okay, so, today's post. during lit class, amidst the nasty comments joshua made about the bands of today, i thought of something. (again) something about the prospect of continuity.

actually, 'prospect of continuity' was something i thought up for fun. i mean, we all are interested by this. the prospect of living forever, saying "gosh, i can do this forever." but of course, we don't. there's always this aspect of boredom. my guess is that maybe boredom was a typical human reaction. i mean, everything is not permanent(infinitely continuous), so boredom is something the human mind came up with just in case we got too close to something. in view of the temporality of life we have actually adapted to grow bored of something, to no longer desire or yearn for an object perhaps for a fundamentally basic removal of affection to brace us for the loss or destruction of a certain object. though there are things that seem to last forever, like happiness and overarching themes like love, but then again these aren't objects per se, but rather, a sort of human feeling, a human reaction by itself. i believe human reactions are unable to cancel each other out, after all, they are of the same source.

it's less interesting than other arguments, but still. it's disturbing to note.

gawd i have quite a lot to say. shall post again.

heh. life goes on.

your life is an occasion.

rise up to it.

-Mr Magorium.

and look at the clouds.

i mean just look. anytime you look at the sky it's an artpiece.

ah well, i've been thinking maybe life isn't that unhappy or dull. maybe i'll take a road trip. heh.

anyway, i've met someone today. we had been the best of friends in primary school, him being the spastic funny guy, me being me. so he would get the attention, i wouldn't mind. i liked standing by the sidelines, preferring to be a part of the audience, rather than the performer. well, maybe for one, you don't goof you image off. (what's left of it, anyway.) so he was the enthusiastic monitor-to-be, i was the guy in the background. no quirks, no anomalies. we liked the way we were. then we went to sec school. he went to someone better than where i was going, and i was fine with that. until i met him today. i look back at all he has achieved. then i look at me. sure, i like the way i am, sure i like keeping a low profile, but he's living the life he wanted. then it dawned on me, maybe i could've been him. maybe i could've been the popular guy, maybe i could've been the super popular spastic guy with no social awareness. what could've been. so many chances, so many oppurtunities, and then, there were none.

crossing the overhead bridge coming back home, i realised something. that society really is something like a hive. yeah, come to think of it, your whole personality is based on society. how you look, how you dress, how you work, play, eat, sleep. i mean, you look good probably to get a mate(to put it really fundamentally), which benefits society when we procreate. you study, to benefit society, to make the 'world a better place'. you eat, sleep, play work all for this humongous hive. you do not go out of place. you don't murder, kill, rob, steal, rape, slaughter or torture not because you don't want to, but because you've been taught not to. everyone, no matter how distant, has a little piece of this human collective thought in him/her. even the gender thing is superimosed by society. but that's not the point. point is, you might not realise, but your identity and personality may not be yours. hm, say we talk about language. language is a tool of communication defined by society. 'i feel sad.' take this simple sentence. the very fact that you communicate using these very words, show that the idea itself is anonymous. just as how we are unable to fully express our ideas or feelings because language acts as a sort of template. 'there is a word for everything.' they say, but i beg to differ. there is a word for everything you know. get it?

heh, in any case, just remember, you're unique,
just like everyone else.

yeah. was wondering whether i was the only one who thought about this. apparently some french philosopher beat me to it a few hundred years ago. ah well, now i know i'm not. because now you do too. ponder away.
life goes on.

"the infinite possibilities inherently granted to the mind that thinks freely,
but also the insinuation of ideas that potential greatness rises
not so much from an affection or even fondness for a fellow man,
but rather a disdain, for it is a disgusted, not enamored individual,
who rises from the aforementioned masses to better the world.

Freed and discovered be can individual this hope only can we."

--the Anomalies.

Hero

"Oh God, shut up. You shouldn't have fckin left us. Now i'm stuck with your goddamn child in this rotting apartment while you wake up every morning with a new bitch from the street." She shouted.

"Shut up, shut up. no more excuses, asshole. I never want to see you again. I'm going to raise this child on my own, while you waste your life on cheap prostitutes." She hung up. She was so tired, so, so tired. Being barely 18, she thought he was the one. He had promised her so, so much. She trusted him so, so much. She had not once doubted him. Not when he promised to marry her, not when he took her hand and brought her to this apartment. The quaint apartment was really kind of sweet, with a pastel beige wallpaper, slightly cosy bedrooms and it was always lit by a warm rosy glow by the dying sun of the evening. She always had thought of it as a sweet escape from the alleyways that lay just 3 floors down. She tried not to look out of the window whenever she heard gunfire or shrill voices pleading for help. She still thought ignorance was bliss. She just looked away, and cooed her young baby son to sleep. He would come back from his day job slightly reeking of fresh printed paper and his fading cologne and kiss her on the cheek.

"Let's get married," he chuckled.

"Mm, i'd like that," she murmured. And so it was. They were to be married.

But then, one day, he came back with a slightly different smell. No, this wasn't paperwork, nor his usual cologne. No, this was the seductive fragrance of another woman. She tried to ignore it. "No," she thought "i'm just overreacting. He wouldn't..."

But unfortunately, he would. and did. One day, she recieved a phone call. He said he wouldn't be coming back. Ever. He found 'someone else'. Turns out, things 'weren't working out' between them. As she struggled to choke back her tears, she just listened to what he said in stunned silence. "No, no no no no..." she faintly whispered, "you can't just do this to me, not now, not today."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think things will work out. Take care of our son..." and he hung up.

But she did not stop. She pressed the reciever so hard that her ears started to hurt. She whispered, "No... today's our wedding day..." But these words were forever purged by the indescribable pain and drowned in her tears. She did not sleep that night. She cried like she never did before. And from then on, she knew she was on her own.

Her son found her in a foetal position on the family couch. She was still crying. The couch pillows soaked with her salty sadness. Her son climbed up the sofa, in his little, clumsy way. He struggled a little, but managed to curl up beside her. He held in his hand, his little bedtime story book.

She remembered she had carefully read those words which were typed in large fonts, the pages embroidered with soft pictures. She had come to the end, "and Morty was a hero." she articulated, slowly. He had looked up from his little bed, and asked, "Mommy, what's a hero?"

"A hero is someone who saves someone. Who makes all their pain and suffering go away. A hero will save the one he loves a lot, because he knows that that person is worth saving."

And now, her son sobbed quietly beside her. She felt his little ribcage slightly contracting with every sob, the couch cushions absorbed his tiny tears, and she held him close. Then, her son looked up to her, tears in his small eyes. and said,

"Mommy,

can i be your hero?"