27~*

I remember telling you it's "可惜没如果", and you said, no, it's "手心的蔷薇", but I think I've found it.

In the depths of my heart, it reverberates. 

Be happy, always. For 2727272727272727 years. 

In a perfectly f- up state~*

[It's going to be another rather disjointed post, written across a span of... a year? I'm not sure as I've long lost track of time.]

 "Let me ask you this. 

Do you believe in the human heart? I don't simply mean the organ, obviously. I'm speaking in the poetic sense. 

The human heart. Do you think there is such a thing? Something that makes each of us special and individual?" 

- Ishiguro Kazuo, 'Klara and the Sun'

1. The heart

'Klara and the Sun' was a thought-provoking read (as I would expect from the Nobel Laureate). 

About 80% through and it's made me think very deeply about what it means to be human, and how much of us are truly as special and unique as we think we are. 

And of the special parts of ourselves, how much of them are truly necessary, relevant, and purposeful? Would removing these so-called more human side of us take us closer to what the society deems as "perfection"? 

The idea of a perfectly compliant cog in the machine. 

How I would love and hate that concept. 

2. Pragmatic

Sometimes I talk about it like it's a somewhat negative concept. But what it really is, is probably an outcome of growing up and realising that, you can't live in your head forever. 

Some people find meaning in dreaming, fantasizing, escaping, while others prefer to have their feet firmly planted on the ground, fixated on the concrete, essential things in life. 

I must admit that, over the years, I've slowly descended from whatever airy fairy ideal I used to believe in. 

I've become boxed in. 

Although it serves its purpose in helping me to "adult", it makes me despair. 

Despair at the realisation that I can no longer dream the way I used to, or feel as motivated to escape the chains of reality like I used to. 

Unable to seek comfort in believing in the unrealised, or living in a non-existent world. 

You simply can't run as fast as you used to, anymore.

 

[continued 6 months later, written in a fogged-up (you can interpret it as the similar-sounding word) state] 

3. Thresholds

At what point do things... change? 

I often ponder about the notion of thresholds - the idea that there's an invisible line, beyond which, things take a different form. 

Like the crossing of a boundary, in a friendship/relationship, in doing something good/bad, in something becoming better/worse...

Thresholds are everywhere... and as we approach the boundary, we often don't know how close we are to the invisible line, before we suddenly realise we're on the other side of the line. 

Poof! There we are. 

What happened? What took me there? How did I get there? 

It's like we're constantly navigating multiple continuums, carefully gauging / monitoring how close we are to the invisible line. And who gets to decide where this line exists on the continuum?

Things change, and how do we decide when that change is big enough to be noticeable (for things that can't be meaningfully measured... that relies more on intuition than anything else)?

While some thresholds / boundaries allow you to cross bidirectionally (I think there's a term for this, but I can't recall it), some, unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), allow you to cross in one direction  - crossing this threshold means the change is irrevocable.

Who have you become?

There's no way back.

Isn't it scary?

 

4. Altered

The interesting thing, I realised, is that

the smaller the space you're in, the further your mind wanders.

My mind went everywhere. 

Maybe it's a kind of coping mechanism - the mind takes you where the body can't. Something like this.

In a fogged up state, 

everything becomes altered, 

everything becomes possible,

everything becomes a little more absurd, a little funnier, a little sadder. 

It's like, your brain is being reset, your senses are completely altered, the way you perceive the world (and perhaps, the way the world perceives you, and the way you perceive the world perceives you...) changes. 

You have crossed that threshold (ref. pt 3).

And I'll soon find out if it's a bidirectional or unidirectional lane I'm walking on.  

5. 4 senses

It's like breathing underwater. 

You can't smell anything, yet how do you describe that nothingness that you're inhaling at this very moment? 

Is it truly possible for 'nothingness' to exist? Or does 'nothingness' take a form on its own?

Anyhow, depressing as it may be, it's also morbidly fascinating - eating / drinking without really understanding what you're eating / drinking. Instead, you have to rely on your imagination. Fill in the gap. 

Trick your brain.

Just like the way you do with many things in life.

6. Life (still) goes on

The world is out of kilter. Something is out of sync.

In my world, something has changed. 

Looking out of the sad little square, I know, with certainty, that something has inevitably shifted.

Despite that, 

life goes on. 

Whether you're standing right outside the gates of hell, or in your comfy little bed, living your darkest nightmares, or floating on clouds of euphoria,

life still goes on. 

The brutally indifferent, yet comfortingly absolute fact of life. 

7. Vessels

I realised that, when you're stripped of distractions - the colourful, the dull, the surprises, the mundane - we're just vessels.

Human-shaped vessels of thoughts and feelings - utterly meaningless, inconsequential, disorganized thoughts, mixed with chaotic and turbulent feelings.

Chased, and running on empty. 

And so, we seek distractions, or better still, meaning. Meaning that can fill us up, and displace the... emptiness.

And we live. 

We throw ourselves into whatever that's currently filling us up and we live.

F- up or not.