- JC has taught me how to pack my bag really quickly.
- JC has taught me that some boys (most) are not as mature as they look.
- JC has taught me that a lot of it depends on luck. And popularity.
- JC has made at least one pair of my shoes wear out.
- JC has made me immune to the constant eruption of swear words every 10 seconds.
- JC has made me walk a lot.
- JC has made me further realise, to put it in a not so harsh way, the shortcomings of the education system here.
- JC has made me realise that most of the time, hope is futile.
- JC has made my mood swings to be worse.
- JC has made me even more cynical.
- JC is the last frontier between the innocence of childhood and the coldness of the adult world. This is where the foul side of me is cultivated. That is where it will flourish for the rest of my life.
#1022 suddenly I'm lost, on my street, on my block
Thursday 30 May 2013
End of first semester review:
#1021 I've reclaimed the use of my imagination
Wednesday 29 May 2013
Just eight more days. At least eight more days to pull through.
Anyway.
From http://listverse.com/2013/04/15/10-mind-blowing-theories-about-the-universe-and-reality/
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
10 Mind-Blowing Theories about the Universe and Reality (Michael Allison)
The Big Freeze
The “Big Freeze” is a scientific theory of the end of the universe. Though it doesn’t entail gigantic tubs of ice cream drowning everyone, it does spell disaster for everyone. The universe has a fixed amount of energy in it, and as this energy runs out—so the theory goes—the universe slows down. In other words, there is a slow loss of heat, because heat is produced by the movement of energy particles. There is also a slowdown in movement, and supposedly, everything would eventually come to a halt. Which brings to mind the lines by T. S. Eliot: “This is the way the world ends: not with a bang but with a whimper.”
Solipsism
Solipsism is a philosophical theory which states that nothing can be verified except the existence of one’s own mind. This seems silly at first; and who, after all, would wish to deny that the world around them exists? The only problem is that it’s impossible to verify the existence of anything except your own consciousness.
Don’t believe us? Take a moment to remember all the plausible dreams you’ve ever had in your life. Couldn’t it be possible that what you see around you is nothing but an incredibly elaborate dream? But we have friends and family whose existence we can verify, simply by touching them, right? Wrong. People on LSD, for example, sometimes report seeing (and touching) the most convincing hallucinations—yet we don’t assume that their illusions are real.
So what can we verify, then? Well, not even the chicken drumstick we had for dinner, nor the keyboards at our fingers; only our own thoughts can be proven by each one of us to exist. Have fun sleeping tonight!
Idealism
“Idealism” is the belief that all things exist as an idea in the mind—or more specifically, as an idea in someone’s mind. George Berkeley, a famous idealist philosopher, found that his views were dismissed as idiotic by some of his peers. It’s said that one of his opponents closed his eyes, kicked a stone, and stated: “I refute it thus.”
The point was that if the stone really existed only in the man’s mind, he should not have been able to kick it with his eyes closed. Berkeley’s refutation of this was a bit troublesome, especially in modern eyes. He stated that there existed an all-powerful and omnipresent God, who perceived everyone and everything simultaneously. Plausible or not? You decide.
Plato and the Logos
Everyone has heard of Plato. He is the most famous philosopher around—and like all philosophers, he most definitely had something to say about reality. Plato claimed that in addition to the world we’re all familiar with, there exists another world of perfect “forms.” All the things we see around us here are merely shadows, imitations of the real thing. By studying philosophy, we can hope to catch a glimpse of the originals.
To add to this bombshell, Plato, being a monist, tells us that everything is made out of a single substance. This means that (according to his view), diamonds, gold, and dog poo are composed of the same basic substance arranged in different ways—and according to modern science, this theory may not be too far from the truth.
Presentism
Time is something we take for granted: if we consider it for a moment, we normally divide it simply into the past, the present, and the future. “Presentist” philosophers, however, argue that there is neither a past nor a future; only the present exists.
In other words, your last birthday does not exist and every word in this article ceases to exist after you look at it—until you look back at it again. The future does not exist, as time cannot be both behind and ahead, according to Saint Augustine. Or in the words of the great scholar of Buddhism, Fyodor Shcherbatskoy: “Everything past is unreal, everything future is unreal, everything imagined, absent, mental . . . is unreal. . . . Ultimately real is only the present moment of physical efficiency.”
Eternalism
Eternalism presents a sharp contrast to presentism. This philosophical theory postulates that time actually has many layers, and could perhaps be compared with a sponge cake (unlike time, sponge cakes do not divide philosophers). All layers exist simultaneously, but the layer seen by a particular observer depends on where he is standing.
So dinosaurs, World War Two and Lady Gaga all exist at the same time but can only be viewed from a certain point. According to this view, the future is hopelessly deterministic and free will appears to be an illusion.
Brain in the Vat
The “Brain in the Vat” thought-experiment is a problem encountered by philosophers and scientists who propose (like most people) that the external world is independently verifiable.
So what’s the problem? Well, let’s imagine for a moment that we are merely brains in vats, with our perceptions being manipulated by aliens or evil scientists. How could we possibly know? And how could we disprove the possibility of this situation actually being the case for us right now?
Brain-in-vat is a modern spin on Descartes’ Evil Demon problem; it makes the same point—that we can’t prove the existence of anything but our consciousness—but employs slightly different thought-experiments. And if this sounds like the Matrix, that’s because the Matrix was based on this very scenario. Unfortunately, we don’t have any red pills.
Multiverse Theory
Anyone who hasn’t been living under a rock for the past ten years will have at least heard of the multiverse, or parallel universe, theory. Parallel worlds—as many of us already know—are said to be very much like ours, with only minor (or in some cases, major) differences. According to the theory, there is an infinite number of these universes.
So what’s the implication for us? Well: in one parallel universe, you’ve already been killed by dinosaurs and now lie eight feet under (because that’s how they do things, there). In another, you’re a powerful dictator with the morals of a North Korean Saddam Hussein. In yet another, you were never even born—you get the picture.
Fictional Realism
The most exciting implication of the Multiverse Theory? Superman is real. Okay, so some of you might be able to come up with slightly more exciting ideas—but let’s stick with Superman. Logically, if there’s an an infinite number of universes, then there must be quite a few which contain real-life versions of our favorite fictional characters.
Phenomenalism
Ever wondered what happens to things behind your back? Philosophers have studied this problem intently, and some have reached a simple conclusion: they vanish. Well—not exactly. Some philosophers, known as “phenomenalists”, believe that things only exist insofar as they are perceived. In other words, your cheese sandwich only exists so long as you are aware of its existence. So as for trees that fall in forests with no one around to hear them; they don’t. No perception, no existence. That’s phenomenalism in a nut-shell.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Intrigued by solipsism, idealism, presentism, eternalism (the idea of a sponge cake omg), brain in the vat, multiverse theory (omg Star Trek omg Doctor Who) and phenomenalism.
Anyway.
From http://listverse.com/2013/04/15/10-mind-blowing-theories-about-the-universe-and-reality/
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
10 Mind-Blowing Theories about the Universe and Reality (Michael Allison)
The Big Freeze
The “Big Freeze” is a scientific theory of the end of the universe. Though it doesn’t entail gigantic tubs of ice cream drowning everyone, it does spell disaster for everyone. The universe has a fixed amount of energy in it, and as this energy runs out—so the theory goes—the universe slows down. In other words, there is a slow loss of heat, because heat is produced by the movement of energy particles. There is also a slowdown in movement, and supposedly, everything would eventually come to a halt. Which brings to mind the lines by T. S. Eliot: “This is the way the world ends: not with a bang but with a whimper.”
Solipsism
Solipsism is a philosophical theory which states that nothing can be verified except the existence of one’s own mind. This seems silly at first; and who, after all, would wish to deny that the world around them exists? The only problem is that it’s impossible to verify the existence of anything except your own consciousness.
Don’t believe us? Take a moment to remember all the plausible dreams you’ve ever had in your life. Couldn’t it be possible that what you see around you is nothing but an incredibly elaborate dream? But we have friends and family whose existence we can verify, simply by touching them, right? Wrong. People on LSD, for example, sometimes report seeing (and touching) the most convincing hallucinations—yet we don’t assume that their illusions are real.
So what can we verify, then? Well, not even the chicken drumstick we had for dinner, nor the keyboards at our fingers; only our own thoughts can be proven by each one of us to exist. Have fun sleeping tonight!
Idealism
“Idealism” is the belief that all things exist as an idea in the mind—or more specifically, as an idea in someone’s mind. George Berkeley, a famous idealist philosopher, found that his views were dismissed as idiotic by some of his peers. It’s said that one of his opponents closed his eyes, kicked a stone, and stated: “I refute it thus.”
The point was that if the stone really existed only in the man’s mind, he should not have been able to kick it with his eyes closed. Berkeley’s refutation of this was a bit troublesome, especially in modern eyes. He stated that there existed an all-powerful and omnipresent God, who perceived everyone and everything simultaneously. Plausible or not? You decide.
Plato and the Logos
Everyone has heard of Plato. He is the most famous philosopher around—and like all philosophers, he most definitely had something to say about reality. Plato claimed that in addition to the world we’re all familiar with, there exists another world of perfect “forms.” All the things we see around us here are merely shadows, imitations of the real thing. By studying philosophy, we can hope to catch a glimpse of the originals.
To add to this bombshell, Plato, being a monist, tells us that everything is made out of a single substance. This means that (according to his view), diamonds, gold, and dog poo are composed of the same basic substance arranged in different ways—and according to modern science, this theory may not be too far from the truth.
Presentism
Time is something we take for granted: if we consider it for a moment, we normally divide it simply into the past, the present, and the future. “Presentist” philosophers, however, argue that there is neither a past nor a future; only the present exists.
In other words, your last birthday does not exist and every word in this article ceases to exist after you look at it—until you look back at it again. The future does not exist, as time cannot be both behind and ahead, according to Saint Augustine. Or in the words of the great scholar of Buddhism, Fyodor Shcherbatskoy: “Everything past is unreal, everything future is unreal, everything imagined, absent, mental . . . is unreal. . . . Ultimately real is only the present moment of physical efficiency.”
Eternalism
Eternalism presents a sharp contrast to presentism. This philosophical theory postulates that time actually has many layers, and could perhaps be compared with a sponge cake (unlike time, sponge cakes do not divide philosophers). All layers exist simultaneously, but the layer seen by a particular observer depends on where he is standing.
So dinosaurs, World War Two and Lady Gaga all exist at the same time but can only be viewed from a certain point. According to this view, the future is hopelessly deterministic and free will appears to be an illusion.
Brain in the Vat
The “Brain in the Vat” thought-experiment is a problem encountered by philosophers and scientists who propose (like most people) that the external world is independently verifiable.
So what’s the problem? Well, let’s imagine for a moment that we are merely brains in vats, with our perceptions being manipulated by aliens or evil scientists. How could we possibly know? And how could we disprove the possibility of this situation actually being the case for us right now?
Brain-in-vat is a modern spin on Descartes’ Evil Demon problem; it makes the same point—that we can’t prove the existence of anything but our consciousness—but employs slightly different thought-experiments. And if this sounds like the Matrix, that’s because the Matrix was based on this very scenario. Unfortunately, we don’t have any red pills.
Multiverse Theory
Anyone who hasn’t been living under a rock for the past ten years will have at least heard of the multiverse, or parallel universe, theory. Parallel worlds—as many of us already know—are said to be very much like ours, with only minor (or in some cases, major) differences. According to the theory, there is an infinite number of these universes.
So what’s the implication for us? Well: in one parallel universe, you’ve already been killed by dinosaurs and now lie eight feet under (because that’s how they do things, there). In another, you’re a powerful dictator with the morals of a North Korean Saddam Hussein. In yet another, you were never even born—you get the picture.
Fictional Realism
The most exciting implication of the Multiverse Theory? Superman is real. Okay, so some of you might be able to come up with slightly more exciting ideas—but let’s stick with Superman. Logically, if there’s an an infinite number of universes, then there must be quite a few which contain real-life versions of our favorite fictional characters.
Phenomenalism
Ever wondered what happens to things behind your back? Philosophers have studied this problem intently, and some have reached a simple conclusion: they vanish. Well—not exactly. Some philosophers, known as “phenomenalists”, believe that things only exist insofar as they are perceived. In other words, your cheese sandwich only exists so long as you are aware of its existence. So as for trees that fall in forests with no one around to hear them; they don’t. No perception, no existence. That’s phenomenalism in a nut-shell.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Intrigued by solipsism, idealism, presentism, eternalism (the idea of a sponge cake omg), brain in the vat, multiverse theory (omg Star Trek omg Doctor Who) and phenomenalism.
#1020 as I walk through the streets of my new city
Tuesday 28 May 2013
If there's one thing JC has taught me, it's to never hope. Because as long as a little spark of hope is ignited, and no matter how large you let it grow, someone will always come along and douse you with an entire Pacific Ocean worth of water. And even if you had expected it ever since the little spark of hope was born, it hurts all the same.
#1019 save 'em for a time when you're really gonna need 'em
Monday 27 May 2013
Really loving this gifset.
Anyway. Something else from Tumblr.
New inspiration for existentialist stories :D
Anyway. Something else from Tumblr.
You were on your way home when you died.
It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.
And that’s when you met me.
“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”
“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.
“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”
“Yup,” I said.
“I… I died?”
“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.
You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”
“More or less,” I said.
“Are you god?” You asked.
“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”
“My kids… my wife,” you said.
“What about them?”
“Will they be all right?”
“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”
You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”
“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”
“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”
“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”
“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”
You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”
“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”
“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”
I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.
“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”
“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”
“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”
“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”
“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”
“Where you come from?” You said.
“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”
“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”
“So what’s the point of it all?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”
“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.
I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”
“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”
“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”
“Just me? What about everyone else?”
“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”
You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”
“All you. Different incarnations of you.”
“Wait. I’m everyone!?”
“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.
“I’m every human being who ever lived?”
“Or who will ever live, yes.”
“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”
“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.
“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.
“And you’re the millions he killed.”
“I’m Jesus?”
“And you’re everyone who followed him.”
You fell silent.
“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”
You thought for a long time.
“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”
“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”
“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”
“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”
“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”
“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”
And I sent you on your way.
New inspiration for existentialist stories :D
#1018 gather up your tears, keep 'em in your pocket
Sunday 26 May 2013
New fandom alert.
Why did I not learn about this sooner T-T
Why did I not learn about this sooner T-T
#1017 the ballad of a dove, go with peace and love
Saturday 25 May 2013
Cats stuck in things
I just had to.
http://jonnovstheinternet.tumblr.com/post/50901867219/cats-stuck-in-things
I just had to.
http://jonnovstheinternet.tumblr.com/post/50901867219/cats-stuck-in-things
#1016 funny when you're dead how people start listening'
Friday 24 May 2013
And here we have my cousin dancing to Gentleman in the last few seconds. On a chair. #nope
#1015 I'm as green as the ring on my little cold finger
Thursday 23 May 2013
Sokushinbutsu (即身仏) were Buddhist monks or priests who caused their own deaths in a way that resulted in their mummification. This practice reportedly took place almost exclusively in northern Japan around Yamagata Prefecture. It is believed that many hundreds of monks tried, but only 24 such mummifications have been discovered to date.
Their diet was nuts and seeds for 1000 days, after that they only ate bark and roots while getting rid of body fat, After the 1000 days they drank a poisionous tea made from the sap of Urushi tree.
Finally, a self-mummifying monk would lock himself in a stone tomb barely larger than his body, where he would not move from the lotus position. His only connection to the outside world was an air tube and a bell. Each day he rang a bell to let those outside know that he was still alive.When the bell stopped ringing, the tube was removed and the tomb sealed. After the tomb was sealed, the other monks in the temple would wait another 1,000 days, and open the tomb to see if the mummification was successful.
If the monk was mummified he was instantly seen as Buddha and put on display. If the mummification wasnt successful then the monk wasn’t seen as one, yet still admired for his trying.
http://unexplained-events.tumblr.com/post/51116997645/sokushinbutsu-were-buddhist-monks-or-priests
#1014 and I'll be wearing white when I come into your kingdom
Contrôle Rédaction later halp. I'm gonna die a really horrible death because vie urbaine say what.
The entire concept of HBL is ludicrous gah D:
I really think I have the best luck in classes. From 113/213 to 301/401, and now 13S70 (:
Last night was awesome.
While the rest of the "Fournier's Slaves" whatsapp group was freaking out over French, this dumbo here decided to go and watch the remaining two episodes of season 4 of The Vampire Diaries #noregrets
It was totally
M I N D B L O W I N G
omgomgomgomgomg I was totally spazzing sadly I doubt any of my other fangirls on Twitter have watched finish yet so I can only sit here and wait for someone to spazz with me D:
And the concept of Silas is brilliant. Most brilliant villain you'll ever come up with.
It doesn't matter, does it? And here's where the mystery of me comes full circle: I created the immortality spell 2000 years ago. I can never die, so nature needed to find a balance, a version of me that could die. A shadow self - a Doppelgänger.OMG THAT SCENE WAS THE MOST MINDBLOWING ONE EVER IN TVD HISTORY.
"Unknown to everyone, he assumed his true form in Pictures of You and in The Walking Dead." MIND = BLOWN. Genius scriptwriters at work Julie Plec I bow down to you. That means when Silas assumed Stefan's illusion everyone thought Silas was Stefan but Stefan was really Silas but Silas was really Silas
OH EMM GEE.
#1013 well, I've had just enough time
Wednesday 22 May 2013
Fishing for Jasmine (John Ravenscroft)
The silent young woman in bed number six is called Jasmine. So am I, but names are only superficial things, floats bobbing on the surface of the water, and we share deeper connections than that. Which is why she fascinates me - why I spend my off-duty time sitting beside her.
Today is difficult. The ward heaves with patients and I am kept busy emptying bed-pans, filling out forms, changing dressings. Finally, late in the afternoon, I get a few moments to make coffee, to take it over to the orange plastic chair beside her bed. I am thankful to be off my feat, glad to be in her company once again.
"Hello, Jasmine," I say, as if greeting myself.
She does not reply. Jasmine never replies. She is down too deep.
Like me, she has been sea-damaged. I too am the daughter of a fisherman, so I bait my words like fish-hooks, cast them into her ears, imagine them sinking down through cold, dark water. Down to wherever she may be.
"I have little time today," I tell her, touching her hair.
With Jasmine, it is always difficult not to touch. She is that rare thing, a truly beautiful woman. Because of this, people invent reasons to walk by. I catch them looking, drinking her in, feeding on her. They are barracuda, all of them. Wheelchair-pushing porters who slow to a crawl when they near her bed. Roaming visitors with greedy eyes. Doctors who stop, draw the thin screen of curtain, and continually re-examine that which does not need examination.
Great beauty is something Jasmine and I do not share. I am glad of it.
"Your father may be here soon," I say. "Last week he said he would come."
Jasmine says nothing. Her left eyelid flickers, perhaps.
It is two months since the incident on her father's fishing boat, since she fell overboard, sank, became entangled in the nets. It was some time before anyone noticed, then there was panic. Her father hauled her back on board and sailed for home. When he finally arrived, he carried ashore what he thought was his daughter's body.
"Jasmine," I whisper. I want her to take our baited name. I want her to swallow it.
Fortunately, there was a doctor in the village that morning, a young man visiting relatives. It was he who brought this drowned woman back from the brink, he who told me her story. She opened her eyes, he said, looked up at her father and spoke a single word - then sank again, this time into coma.
Barracuda. That is what Jasmine said.
When her father visits, he touches her hair, kisses her cheek, sits in the orange plastic chair at the side of her bed and holds her hand. Like my own father, he has the big, brown, life-roughened hands of a fisherman. He too smells of the sea, and pretends he is a good, simple man.
Jasmine. We share so much, we are almost one.
I remember early mornings, my hair touched to wake me, my father lifting me half-asleep from my bed, carrying me, dropping me into his boat. His voice rough in my ear, his hands rough on my skin. I never wanted to go, but I was just a child. He did as he wished.
I remember salt water, hot sun, my mother shrinking on the shore. I remember the rocking of the boat, the screams of the gulls.
"Jasmine, you have a life inside you. Can't you hear it calling?"
Nothing.
The ward door bangs, and I see Jasmine's father walking towards us, carrying flowers. He smiles at me. Even in death, my own child had my father's smile, and Jasmine's will have this man's. I know it.
He stops by her bed and touches her hair. Something stirs deep inside me. I watch Jasmine's eyelids, waiting for her to bite.
The silent young woman in bed number six is called Jasmine. So am I, but names are only superficial things, floats bobbing on the surface of the water, and we share deeper connections than that. Which is why she fascinates me - why I spend my off-duty time sitting beside her.
Today is difficult. The ward heaves with patients and I am kept busy emptying bed-pans, filling out forms, changing dressings. Finally, late in the afternoon, I get a few moments to make coffee, to take it over to the orange plastic chair beside her bed. I am thankful to be off my feat, glad to be in her company once again.
"Hello, Jasmine," I say, as if greeting myself.
She does not reply. Jasmine never replies. She is down too deep.
Like me, she has been sea-damaged. I too am the daughter of a fisherman, so I bait my words like fish-hooks, cast them into her ears, imagine them sinking down through cold, dark water. Down to wherever she may be.
"I have little time today," I tell her, touching her hair.
With Jasmine, it is always difficult not to touch. She is that rare thing, a truly beautiful woman. Because of this, people invent reasons to walk by. I catch them looking, drinking her in, feeding on her. They are barracuda, all of them. Wheelchair-pushing porters who slow to a crawl when they near her bed. Roaming visitors with greedy eyes. Doctors who stop, draw the thin screen of curtain, and continually re-examine that which does not need examination.
Great beauty is something Jasmine and I do not share. I am glad of it.
"Your father may be here soon," I say. "Last week he said he would come."
Jasmine says nothing. Her left eyelid flickers, perhaps.
It is two months since the incident on her father's fishing boat, since she fell overboard, sank, became entangled in the nets. It was some time before anyone noticed, then there was panic. Her father hauled her back on board and sailed for home. When he finally arrived, he carried ashore what he thought was his daughter's body.
"Jasmine," I whisper. I want her to take our baited name. I want her to swallow it.
Fortunately, there was a doctor in the village that morning, a young man visiting relatives. It was he who brought this drowned woman back from the brink, he who told me her story. She opened her eyes, he said, looked up at her father and spoke a single word - then sank again, this time into coma.
Barracuda. That is what Jasmine said.
When her father visits, he touches her hair, kisses her cheek, sits in the orange plastic chair at the side of her bed and holds her hand. Like my own father, he has the big, brown, life-roughened hands of a fisherman. He too smells of the sea, and pretends he is a good, simple man.
Jasmine. We share so much, we are almost one.
I remember early mornings, my hair touched to wake me, my father lifting me half-asleep from my bed, carrying me, dropping me into his boat. His voice rough in my ear, his hands rough on my skin. I never wanted to go, but I was just a child. He did as he wished.
I remember salt water, hot sun, my mother shrinking on the shore. I remember the rocking of the boat, the screams of the gulls.
"Jasmine, you have a life inside you. Can't you hear it calling?"
Nothing.
The ward door bangs, and I see Jasmine's father walking towards us, carrying flowers. He smiles at me. Even in death, my own child had my father's smile, and Jasmine's will have this man's. I know it.
He stops by her bed and touches her hair. Something stirs deep inside me. I watch Jasmine's eyelids, waiting for her to bite.
#1012 the sharp knife of a short life
Monday 20 May 2013
Have you ever noticed that the life of the moon parallels a marriage life so closely?
The moon, drifting, all alone in this infinite unknown. Years and centuries and millennia pass, but how can you tell, when the concept of time is infinite and what feels like a thousand years can actually be but a second?
Then all of a sudden, attraction. The moon finds herself moving towards something, something unknown, once again, but a good kind of unknown. She anticipates a new future. No more drifting in solitude. Company, at last.
The earth. This green and blue and white marble of wonder. Third in a line of other rocks. Neither the biggest nor the smallest, neither the hottest nor the coldest, but that doesn't matter. It is love at first sight. Mother Earth and the moon. An attachment is formed, two ladies in the vast and depthless mystery of the universe.
Years and years, millions and billions of years of devotion. Commitment. She watches as her partner grows, as her partner continuously changes, from the giant reptilian creatures roaming her face, to the icy whiteness, to the shiny metal structures blossoming everywhere like pimples. She rejoices when the weird pink creatures of her partner finally arrive on her, exploring the faces of her she has never known.
But as too many years pass, the greater force grows old and weary, a tired old being finally winding down. The moon watches patiently as the greater force eventually dies, waiting, not really in anticipation and not really in fear, because no matter what happens next, she will go with her best friend and her lover, and that is all that really matters.
The moon, drifting, all alone in this infinite unknown. Years and centuries and millennia pass, but how can you tell, when the concept of time is infinite and what feels like a thousand years can actually be but a second?
Then all of a sudden, attraction. The moon finds herself moving towards something, something unknown, once again, but a good kind of unknown. She anticipates a new future. No more drifting in solitude. Company, at last.
The earth. This green and blue and white marble of wonder. Third in a line of other rocks. Neither the biggest nor the smallest, neither the hottest nor the coldest, but that doesn't matter. It is love at first sight. Mother Earth and the moon. An attachment is formed, two ladies in the vast and depthless mystery of the universe.
Years and years, millions and billions of years of devotion. Commitment. She watches as her partner grows, as her partner continuously changes, from the giant reptilian creatures roaming her face, to the icy whiteness, to the shiny metal structures blossoming everywhere like pimples. She rejoices when the weird pink creatures of her partner finally arrive on her, exploring the faces of her she has never known.
But as too many years pass, the greater force grows old and weary, a tired old being finally winding down. The moon watches patiently as the greater force eventually dies, waiting, not really in anticipation and not really in fear, because no matter what happens next, she will go with her best friend and her lover, and that is all that really matters.
#1011 she'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colours
#1010 lord make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother
Sunday 19 May 2013
"Precious! Precious! Precious!" xD
(I stole all 4 stickers though we were supposed to get just one each heh)
It looks like lungs. Can you see the windpipe. No bronchi unfortunately.
