Pandora's Box.

I'd written a piece long back. I showed it to no one, and deleted it as soon as I was convinced it was bullpoopy.

Well, rather than piece I'm sure you could call that a note saved in my crappy phone. And that note, I wrote after I came back after witnessing a girl being bullied. And not being brave enough to stand it. Because I was afraid of landing up like that.

Now I realize how brave she is.
And I'm glad she makes an effort to connect with me, so, so glad.

See, thing is, that note went somewhat like this, the thing in which I believe the most:
You don't get to call that fat girl fat.
You do get to call her, however, a person suffering from Prader-Willi Syndrome.

You don't get to say mean things behind that new girls' back even if she wears torn clothes.
Her parents died in the fire that burnt most of her clothes.

You don't get to feel vengeful about the boy with the street look even if he slammed against you and left without a proper apology.
He had three jobs to get to and six mouths to feed.

Wonder how that popular girl keeps smiling without her jaws tiring?
She finds comfort in the fact that no one in school knows the scars on her back.

It feels so good.
To be understood
to be taken seriously.
To live, to laugh,
to hurt, to cry,
but only if your emotions are
treated properly.
Taken seriously.
It feels so good.

Being prejudiced, and being slaves to terms is all part of how we've shaped this world, and how we perceive things. Being open minded is tough, and I don't mean it's 'tough' I mean it's tough.
Don't get me?
How hard is it for our brain to not form presumptions about something?
It is a defense mechanism. If our brain couldn't form a presumption that "Hell yes, this animal is gonna eat me up" we couldn't have survived.

How hard it is, to truly see.
But how wonderful.

The resultant treasure you find is a thing which is simply part of your soul.
I used to not believe in destiny.
Lyra and Will, made me.
Stars, made me.
Stories, made me.
The things that happen everyday, make me.

Oh, I still believe in free will. Yes I do.
It's a contradiction. So maybe it is a paradox. Or again, maybe it's not.

Because you see, the things which are truly of consequence, are seen from the heart.

So even if I do tire of all the misery and melodrama and not enough 'seeing' happening around, I take heart in the fact that the Little Prince was here, and he taught a certain person and a certain fox somethings, which were imparted to us all.

And I go on living because I still have hope.
The only thing which was left in Pandora's Box.

Kaleidoscopes are so beautiful.
You see patterns, you change patterns, you see them as they change.

You don't observe the individual elements that much. You don't see the small pieces of glass or the paper stars and paper circles and paper figures.

All you see is the entire picture.
And the entire picture is so resplendent.
So magnificent.

That's what matters.
That's all there is of consequence.
The entire picture.
But as humans, we do examine the individual elements because those elements are what happen to us everyday. And as we go through each day, dealing with those elements, perhaps to forget later, we at least see those elements in their entirety.

And if we do our best, give it our best shot, to those individual elements; if we continue to capture the entire picture by giving our best shot to each of those little things, perhaps when we grow up and have time to reflect on all that happened, we will see the entire picture.

And because of the individual elements we were so diligent in working upon, the picture we will see will not be just resplendent, but also lambent.

The magical, lambent of the stars is so because of the individual elements which smash all their elements and compounds to burn brighter, now is it not?

Why not give everyday a shot.
Why not live instead of just dreaming.
Dream a little and work a little.
Charm a little and play a little.
Live a little. Die a little.

Love a little.
Gaze at the stars a little.

Sputnik.

Will you be my sputnik?
I'll be the star you'll revolve around.
The star of your focus.
If only you'd be my sputnik.

I'd shine with all my might for you.
I'll smash the electrons of my heart
To burn brighter
And I'd give up on being a Red Giant
Or a supernova-
If only you'd be my sputnik.

Be my sputnik
We'd scale the universe
We'd see it all
We'd saunter past Black Holes
And narrowly escape solar coronas

If only you'd be my sputnik. 

Ad Astra.

She whispers to the stars every night.
The soldier falls asleep looking at them.
In the same open field, fireflies fight to shine brighter than their brothers in the skies.

The child finds his mother's face among the stars.
The stars remind the lover of his beloved.
His beloved wishes upon a star every night;  for the soldier to return home.

She wishes her sister back as well-
little knowing that her sister has been enchanted by the stars; they speak to her as she deals with her brother-in-law's wound, whose body lays on the cold, hard ground, face upturned, drinking in the glorious night.
Drinking in the stars.

She whispers to the stars that night that she's afraid.
The stars console her. They tell her that soon enough, she'll come to them.
She lets a tear trickle down her face.
It falls on the soldier.
He smiles at receiving the tear of the star-whisperer.
Tears from the Land of Tears- a secret place.
He can't go there just yet.
He needs to get drunk first.
He drinks in the night; for he's unsure as to what tomorrow might bring.

The child tightly holds on to his aunt's arm, as she wishes upon a star again, the next night, miles away from the field.
Today he tries to look for a ghost among the stars.

But the stars seem dimmer.
And no dead man's face, nor a wish is to be found or heard, that night.

Because miles away lies two bodies.
Of a star whisperer and a man drunk on the stars.
And the stars seem to weep for the loss!
Of two humans they fell in love with. 

Urban melancholia reigns because psychedelic illusions are abundant, dreams are left broken.

Trying is what makes us human.
And the happiness tinted glasses of children, through which they look at everything leaves them unable to comprehend how it's so rampant.
Tragedy.

But employing the little that was left in Pandora's box, we try.
We aim at happiness.
We aim at chances, and second chances, and some of us miss and some do not. And some fail gloriously, with a fight, and some do not.
We use our words.
We live.

That's why we're human.
Even with the universal futility of all actions, we try.

We laugh and we sing to our songs.

So that's why,
Reach for the stars.

Simple. True.

Ethereal.

I'm awake in my room at 2 a.m. and I feel ethereal.

Maybe it's the combination of listening to Jonsi's magic and watching 'Her'.

Of having plans which others deem boring but to me are amazing. 

Of buying two books. 

Of meeting an incredible human who I have the honour of calling my sensei.

Of having incredible friends who trust me.

Of being able to structure words into sentences beautifully, with a reinforced ability. 

Of having some clarity into what I want to do, what I want to be.

Of actually doing all I just said, and more.

It feels ethereal. 

The Art of Spoon Bending.

O

Much more pointless things have been done than this. 'This' can mean a lot of things but currently it means a singularity. A lazy singularity. But such is the nature of singularities that 'lazy' might not even begin to cover all that is to be covered, and currently I need to cover an important issue.

Oh, before we get to the issue, that purple 'O' over there is me. Say hi guys.

Now back to the issue.

How to bend a spoon. 

I watched The Matrix for the first time, when I was in second grade. Not a particularly high point in my life, but it was nice, and The Matrix was the kind of a movie which just passed over my second-grader head. But the thing that hooked me to the movie was when the bald monk kid is staring at the spoon as if he has constipation, and the spoon fucking bends.

Somehow, it just increased my respect for the movie by a thousand points. Matilda, by Roald Dahl, features a young girl who can do incredible things with her eyes, for instance, write on a blackboard with a chalk to scare her humongous and ugly headmistress away. With just her eyes.

These movies made me attach a certain respect to our wondrous eyes, and I used to stare at a window for minutes, hoping it would just go- crash!
I wish I could say I stared at the window for hours, but everyone I know knows how lazy I am. Again, the lazy singularity.
But then again, aren't we all singularities?

Back to the topic at hand. Spoon-bending.
Yesterday my spoon bended.

Let's assume the entity that speaks to me in my head is called Peach and is, indeed, a peach. And the voice which responds to the initial statement is, Pooh.

Peach: "Wow. It looks bent."
Pooh: "So it does. How'd it happen?"
Peach: "How 'm I supposed to know?"
Pooh: "You aren't?"
Peach: "Well, yea."
Pooh: "This is big. This lazy one has done something only freaky 6 year-somethings can do or weird bald monks can do."
Peach: "I really don't think he was a monk, just a weird bald kid."
Pooh: "Does that even matter?"
Peach: "It does to me. He wasn't a monk. Monks go amok."
Pooh: "Amok...?"
Peach: "Yea! They dance like hooligans on the streets and drink pee and undergo gender reconstruction surgery. Also, most of them have anger management issues."
Pooh: "Actually-"
Peach: "This kid here looks pretty calm to me, even cute."
Pooh: "I think you're talking about 'munk' and even that is not closer to the truth."
Peach: "Meh."
Pooh: "So back to topic..?"
Peach: "She was eating ice-cream."
Pooh: "What?"
Peach: "The girl whose mind we occupy before she erases us. She was eating chocolate ice-cream like a pro at midnight."
Pooh: "..."
Peach: "Her sister starts screaming about ice-cream equality otherwise, you know."
Pooh: "Am I supposed to be the voice of reason, of logic and are you supposed to be the non-linear voice? Yes."
Peach: "Well, Mr. Voice-Of-Reason. Tell me this. Remember what happened when she tried to scoop out ice-cream in the middle of the night with the spoon that's bent now?"
Pooh: "There was a cockroach..."
Peach: "And she killed it."
Pooh: "And in the process, she scooped out too much ice-cream, during which the spoon got bent."
Peach: "Voila."
Pooh: "..."
Peach: "Don't worry though, this was just a case of rememberance of memory, not logic vs. imagination."
Pooh: "Ok..."

What really bothers me is that my voice of reason didn't even bother to ask the non-linear thought pattern maverick about why she lied in the beginning when he asked if she knew why the spoon was bent and she replied in the negative.
More importantly, why is my voice of logic so dumb? .-.

Even more importantly, what was the point of this?

Points are in existence, you see. Even this has a point somewhere, in some alternate universe.

What we learn from this is when you have to bend a spoon and marvel at your awesomeness, be caught in a situation involving ice-cream and a cockroach and be sure to stick in the spoon deep into the ice-cream, so that when you try to scoop it out, it gets bent.
The cockroach is a variable which may be discarded, it's not valid to the equation.
By the way, an equation never actually was in the picture.
Bet you didn't know that.

O

P.S: That grey 'O' over there denotes creativity. See the displacement?

Have a nice Sunday, whoever is reading this. You know you don't have a life. Just like me. :'3