Airport, Departure

1

We were both tired. We'd both overdrank last night - wasn't part of the plan, but that's how the night went with everybody happy to contribute towards another bottle as a goodbye gift. I'd passed out somewhere at some point in a semi-private place, a burger I'd only taken a bite out of still in my hands. Sid found me and we went back after all that.

Had to wake up by 6 AM. If it were up to me to wake us both up, the flight might as well have not been booked at all. Good thing Sidius had a thing with alarms: alarm clock goes off; he wakes up, as simple as that. Still, didn't mean that he weren't tired. Hungover and groggy, we'd arrived at the airport after an hour's journey to find the departure lounge to be too populated to sit down. So there we were, at the arrivals.

The sheer density of people, the eagerness of the crowd, the hubbub of activity, the bright lights; all things pushing us bit by bit towards overstimulation. It was a strange juxtaposition. We were all tired yeah, us from the previous night and that morning. Us versus the arriving people from their flights. We had more to come though, these people were just glad to have arrived. Sidius would be departing soon. These people were joining whomever was waiting for them.

2

I guess I wasn't fully exhausted. I had energy enough to feel it, the loneliness.

Airports have been a very... physical symbol in my life. I'm sure it's the case for many people, but anyways, for me, most times when I left a country it would be for good. America, France, England.

Through all that, each and every airport I've been to, I loved. The architecture with so much space, the gigantic windows overlooking the planes in the departure lounges, those gigantic windows that projected the skies so directly unto us, every image a metaphysical manifestation of flight, departure, and arrival. Always so relaxing, always so neutral; airports never felt like they belonged anywhere, some otherworldly feel to them.

People would leave from them, leave behind gods-know-what, leave towards world-knows-where. That alone could cause a whole range of emotions: the liberation, anxiety, anticipation, excitement, regrets, and of course, loneliness. Even when arriving there to greet or be greeted by loved ones, the relief from these emotions or loneliness would punctuate the fact that those emotions existed. No winning, no getting out of it. Once you feel it, you know it for good.

I breathed in deep, the pheromones of the crowd setting off chemical fireworks in my brain. Loneliness, a smell.

3

And so there I was. Sitting across one of my closest friends, not knowing when I'd see him again, too tired or busy chasing my thoughts to say anything meaningful. Then again, that might've been "awkward" or whatever. Ah, men. Am I right? Or... maybe, if something was said, the goodbye would feel too real. Too important. Almost permanent until otherwise acted upon. Something we wanted to avoid.

Saying nothing that mattered much, we both parted ways.

Loneliness is a human condition that we all have to deal with and live with I suppose. Just that one day I got to really splash around in it, fatigue enhancing the experience. Exhausted empowerment.

I still love airports; rare are opportunities to get so close to an embodiment of an emotion.

Bench

[Once again, written from mobile; please disregard any capitalisation inconsistencies. I will make best effort, however, to write 'correctly'. Last time it looked a bit messy.]

I lay there, with my headphones gripping around my ear. I could feel my pulse against them, telling me I was alive. The last song had ended a while ago and I hadn't put on a new one on yet. I wasn't about to listening to any song though, just my pulse and the ambience.

The light shower had left the earth and air moist; a cool breeze was all that stood between my word choice of humid or moist. The night air cool, I just lay there, staring up at the cloudy sky.

The clouds were plenty visible. All the light pollution that we (as humans) were pumping out left the darkness of the night weak and feeble around these parts. Still, night was night, and the shadows were cozy in their enfeebled state.

The bench was hard on my back - I had learned through experience that the pleasures donned did not include a comfortable surface. It was the best I could make do with though; I wasn't about to complain. The smell of wood soothed my senses further as I thought about this.

Possession is an odd thing. Often there is effort, or struggle, to obtain something. Then there is continued effort, or struggle to keep something. To have something, to possess, to be chained. To be possessed by your possessions?

Cliché, yeah, but it made sense to me at a deeper level for the first time. The summer night was merciful and welcoming, and it had in store much more than simple relaxation and relief that I had originally seeked.

Perhaps this was as close to meditation as I could get to in the life I lead currently. Perhaps this was just an odd hobby that would pass as 'just a phase'. I let my mind drift and scatter, letting all thoughts come and go. Occassional conversations from people passing by, talking on their phones, mundane emotional matters we all deal with - a stark contrast from the Zen I was chasing while lying down. Still, something I would partake in again and again so long as I was involved with this world.

I snapped out of my trance and sat up. The summer night's mercy extended only as far as its temperature; the Mosquitos had their own agenda. I was going to go home and sleep in my bed tonight. A bed designed for Greek Gods and Roman Emperors, a bed taken up by a man so far from enlightenment and desperately aware of that fact.

Tonight's dreams would be vivid as usual.

Short Thought on a Human Condition

[written from mobile, please disregard capitalisation inconsistencies.]


2 things.


First, you may or may not have heard the mind-shattering question of 'how do you know you are not alone in this world?'.
the gist of the question is this: considering that everything you experience is basically neural signals in your own brain, how can you say with certainty that people - people you know around you, people you talk to on a daily basis or meet for the first time - are "real", and not just part of your imagination? just autonomically and spontaneously generated neural signals to give the illusion that others exist? maybe the life you know is entirely a figment of your imagination? maybe you are truly and utterly alone in your existence.

believe it or not, that question is moot. pointless.
it's like the myth of 'bumblebees aren't supposed to be capable of flight according to aerodynamics, but they fly anyway' - this has been disproved, the flight of a bee can be explained by aerodynamics.
the fact that others do exist has been proven in a philosophical experiment by a simple fact: language.
if every person you meet was just parts of your imagination, there would be no need for language at all. you would be able to interface with yourself easily, and there would be no room for misunderstandings that arise from language issues.

note here that I don't mean just 'people who speak different languages', but also the fact that even people who speak the same language have incomplete communication with each other. in other words, it is very difficult to accurately and unambiguously convey what you mean (including all nuances) to another person.

so, this leads us to an interesting situation.
1. we are definitely not alone in this existence.
2. the evidence that proves this fact also states that even if we aren't alone in this existence, we are incapable of truly understanding each other.
3. so... how together are we, when we are together?
it's a somewhat difficult and lonely state we exist in.

[side note: this is part of the reason why I struggle and strive to learn languages, to better my skills at conveying what I mean, to aid (as much as I can) the understanding of the person I am speaking to.
this is also the reason I try to give my full attention to the person or people I am with or in communication with.]


Second, just a short addendum, somebody asked me recently, 'aren't you lonely?' or 'you must be lonely'.
I can't remember what it was that brought about that question, nor the exact nuance/wording/intention of that question, but... my answer was simple.
"Aren't we all."

and I meant it. every word, every letter, every inflection of my voice.
this is our condition. this is us, right now.

Image: She Said

Her train of thought from her vocal cords ripped right into me at sonic speed, leaving me a splattered mess on its rails.

I blinked away the reality where words could kill - visions of my dead, unblinking stare fading fast with each swipe of my eyelids. The quantum probability collapsed leaving nothing but a bad afterimage. I gathered myself into immortality again before I begged her pardon.

She repeated herself, her tone soft and words iron; Russian roulette with six loaded chambers, and I'd just asked for another pull of the trigger.

---

Horizontal line, yay


Just an image, a phrase I had rolling around in my mind for a long while. I've finally managed to express it in words that satisfy me (in that I feel I've expressed it clearly enough while retaining all the juicy flavour) - for now.

An explanation, in case you want/need one: the girl tells the guy something - something shocking, and the guy is very shocked. Shocked to the extent that he feels that he could have died. He also asks her to repeat herself, possibly by mistake due to the knee-jerk reaction of saying "what...?" when confronted with something startling.

The scene was painted with quantum analogies: alternative universes and quantum immortality. I always thought they were pretty neat, I'm glad I managed to squeeze one in like that. Overall pretty happy about how it all came together (kind of), even though it was short!

Also, always happy to hear consturctive criticism - I'm not a professional writer or anything, so anything to to help me explore more techniques and avenues would be just dandy.

drinking cheap beer in front of a closed theatre on a rainy day

We stood at the entrance of a closed theatre, loitering under the roof to avoid the rain. People scurried by, some took refuge under the same roof. We'd look at them; they'd look at us. We would say nothing and neither would they.

We were guzzling cans of beer, the cheapest we could find. It was fitting for the occassion: we were broke and at a venue that didn't charge for their non-existent seats. One group left the shelter of the entrace. Another would come soon, and silence would be exchanged again.

Ignoring the transient population, we talked about life.

That's too vague.

We talked about life: how broke we were, how we had expected so much more, how things never quite came to be. We felt worthless, we felt disposable, we felt undesired - we felt great. There was freedom, a strange relief that came from knowing this.

This was a freedom that came from acceptance of oneself.

Wait, that's not right.

This was a freedom that came from having no unrealistic aspirations. No undue stress to achieve something unattainable. No goals to scramble towards with reality not just "snapping at your heels", but more "wrapping around your ribcage and clawing up your shoulder blades". Free from these things, we were discarded from the burden.

Unvalued, replacable, and rejected. Aware of our qualities (or lack thereof), we talked over the howling winds and rain.

Resignation is inherent in acceptance.

Dimitri - part 1

I inhaled.

Acrid fumes filled my lungs as shards of thoughts began flooding my brain, pushing the oxygen out as they filled the space, all the space. The shards were too sharp to handle, too fast to comprehend, and my body was straining for air.

"Keep going."

I winced one eye open. When did I close them? My neck muscles clenched. I was still inhaling. Shards again. Crystals, heated, boiled. This was homemade. How much could I trust crystallised extract brewed over a kitchen fire? My neck muscles clenched again. They hadn't relaxed from the last one, but somehow, they had clenched again.

"Keep going."

Precious crystals. I wasn't going to stop any time soon. Then I felt a crack. The human jaw is powerful enough that you could break all of your teeth simply by gritting hard enough. Pressure sensing nerves at the root of your teeth were the only things sending out a panic signal to your brain, shrieking and clawing at your muscles to stop. My neck muscles jerked out another spasm, cracking all my vertebrae. They still hadn't relaxed once. Panic, perhaps. Shards glided by silently.

"Keep going."

Another spasm, another crack vibrated all the way through my jaw, assaulting my eardrum. My vision was blurry. Tears from what? I tried to show a smile but only managed to close my eyes again. 'So this is how I die.' Another jolt, another crunch.

"Keep going."

Tension. Will my bones break first or will my muscles snap under the strain? The bubbling of crystals forming a sticky liquid, dancing like a sick child in a fire. Muscles taut with no more room to tighten, just pulling apart with everything they had left. Visions, of cracks forming along my vertebral disks. Not enough oxygen to remember regrets. Inklings of emotions formed and instantly snuffed out by the crushing panic. The sensation of a bone about to break. "Leaking Marrow", two words that sprang to mind. Death wouldn't be grim and black and cold; death would be frenzied and red and messy.

I stopped inhaling.

Muscles instantly relaxed, dropping my head. I caught myself before I fell, grabbing the edge of the mattress hard. The fire was out, the child was dead, the shards stopped mid-air and froze in place. The world was hung in a pause, all momentum instantaneously lost. Oxygen deprivation tugged at my sleeve, and I remembered the second part of the breathing process.

I exhaled.

Versions

An Introduction

I teach English to kids (aged around 12-14) here in Korea (South, for those who were wondering) as a side-job. The main format of the class is basically reading and discussing a book - the kids are really good at English usually, so the discussions tend to become quite complex, ranging into what literary knowledge I have and such rather than simple comprehension of the text itself.

With only 2 hours of contact time per week (per class) though, the teaching material can be  difficult to fully fit in to the class schedule, and sometimes I have to make my own material instead of relying on books available for purchase.

The following is one of those materials I crafted. It was made to give an example of "colour of words", or how word choice can affect the scene and atmosphere of the story. Interestingly enough, when talking to a close friend about this project, my friend said that he believes that the events of the story determine the genre more than anything. I hadn't thought about it in that way, more thinking of the words in a book or story to be like a director's choices in scenes for a movie - the same story (or series of events) could have a different "tinge", so to speak. Unfortunately, these examples can't settle that debate, because these stories don't really have any significant events to speak of.

Basically, these are just "vessel" stories to give examples of how wording can drastically change the feeling of the story.

Version 1

This version is an edit of a Facebook status I uploaded once - the original had a more of a central theme and story. It was also considerably more graphic and brutal. I had to tone it down for the class, and I removed the scene after the opening of the door so I could make other versions which were closer parallels to each other.

I walked through the doors to the building, their hinges creaking like the joints in my body. I was bone-tired all the time these days, with the city winter digging its dirty nails in deep wherever it could grasp. Seems it got to the oiling of the hinges as well, petrifying them frozen.

The elevator was clean, spotless and lifeless. Life had passed by here; awkward shifts of strangers in a small enclosed area, jovial chatter and mindless jokes of friends, quiet humming of a lonely occupant singing along to a tune in their mind. None of these were here now though, not even a trace. All that was here with me was the feeling of what would come soon.

That feeling.

It was the only thing that greeted me in the lifeless halls as I got off the elevator. Like a cheap meal rolling around in my stomach undigested, it made me feel sick as I walked along the corridor. It only grew stronger as I got closer to the room, acidic taste of vomit and bile rising from the back of my throat.

The door opened to the access key with a pathetic beep, like it was scared of what was going to happen. Hell if I know why, but I almost whispered ‘it’s ok, it’ll be ok’ to it right there right then. Was I trying to comfort the door, or myself? Maybe I would’ve said it out loud, if it wasn’t for what was in the room that I would have to face immediately now.

Version 2

My heart was pounding hard, like it was trying to explode through my ribcage. The winter wind was cold all around me, but my heart kept on beating strong as I slammed the creaky door open. I was finally at the building. I quickly glanced around the hallways, and noticing that nobody was there as I ran towards the elevator. My palm slapped the “UP” button hard and the doors opened immediately.

“4^th floor, 4^th floor”, I muttered to myself as the doors closed. As I felt the elevator move upwards, I focused on the number display.

1…
Could I calm down? My heart was beating much too hard. Should I calm down?

2…
No, I’d have to be ready for anything, no knowing what could happen. No need to calm down.

3…
I should be prepared. I should be ready. Launch into action.


4…

The ‘ding’ of the elevator was like a starting pistol to a race, and I exploded out of the doors as they opened, kicking wildly. My feet hit nothing but air though; I guess I was lucky nobody was waiting there for me. I had to hurry.

I ran along the corridor to the room, heart still beating like the world’s loudest drum. I slammed into the door, and as I bounced off from the recoil I yanked the door open.

Version 3

The city’s winter was cold all around, and I hid my face behind my scarf as the wind raced by once again. I was a cozy little island in a sea of chilly winter. Thinking about spring and the mountain herbs that would grow all over the place, I pushed open the doors to the building. The wind blew in while the doors were open, like a curious cat peeking into the kitchen while I was cooking. I’d give it a small piece of fish, but the wind didn’t really eat anything.

I stomped the snow off my shoes and brushed the snow off my coat as I walked up to the elevator. It was still on the 1^st floor – I guess nobody really wanted to go outside in this kind of weather. I let out a small sigh as I pressed the button for the elevator doors to open. It did feel slightly lonely to think that winter would lock everybody indoors like that.

The elevator hummed quietly as it made its way up gently. I couldn’t hum along with it though; I didn’t know its song. I would often whistle along with birds whenever I heard them, but machines seem to have a drastically different melody compared to nature. Yet we all still exist together.

The elevator doors opened for me on the 4^th floor, showing the empty corridors once again. I suppose everybody was indoors, staying warm in whichever way they could. I walked along the corridor until I got to the room. After knocking gently twice, I opened the door softly.

Version 4

This was the "bad" version. I wanted to give some examples of what not to do when writing a story. This version was presented all the same and without introduction that it would be a "bad version" however, and the explanation was given only afterwards.

My name is Jim. I’m 17 years old, and am attending high school in my hometown. I am about 175cm tall. A lot of people say I’m quite tall for my age, but I’m still shorter than most my friends. My hair color is naturally brown, just like my eyes.

Anyway, one day I was going to a building. It was really cold so I hurried into the building. It wasn’t that cold in the building, and there was also nobody else in there. I took the elevator to the 4^th floor. When I went to get the elevator, it was already on the 1^st floor.

After I got off the elevator at the 4^th floor, I went to the room that I had to go to. I knew what was going to be in the room. I opened the door…