Through the Looking Glass
Even in the densest of space, there are things that can never be suppressed. It is called the will to survive. Something that I'm sure many people can relate about. It occurs to me one day in one of my meaningless day, which is a concept I could care less about (why would people count the second of life and then categorize it in a universal standard is out of my imagination), that I too has one of this trait. I guess it's not surprising. Even in many literatures about suicide there is a mention of doubt, even in the tiniest bit, when the person hesitates to pull the trigger that will achieve their desire. Even if only a microsecond, that tiny window of hesitation is what defines us as a human. Or perhaps a living being?
I guess I should start from the beginning. Of course, every story needs a clear distinction between prologue, climax, and epilogue, so I suppose it won't hurt to implement it here, albeit loosely, just so you can understand what I'm trying to say. My story begins with a sound of pouring rain and a loud crackle of lightning. In what seems to be a blur line between a rainy day and a stormy night, I sip my hot cappuccino lightly to preserve the warm feeling that I got when the liquid touches my tickling sense of sweet. I have to admit, the pleasure is quite magical. Nothing beats a hot caffein in the middle of a rainy situation.
French poet always believes that rain carries with it a romantic nuance which trancends the fabric of life itself. I thought that they were exaggerating, as a poet supposed to be. But it's already the year of 2017 in what supposed to be an urban society embedded with cosmopolitan-ish value where that kind of bullshit means nothing to the lonely mass of people doing nothing but prolonging what they are doing for an indefinite amount of time. There is simply no room for that kind of idea to fit in this docile society. In other words, those kind of things should belong to the land of forgotten artifacts where people like Rosseau are being celebrated.
But wait, I think I got distracted here. I'm supposed to tell you about the beginning of my story, not another rambling of my jumbled mess of thoughts. Still, I can't escape the feeling of being castrated by my inability to emphatize with romanticism idea of the time when everything was fine. Knowledge comes with a great power as well as a great responsibility to shoulder the burden that others can't see. I have the knowledge to unmask every device planted to hide the fact that everything is not fine today. Everything is just a big fat bullshit and lies and meaningless. That realisation is what spiraled my life down to the bottom of a toilet bowl we called society. That is when I stop trying to survive.
I guess that was my best attempt in explaining how my story began. So where do we go from here?
Let's just go back to that person who was enjoying their coffee in the middle of rainy situation. As I'm writing this piece, that person can be as far from myself as it can be. It's just a soulless living husk who claims to be me. I have no problem to write about him in a third person point of view. After all, that person still have an inclining hope that every cloud has a silver lining. That even in the muddiest of situation, everything will be fine. That some invisible hand will play their part to put things in their respective place and the world will keep going as usual. How naive.
A light cigarette soon found its way in between of his lips. A puff of smoke has also started to shape its form around his head. I found it to be amusing and delirious to some extent. That seemingly innocent form of gas just keep dancing its way to oblivion. It never tries to blend in with the environment. Just keep finding its way wherever it wants until it disappears eventually. It is truly an accurate representation of living in freedom. I have the same kind of inclination when I saw a mist forming in the middle of a mountain. I could just sit back and admire that thing all day while others were busy preparing the tent.
In any case, that person seems to be enjoying his cigarette as much as his coffee. He was reading a book about the world without man or something. I can only guess that he was trying too understand the person he will soon become. I can relate to him, obviously, since he was, in one way or another, a person I used to be. As he flips through the pages of his book, he heard a knocking sound amidst the thunder. It didn’t took long for him to notice the presence sitting across of him. A woman around their twenties, smiling thoroughly as she stare in his face while knocking her small finger at the table. He got startled and I believe I can see him blushing. O the wonder of young, everything seems so simple and innocent.
“How cruel of you to let a lady waiting,” she said, jokingly.
He laughs and replied, “I’m terribly sorry, the book is simply more attractive than the lady.”
“Well aren’t you an introvert? How do you expect to entertain a lady if you got one?”
“Well I got you,” he smirks.
She burst to laughter and said, “No way in hundred years!” which makes him laugh as hard.
As they talk and tease each other, the rain keeps falling down. It doesn’t seem to show a sign that it will slow down. But still, the freezing weather is no match to the warmness that the couple share with each other. I love seeing these two people together. Back in the day, I believe I used to love the woman as much as the other guy. There is something pure and meaningful that we created when we were with each other. It’s so beautiful and heartwarming at the same time. At least, that was what I was led to believe into.
“Why am I seeing this? Why am I starting to reminisce the past just like those romanticist that I despise?”
“What are you talking about?” She sounds surprised.
“Wh… What? What was I talking about?” Shoot, his consciousness and mine starts to merge again. He is not supposed to recognize my presence.
“Are you daydreaming or something? You don’t look well.” She seems to be genuinely worried.
“No, I’m fine, but I don’t know. It feels like my mind is playing a trick with me.”
“That doesn’t sounds good, maybe you should…” Before she can finish her sentence, a loud crackling sound of thunder crashes and interrupts her.
The world that I see from my point of view starts to crumble. It begins with a crack and cascades into total destruction. I have failed, yet again. This timeline is no good. It’s time to leave.
I guess I should start from the beginning. Of course, every story needs a clear distinction between prologue, climax, and epilogue, so I suppose it won't hurt to implement it here, albeit loosely, just so you can understand what I'm trying to say. My story begins with a sound of pouring rain and a loud crackle of lightning. In what seems to be a blur line between a rainy day and a stormy night, I sip my hot cappuccino lightly to preserve the warm feeling that I got when the liquid touches my tickling sense of sweet. I have to admit, the pleasure is quite magical. Nothing beats a hot caffein in the middle of a rainy situation.
French poet always believes that rain carries with it a romantic nuance which trancends the fabric of life itself. I thought that they were exaggerating, as a poet supposed to be. But it's already the year of 2017 in what supposed to be an urban society embedded with cosmopolitan-ish value where that kind of bullshit means nothing to the lonely mass of people doing nothing but prolonging what they are doing for an indefinite amount of time. There is simply no room for that kind of idea to fit in this docile society. In other words, those kind of things should belong to the land of forgotten artifacts where people like Rosseau are being celebrated.
But wait, I think I got distracted here. I'm supposed to tell you about the beginning of my story, not another rambling of my jumbled mess of thoughts. Still, I can't escape the feeling of being castrated by my inability to emphatize with romanticism idea of the time when everything was fine. Knowledge comes with a great power as well as a great responsibility to shoulder the burden that others can't see. I have the knowledge to unmask every device planted to hide the fact that everything is not fine today. Everything is just a big fat bullshit and lies and meaningless. That realisation is what spiraled my life down to the bottom of a toilet bowl we called society. That is when I stop trying to survive.
I guess that was my best attempt in explaining how my story began. So where do we go from here?
Let's just go back to that person who was enjoying their coffee in the middle of rainy situation. As I'm writing this piece, that person can be as far from myself as it can be. It's just a soulless living husk who claims to be me. I have no problem to write about him in a third person point of view. After all, that person still have an inclining hope that every cloud has a silver lining. That even in the muddiest of situation, everything will be fine. That some invisible hand will play their part to put things in their respective place and the world will keep going as usual. How naive.
A light cigarette soon found its way in between of his lips. A puff of smoke has also started to shape its form around his head. I found it to be amusing and delirious to some extent. That seemingly innocent form of gas just keep dancing its way to oblivion. It never tries to blend in with the environment. Just keep finding its way wherever it wants until it disappears eventually. It is truly an accurate representation of living in freedom. I have the same kind of inclination when I saw a mist forming in the middle of a mountain. I could just sit back and admire that thing all day while others were busy preparing the tent.
In any case, that person seems to be enjoying his cigarette as much as his coffee. He was reading a book about the world without man or something. I can only guess that he was trying too understand the person he will soon become. I can relate to him, obviously, since he was, in one way or another, a person I used to be. As he flips through the pages of his book, he heard a knocking sound amidst the thunder. It didn’t took long for him to notice the presence sitting across of him. A woman around their twenties, smiling thoroughly as she stare in his face while knocking her small finger at the table. He got startled and I believe I can see him blushing. O the wonder of young, everything seems so simple and innocent.
“How cruel of you to let a lady waiting,” she said, jokingly.
He laughs and replied, “I’m terribly sorry, the book is simply more attractive than the lady.”
“Well aren’t you an introvert? How do you expect to entertain a lady if you got one?”
“Well I got you,” he smirks.
She burst to laughter and said, “No way in hundred years!” which makes him laugh as hard.
As they talk and tease each other, the rain keeps falling down. It doesn’t seem to show a sign that it will slow down. But still, the freezing weather is no match to the warmness that the couple share with each other. I love seeing these two people together. Back in the day, I believe I used to love the woman as much as the other guy. There is something pure and meaningful that we created when we were with each other. It’s so beautiful and heartwarming at the same time. At least, that was what I was led to believe into.
“Why am I seeing this? Why am I starting to reminisce the past just like those romanticist that I despise?”
“What are you talking about?” She sounds surprised.
“Wh… What? What was I talking about?” Shoot, his consciousness and mine starts to merge again. He is not supposed to recognize my presence.
“Are you daydreaming or something? You don’t look well.” She seems to be genuinely worried.
“No, I’m fine, but I don’t know. It feels like my mind is playing a trick with me.”
“That doesn’t sounds good, maybe you should…” Before she can finish her sentence, a loud crackling sound of thunder crashes and interrupts her.
The world that I see from my point of view starts to crumble. It begins with a crack and cascades into total destruction. I have failed, yet again. This timeline is no good. It’s time to leave.
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