very many things that I am aware of.

But I am afraid of loving my projection of you more than I love the real living you.

I need to see you.

I need to hear you.

I need to experience you.

I need to know you.

Before the probably inaccurate image of you crushes my mind completely.