wandering galaxies

It never really ends, wandering. We daydream of the various and multiple possibilities that have been. We seek them to play God, to gain a certain semblance of certainty and control in our haphazard dull life; to feel interesting; to spice up whatever variants of our life. We conjure multiple worlds and parallel dimensions of what could be. I skirt around Romeo and Juliet and cry wolf at the superficiality of their romance (infatuation)? When I think of tragic love stories and romance, it is not the images of suicide and family bitterness that pains and tugs me but the tragedy of parallel lines, and lovers in parallel dimensions. I search for tragedy in science fiction because what could be more romantic and tragic than parallel lines, lovers stuck in multiple dimensions unable to meet?

The emotional appeal and catharsis of tragedy is in its mimesis of life and action. Or so as Aristotle says. I love(d) the idea of Shakespearean’s cosmic irony - the notion that fate toys with human hopes & expectations; indifferent to the individual lives of the men. When Doctor meets Rose at The End of The World, separated by a thin spatial-temporal wall, palm facing palm, heart syncing heart. Or  when Murakami’s boy meets the 100% Perfect Girl in a perfect cherry blossomed falling day, failing to recognise her a decade later. Or when Platonic lovers transversed through different times and centuries to find their would-be half. That lamenting irony of believing themselves to be ideally fated such that even cruel Time and Fate could not tear the other. Well the joke is on them. Why throw away a gift and chance encounter in time to the hands of Fate?

Othering

Monday surmised the most random of thoughts. I had a very compelling idea to craft my own cotton blanket sheet, silk pillowcases (yes, my vanity and fear of crow lines motivated it) and PVC leather pouches with monograms. Hannah suggested visiting Chinatown for competitive fabric pricing. It was a nice treat and change to visit People Park’s Complex. The foreign exclusive charm begets a stronger flavor and history that the land and people still clings strongly onto. Maybe it is because of my role as an outsider, detached from the transformations and history of the site, that I could not empathize and could not relate to the familiar smell, faces and gestures of its place. I felt acutely aware of the incongruence to my own familiar environment – it was different, good or bad, I do not know but it made me feel sharply alone in the bustling crowd of people, noises and aroma.

In ways unknown, Mary Lennox’s loneliness seems familiar and almost an echo of what I could and might be. She ascribes human qualities to the little red robin as if it could possibly empathize and relate as humans do. Some days, when Pedro looks at me begrudgingly and ignores me (as if) with intention, I have the pulling inclination that empathy is not exclusive to the human race. Some days, when Pedro runs up to me at the shrill and screech of his name, I have the nudging inclination that animals may understand way better than we believe they do. The stray cat with his nasal purrs and belly ups, the wandering mongrel who subtly leads me to my cousins’ hiding spots during a game of Hide & Seek, the endless rants/conversations I used to have with dogs or cats when I was a little child walking through the tall grasses and endless banana plantations, or even now when Pedro listens to my endless whining and complaints – be it with a begrudging grumpy face -, I have the most insane thought that humans have chosen to opt out of the secret language of gestures, of non-speech, of quiet silence.  We have opted out and instead believes that the silence, the inability of animals to speak in our tongues is but a cripple, handicap in the process of evolution. Would it not be an ironic fallacy if it was us that do not understand, do not speak the language of silence and gesture?

7 March 2013

(Possible) Aspirations for the near future

1. Work for UNICEF, United Nations
2. Become a journalist or writer reporting on issues that I care about
3. Try to see how I can make a career in drawing, painting and being involved in creative ideas 
4. Become a creative director?
5. Apply for Big Cat Rescue VISA Card as my first credit card*
6. Do not silence the child in me 
7. Learn and strive to love unconditionally 

*It was something I told myself when I was 15/16. Then, I was really affected by the Big Cats trade (animal trade in general) and the inhumanity of animal eugenics (Ligers etc.) but I was helpless and foolishly idealistic. I remember watching tons of videos and crying myself to sleep, wishing for a better world. And like what an introverted fifteen year old would do, I sought the internet for links and help, hoping that in my way I would eventually be able to do something about it. Friends, this was why you saw me bawling my eyes out like a baby during that one GP lesson in JC when we were watching the documentaries on animal cruelty. How I was so horrified after reading an article that justified the inhumane cruelty and killing of animals and how I tried rebutting the arguments idealistically using my own pathetic reasoning and my imprecise logical deductions and analysis.  I was sobbing and crying mainly for my own helplessness; but also for the persistent sickness in our nature which seems to manifest in every thing we do. 

We kill, we fight and we wage war all in the vain pride and philosophy that it is just or right, given our circumstances. What is justice or right? Justice is the value of upholding what is fair and reasonable and what is right? Boundaries between right and wrong changes with circumstances and times, and our understanding of the past (how certain actions have horrible implications and consequences) colours how we view them but I believe there is a moral right - my empathy compels me to believe in the sanctity of all lives (human or animals) and I want to defend it. 

I remember telling Y three years back, "I want to strive to achieve logical clarity in my mind, so that I can justify and reason analytically for the wills and whispers of the heart." So that the heart will never be deemed as the weaker under the criteria set by the mind, so that the heart will no longer take back seat in decision making just because it is seen as the inferior faculty. I think somewhere, along the process, I lost my purpose and forgot why, why I wanted to learn the humanities in an university instead of going to an art school, why I wanted to improve myself as a person....

I think ultimately, I want to improve myself, my mind so that I can love better. 

flames and shooting star

What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form, in moving, how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? man delights not me; no, nor woman neither, though, by your smiling, you seem to say so.

Hamlet, Act II, scene ii

*

1914 - 1939

Once upon a time, there lived a young boy. Eyes bright like the shimmering stars that spanned the Earth. He was a peculiar kid, lanky thin, lips pursed into blood red rose petals, his skin a sickly white.

One day, he heard something. A very peculiar thing indeed, for in his short minuscule lifespan, he had never heard of it, and never would. This was a foreign sound. Foreign and new, like that rickety rackety toy Mom brought back home from work. A rubbery seat stuck on two wheels, a handle broken beyond repair, but it was new and foreign and it made him merry.

This sound was a peculiarity and an animosity. His curiosity was piqued. He silently crept out of his rickety rackety bed and stalked into the blanketed darkness of the night. He gasped in awe at the sight that was unravelling before his very innocent eyes. Never in his life had he saw such a pulchritudinous sight.

Flames, lights and … shooting star.

Unforgiving human eyes rarely descry a meteor shower. He is starry eyed, blessed and merry. The stars are shining for him, he makes a wish. He wishes for more loaves of bread. The stars are getting nearer and nearer. His hands are clasped into a prayer, his starry eyes are closed.

*

Rickety rackety roar of flames, it devours, burst into nothingness, into thick choking air of smokes and deaths.

Eyes no longer reflect the sparkle of the stars.

The flames devour and a prayer lingers.