"You're completely useless, you trash! 'Please wait a little more'? How many times have you said those words since you were born? Society is not your mother. It will not continue to wait for you trash while you try and decide. Just go off and equivocate for the rest of your lives. You will continue to lose all your valuable opportunities."
...
"Your pleas for mercy are off the mark. You give up? That's not going to work when you play for keeps, you fools. You're all sick."
"Sick?"
"Their sickness is how they can never get serious, no matter what their circumstances may be. It's a match with lives on the line. We've already told them what will happen if they lose, and yet they still think they can just give up. In other words, they're not serious. Even on the bridge where they face certain death, they talk nonsense because they can't become serious! It's nothing but a fictional match to them.
Normally, those people would never wake up from their fantasy worlds. They live meaningless lives. They waste their precious days over nothing. No matter how old they get, they'll continue to say... 'My real life hasn't started yet.' 'The real me is still asleep, so that's why my life is such garbage.' They continue to tell themselves that. They continue. And they age. Then die. And on their deathbeds, they will finally realize. The life they lived was the real thing.
People don't live provisional lives, nor do they die provisional deaths. That's a simple fact! The problem...
...is whether they realize that simple fact."
(The Triad fansubs)
-----------------------------------
The trader stared his customer in the face. A man of youthful pride, a glimmer of idealism in his eyes, a bright future ahead of him. He took out a cigar and lit it.
"So, young one. What brings you here?"
The young'un smiled with a bright beam. "You're the man who can grant wishes to anyone, right? I've heard about you. Magic, they call it. Would it work on me? I wonder. I sure hope so."
"Is it a dream you have, young one?" The trader took out a pencil and paper, then continued to stare into the youth's eyes; the beauty of idealism in it.
"Of course, mister. Don't we all have them? Big, small, beautiful or ugly, everyone has their own unique dream that they want to achieve." The trader wrote a point or two down on his paper, making sure the youth couldn't tell what he was writing exactly.
"Beautiful things indeed, these dreams. What are they to you?" The young man seemed to be getting impatient, but the trader ignored that, throwing the cigar to a corner at the back before staring the youth in the eye again.
"The backbone of progress, mister. That it be both the will of Cinderella and the oath of America is testament to its strength. Driving me on to tomorrow, mister - that's what I feel it does. The light at the end of the tunnel without which I would be lost in darkness forever." The world around the two continued to move - the marketplace lively as ever - yet between the two was silence save the sound of pencil grinding against paper.
"Fitting words, that they should come from the mouth of a youth like you too." He scribbled a few more lines and smiled, half mockingly. This can go either way. "What do you propose you would do to grasp such a dream within your hands, then?"
"To go till the end, I say! To scale the heights of heavens; to brave the depths of hell; to go where East meets West and where the fire craves the ice. To suffer in melodious silence and etch a mark in eternity of it!"
The trader lit another cigar and blew the smoke in the youth's face.
"So, youth, that's what you're going to do, eh." Another puff of smoke. "Well I'll tell ya something, kid. Whatcha call the thing that keeps ya going again?"
"Dreams?" the youth looked somewhat confused.
"No, the other one. Firmness. Determination. Starts with R or something."
"Resolve?"
"Yea, that's the one. Whatcha think of it?"
"I don't get what you mean, Mister."
"Then I'll teach you, young 'un. To survive in the world you need food, water and shelter. But there're three things in the world you need to progress. Any ideas?"
"Dreams? Resolve? And..."
"Wisdom's the third, with good reason. I'll ask ya another thing. You called me the man who can grant wishes to anyone. But what am I fundamentally?"
"...a trader? Merchant?"
"Nah, lad. I ain't gonna be that high to ya, but if you want to think of it that way I guess you could say that. Tell me then. What was it that you would do for your dreams again?"
"I'd hate to repeat myself, mister. To the end of the world suffice."
"Then I must say, my lad, that you have no resolve."
The youth was immediately appalled. "Excuse me sir, I do believe that's a rather unjust statement to make."
"Yet it is the truest of truths. Why are you here? To see me. Why? Because I'm a trader. Why? Because apparently I can grant wishes to anyone. Why? Because you can't grant them yourself. There is something about you, lad, that tells me all you have are dreams. There's no resolve, there's no wisdom." The youth was shocked for a moment, and the trader noticed the small tremblings between his fingers.
"Have you ever thought about going to the ends of the world? Have you ever thought about your weary feet? Have you ever thought about the thirst, the hunger, the loneliness? Have you ever thought about how you are going to remotely come close to doing the things you say? Have you ever thought about doing something along with saying it?"
A shot of silence - then a sigh, and a puff of smoke. "Guess not, huh. You're a desperate person, you know that? Coming to a trader to get a dream true. Escaping from the effort that you'd have to put in otherwise. Guess what? I'm a trader - there's something called a transaction. There's never been a way out of this. A shortcut. Time won't wait for you to hope for your dreams to come your way on a silver platter, the light at the end of the tunnel is going to stay at the end of the tunnel. And you can't get to the end of that tunnel because you ain't got the resolve, lad. Resolve ain't something to be made with your head. It's something to be made with your attitude.
Stop looking for shortcuts and traders to give you your stuff; dreams can't be caught that easily. Stop talking about reaching the end of the tunnel without taking the step; resolve isn't created that easily. Stop thinking that as long as you get to the end taking shortcuts is fine; wisdom doesn't come that easily."
The trader stared the youth in the eye again. It seemed slightly darker - the glimmer that used to be there... a puff of smoke.
"Resolve, lad, has a meaning apart from determination. It means conclusion too - the ability to end what one starts, the endurance to walk the entire path, the patience to not drop halfway. The word resolve isn't the destination nor is it the journey; it's both. It's the thing that keeps one going in spite of all the sacrifices. Do you have something to head towards? That's a dream. Would you give up everything to head towards something? That's resolve. Would you stop when there is nothing that can push you forward anymore? That's wisdom. Without the latter two, you are but a drunkard thinking he is king."
"Dare you go sober and partake in the elections for kingship? In spite of everything? I suppose not. To do that would really show the lack of wisdom in you. Life will never wait for you, but it will not necessarily reward you for doing things you will never do again. Now go, and I pray that one day you will find something called resolve."
The youth never found resolve, but on that day he traded his dreams he had and received wisdom in exchange; a kind of wisdom that comes from years of experience and fear.
-----------------------------------
Any more and this will be too much of a self-criticism.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
Being a Pop Star
I wanna be a pop star, 君をもっと 夢中にさせてあげるからね;
キラキラのpop star 羽根を広げ 魔法をかけてあげよう
君だけに
I wanna be a pop star, kimi wo motto, muchuu ni sasete ageru kara ne; kirakira no pop star, hane wo hiroge, mahou wo kakete ageyou -
~kimi dake ni~
------------------------------------------------
「世界は美しい
悲しみと涙に満ちてさえ
瞳を開きなさい
やりたい事をしなさい
なりたい者になりなさい
友達を見つけなさい
焦らずにゆっくりと大人になりなさい」
------------------------------------------------
皆、夢があった事ある? 生徒会長になりたいとか、歌手になりたいとか、皆はきっと叶えたい夢がいっぱいあるんでしょう.素晴らしくて素敵な夢でしょう.
でもね、世界の社会は残酷な所です. 夢を叶えたいからと言ってきっと叶えるわけないんだ. 一般な人間は社会に入ったら全部の趣味を終らせて、仕事だけ続ける. そんな人達は何もできなく、ただの一般な社会生活を続け、結局｢夢｣と言う言葉がもう忘れてしまった.
そんな存在が望む訳ないんだろう. 何もしなかった、何も叶えなかった存在. 毎日は同じ仕事をして、毎日同じことをやって、毎日同じように続けて、同じように続ける. こんな人間、なりたくないんでしょう. 幸せ何かない人間. 悲しみを受けるしかない人間. 僕にもなりたくない.
でもそれは人生. 世界は美しくなんかない. そしてそれ故に美しい.
だからこそ夢を叶えられなくても夢を追い続けて。
続けて、続けて. 何処でも.
キラキラのpop star 羽根を広げ 魔法をかけてあげよう
君だけに
I wanna be a pop star, kimi wo motto, muchuu ni sasete ageru kara ne; kirakira no pop star, hane wo hiroge, mahou wo kakete ageyou -
~kimi dake ni~
------------------------------------------------
「世界は美しい
悲しみと涙に満ちてさえ
瞳を開きなさい
やりたい事をしなさい
なりたい者になりなさい
友達を見つけなさい
焦らずにゆっくりと大人になりなさい」
------------------------------------------------
皆、夢があった事ある? 生徒会長になりたいとか、歌手になりたいとか、皆はきっと叶えたい夢がいっぱいあるんでしょう.素晴らしくて素敵な夢でしょう.
でもね、世界の社会は残酷な所です. 夢を叶えたいからと言ってきっと叶えるわけないんだ. 一般な人間は社会に入ったら全部の趣味を終らせて、仕事だけ続ける. そんな人達は何もできなく、ただの一般な社会生活を続け、結局｢夢｣と言う言葉がもう忘れてしまった.
そんな存在が望む訳ないんだろう. 何もしなかった、何も叶えなかった存在. 毎日は同じ仕事をして、毎日同じことをやって、毎日同じように続けて、同じように続ける. こんな人間、なりたくないんでしょう. 幸せ何かない人間. 悲しみを受けるしかない人間. 僕にもなりたくない.
でもそれは人生. 世界は美しくなんかない. そしてそれ故に美しい.
だからこそ夢を叶えられなくても夢を追い続けて。
続けて、続けて. 何処でも.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
自殺事件
Another star to the heavens.
The union workers stare in awe and silence. One speaks.
"Y'know how they say there're as many stars in Heaven as there're people on Earth?"
"What of it?" Another replies, turning his head towards the questioner. The rest continue to stare up.
"Which one do you think he is? ..." And both stared up again. "..., see the one up there? The one that shines brightly in flickers and glimmers, then falling to darkness each time? Kind of like him, isn't it?"
Eerie silence.
The questioner spoke again. "...I'm sorry. I know he was in a different branch and all. But don't you think about it? When will the skies be rich with sparkles and there be only a single man on Earth to appreciate it? What if it's me? What if all of you are gone? What would it feel like? In fact, what does it feel like to die? Why'd he do it? Did he have a good reason? Was it impulsive? Was he trying to send a strong message?"
Eerie silence.
"Everytime I think of it I stare up and I see that star right there, by itself, flickering brightly and lonesomely. And I just start thinking about him. Why? I mean, he's just a stranger in another branch, isn't it?" He looked left and right. Everyone else continues to stare up.
"...It's just that all he's done is leave us with more questions than answers; as if we didn't already have enough to begin with! And all we can do is..."
"Speculate?" The questioner turned his head, and found himself staring eye to eye with one of the other workers.
"Huh?"
"Speculate. That was what you were going to say, right?" And he turned back up to stare at the stars.
"Yeah, but..." The questioner hung his head down this time.
"Then it's best to do nothing, fellow mate." The questioner stared at him. He was still staring up.
"Wha?"
"We bear no part in this. We do not speculate, it is disrespectful to the dead. His choice is his to be, our opinions are ours to be; but our judgment of him must never come to be. We do not ask the dead to speak, the dead tell no tales. We do not seek answers from the dead, we will find too much in the truth to take."
The questioner continued to stare. "But aren't you..."
"Curious? It no longer matters. I treat knowing the answer as a mere prize and award for my curiosity when he has sacrificed his life over it. He is one of us still, fellow mate, and it best be in your interests to keep out of the lives of others. I'm sure it's in his interests too. All we do is to mourn."
And they all stared up at the sky to mourn in silence.
But even then,
Perhaps even silence is still one word too many.
The union workers stare in awe and silence. One speaks.
"Y'know how they say there're as many stars in Heaven as there're people on Earth?"
"What of it?" Another replies, turning his head towards the questioner. The rest continue to stare up.
"Which one do you think he is? ..." And both stared up again. "..., see the one up there? The one that shines brightly in flickers and glimmers, then falling to darkness each time? Kind of like him, isn't it?"
Eerie silence.
The questioner spoke again. "...I'm sorry. I know he was in a different branch and all. But don't you think about it? When will the skies be rich with sparkles and there be only a single man on Earth to appreciate it? What if it's me? What if all of you are gone? What would it feel like? In fact, what does it feel like to die? Why'd he do it? Did he have a good reason? Was it impulsive? Was he trying to send a strong message?"
Eerie silence.
"Everytime I think of it I stare up and I see that star right there, by itself, flickering brightly and lonesomely. And I just start thinking about him. Why? I mean, he's just a stranger in another branch, isn't it?" He looked left and right. Everyone else continues to stare up.
"...It's just that all he's done is leave us with more questions than answers; as if we didn't already have enough to begin with! And all we can do is..."
"Speculate?" The questioner turned his head, and found himself staring eye to eye with one of the other workers.
"Huh?"
"Speculate. That was what you were going to say, right?" And he turned back up to stare at the stars.
"Yeah, but..." The questioner hung his head down this time.
"Then it's best to do nothing, fellow mate." The questioner stared at him. He was still staring up.
"Wha?"
"We bear no part in this. We do not speculate, it is disrespectful to the dead. His choice is his to be, our opinions are ours to be; but our judgment of him must never come to be. We do not ask the dead to speak, the dead tell no tales. We do not seek answers from the dead, we will find too much in the truth to take."
The questioner continued to stare. "But aren't you..."
"Curious? It no longer matters. I treat knowing the answer as a mere prize and award for my curiosity when he has sacrificed his life over it. He is one of us still, fellow mate, and it best be in your interests to keep out of the lives of others. I'm sure it's in his interests too. All we do is to mourn."
And they all stared up at the sky to mourn in silence.
But even then,
Perhaps even silence is still one word too many.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
朋友
还有伤 还有痛 还要走
还有我
----------------------------
Today has truly been a day. It has all the elements; of learning and resting, laughing and working, of listening and sleeping (for some, haha), of pleasant surprises and rude shocks, of welcomes and goodbyes, of meetings and departures.
A day like this will likely not come for a while.
What use is reflecting? I do not deny its benefits. But sometimes, the silent reflection's golden shine surpasses all.
----------------------------
A step along the pathway. How long has it been? He tried not to remember - it would seem just like yesterday that way. The drizzling rain barely keeps his memory drowned amongst the small ripples of sentimentality.
A bunch of kids running along the corridors. "Do not run on the corridor!" He heard the teacher shout, and turned his head instinctively. The kids continued to run down the corridor, no teacher in sight. Ah, he thought, things probably weren't the same.
He walked down the corridor again. How often was it that he would run along with the youngest of his classmates down, rushing for food? How often was it that he would stay in class along with the middle-yeared of his classmates, rushing for work? How often was it that he would slowly stroll down with the eldest of his classmates, down for a chat over a plate of rice and a cup of iced tea?
He stared into the classroom. He saw the teacher teaching, the children learning. He looked a slight bit longer. Second row, third from left. That was the place where he had spent so much time. Third row, next to the window. That was where he talked with a good 'mate of his throughout the early dawns of life.
A light chuckle. Front row, center child. Sleeping with the textbook in front of his face. It had to be. The guy I knew did that too, and he was front row center, the man thought.
The light rain continued to drizzle down. This was what January was like. Staying in class and ignoring both first and second assembly bells. If only it were lighter rain then instead of pouring torrents. This was perfect, yet somewhat at the wrong time.
He walked up the staircase. The staircase he walked up and down every single day for a good part of his life. Who knows how many steps up he had walked? How long has that uphill path been? How long did the stairway go up? When would it end? He cut himself mid-thought and just continued to walk up. Yes, that's what it was like. I never thought about such things then, he thought. Just keep walking like this.
The main assembly ground, now lightly tinted sepia. "Baris! Sedi-a!" A shuffling of feet. The national anthem. A gigantic bunch of students arranged by years and classes, the teachers few and far between in the masses, the loud (occasionally less-so) voice of the commander, the five stars and the golden wyvern rising, the multiracial pledges, the everyday devotions.
The rain drowned it all out again. Sepia fades into greyness. The clock tower says eleven, not seven half. He laughed a little inside; I must be thinking a bit too much again, he thought. He walked through the parade ground, faint raindrops on his back.
Each footstep the slightest bit heavier. Each smile the slightest bit fainter. Each heartbeat the slightest bit wearier. And slowly, a drop. A sob. A tear.
It really was the end of it all, wasn't it? All these years, moving up the path by oneself; through rain, through shine, through pains and tears - how? How? Another sob, another tear. He continued walking.
The newer area of school, he thought, and cut himself midthought. This isn't newer anymore. A bittersweet smile. And he walked up another flight of stairs.
The empty table. On one end, him, laptop in hand and patiently typing out everything silently albeit annoyedly. On the other end, her - no, them -
- no, us.
Standing together around, giving moral support. For whom? Her. For whom? Another one of 'us'. For what? For her tears, for her sadness, for her worries. Doing the best we could. Remembering this very place one year down the road and laughing heartily about how she cried that day, all of us. And here I am, he thought, remembering about this very place a few years down the road, and he smiled as he walked down the stairs.
The pond. The messages; the fishes. The juniors feeding them. The staircases up to class. Every step, another person would run past excitedly. Every step, he would turn his head towards an empty staircase. Every step, the sounds would be drowned out by the rain.
The man reached the canteen, and opened the glass doors. He moved instinctively to the sixth store (the fifth later on, but merely an issue of orientation). Closed. Ah well, he thought, and went to the first store and bought a cup of iced tea before sitting down on one of the tables. The rain was silenced by the barrier of glass, and the canteen was a silent place to him.
Suddenly, he looked up. Why? He didn't know - a mere feeling. How did he know? He didn't - there was no way of knowing. But yet it was. He saw them, and they saw him. And they sat together after being apart for the longest of times. And they talked about the times that they were together, and the times that they were apart. And each step along someone would be smiling.
Moving on was painful. It hurt. But he went on. Because he wasn't walking alone. They were with him. What were they? He thought for a while. Ah. They were friends. The days were gone, the times are long past. In their place, a cup of iced tea; a well-due conversation. A single statement.
"Hey there."
还有我
----------------------------
Today has truly been a day. It has all the elements; of learning and resting, laughing and working, of listening and sleeping (for some, haha), of pleasant surprises and rude shocks, of welcomes and goodbyes, of meetings and departures.
A day like this will likely not come for a while.
What use is reflecting? I do not deny its benefits. But sometimes, the silent reflection's golden shine surpasses all.
----------------------------
A step along the pathway. How long has it been? He tried not to remember - it would seem just like yesterday that way. The drizzling rain barely keeps his memory drowned amongst the small ripples of sentimentality.
A bunch of kids running along the corridors. "Do not run on the corridor!" He heard the teacher shout, and turned his head instinctively. The kids continued to run down the corridor, no teacher in sight. Ah, he thought, things probably weren't the same.
He walked down the corridor again. How often was it that he would run along with the youngest of his classmates down, rushing for food? How often was it that he would stay in class along with the middle-yeared of his classmates, rushing for work? How often was it that he would slowly stroll down with the eldest of his classmates, down for a chat over a plate of rice and a cup of iced tea?
He stared into the classroom. He saw the teacher teaching, the children learning. He looked a slight bit longer. Second row, third from left. That was the place where he had spent so much time. Third row, next to the window. That was where he talked with a good 'mate of his throughout the early dawns of life.
A light chuckle. Front row, center child. Sleeping with the textbook in front of his face. It had to be. The guy I knew did that too, and he was front row center, the man thought.
The light rain continued to drizzle down. This was what January was like. Staying in class and ignoring both first and second assembly bells. If only it were lighter rain then instead of pouring torrents. This was perfect, yet somewhat at the wrong time.
He walked up the staircase. The staircase he walked up and down every single day for a good part of his life. Who knows how many steps up he had walked? How long has that uphill path been? How long did the stairway go up? When would it end? He cut himself mid-thought and just continued to walk up. Yes, that's what it was like. I never thought about such things then, he thought. Just keep walking like this.
The main assembly ground, now lightly tinted sepia. "Baris! Sedi-a!" A shuffling of feet. The national anthem. A gigantic bunch of students arranged by years and classes, the teachers few and far between in the masses, the loud (occasionally less-so) voice of the commander, the five stars and the golden wyvern rising, the multiracial pledges, the everyday devotions.
The rain drowned it all out again. Sepia fades into greyness. The clock tower says eleven, not seven half. He laughed a little inside; I must be thinking a bit too much again, he thought. He walked through the parade ground, faint raindrops on his back.
Each footstep the slightest bit heavier. Each smile the slightest bit fainter. Each heartbeat the slightest bit wearier. And slowly, a drop. A sob. A tear.
It really was the end of it all, wasn't it? All these years, moving up the path by oneself; through rain, through shine, through pains and tears - how? How? Another sob, another tear. He continued walking.
The newer area of school, he thought, and cut himself midthought. This isn't newer anymore. A bittersweet smile. And he walked up another flight of stairs.
The empty table. On one end, him, laptop in hand and patiently typing out everything silently albeit annoyedly. On the other end, her - no, them -
- no, us.
Standing together around, giving moral support. For whom? Her. For whom? Another one of 'us'. For what? For her tears, for her sadness, for her worries. Doing the best we could. Remembering this very place one year down the road and laughing heartily about how she cried that day, all of us. And here I am, he thought, remembering about this very place a few years down the road, and he smiled as he walked down the stairs.
The pond. The messages; the fishes. The juniors feeding them. The staircases up to class. Every step, another person would run past excitedly. Every step, he would turn his head towards an empty staircase. Every step, the sounds would be drowned out by the rain.
The man reached the canteen, and opened the glass doors. He moved instinctively to the sixth store (the fifth later on, but merely an issue of orientation). Closed. Ah well, he thought, and went to the first store and bought a cup of iced tea before sitting down on one of the tables. The rain was silenced by the barrier of glass, and the canteen was a silent place to him.
Suddenly, he looked up. Why? He didn't know - a mere feeling. How did he know? He didn't - there was no way of knowing. But yet it was. He saw them, and they saw him. And they sat together after being apart for the longest of times. And they talked about the times that they were together, and the times that they were apart. And each step along someone would be smiling.
Moving on was painful. It hurt. But he went on. Because he wasn't walking alone. They were with him. What were they? He thought for a while. Ah. They were friends. The days were gone, the times are long past. In their place, a cup of iced tea; a well-due conversation. A single statement.
"Hey there."
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Chinese New Year
今はわからないことばかりだけど, 信じるこの道を進むだけさ
---------------------------
It's been a pretty lonely Chinese New Year in comparison to the last.
To be fair, it's to be expected and all considering the fact that the previous Chinese New Year was actually quite a big gathering, having the relatives from Australia and all.
Maybe it's an indication that I actually have a nice and caring extended family and I shouldn't be complaining and all but it did feel rather lonely being the only teenager (Well, not that my cousins read this, but to be safe, I shall not consider 13 as a teenager age and not risk offending parties by accident) around in the house.
All this in rather sharp contrast to the previous Christmas, but perhaps age 16 really is supposed to be a good year and all in more ways than just the end of secondary education and the sudden ability to legally watch NC16 films (Not that one couldn't previously given the right location, but some nice stuff at The Picturehouse just happen to be NC16 for queer reasons and Cathay isn't the best place to watch movies illegally)
A premonition, really, but I kinda get the hunch that this year's Christmas probably will be rather silent compared to last year too. Ah well, that just makes Pre-U holidays rather bittersweet (More in a progressive sense and less in the overall sense) but let's just see about that.
---------------------------
At times I seriously don't know what's up with the world, but that's when you move on even if there's nothing around but more things that you don't understand. Just trust in the path you're on and stick to it, I guess.
---------------------------
It's been a pretty lonely Chinese New Year in comparison to the last.
To be fair, it's to be expected and all considering the fact that the previous Chinese New Year was actually quite a big gathering, having the relatives from Australia and all.
Maybe it's an indication that I actually have a nice and caring extended family and I shouldn't be complaining and all but it did feel rather lonely being the only teenager (Well, not that my cousins read this, but to be safe, I shall not consider 13 as a teenager age and not risk offending parties by accident) around in the house.
All this in rather sharp contrast to the previous Christmas, but perhaps age 16 really is supposed to be a good year and all in more ways than just the end of secondary education and the sudden ability to legally watch NC16 films (Not that one couldn't previously given the right location, but some nice stuff at The Picturehouse just happen to be NC16 for queer reasons and Cathay isn't the best place to watch movies illegally)
A premonition, really, but I kinda get the hunch that this year's Christmas probably will be rather silent compared to last year too. Ah well, that just makes Pre-U holidays rather bittersweet (More in a progressive sense and less in the overall sense) but let's just see about that.
---------------------------
At times I seriously don't know what's up with the world, but that's when you move on even if there's nothing around but more things that you don't understand. Just trust in the path you're on and stick to it, I guess.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Guided by Shadows
小さな手でも いつの日か僕等追いこいして行くんだ
やがて来る日は新しい季節を開いた
---------------------------------------------
いつか聞いてほしいこの思いも
言葉にはならなくても
力の限りを振り絞って
ありがとう そう伝えていくから
---------------------------------------------
“俺たちは登り始める...長い、長い、坂道を...”
At the end of next year, everyone around will have finished walking their educational path (Barring readers not my age XD). Finished walking up the long, long, uphill climb.
Everyone probably has their own choices in mind; the universities they want to go to, the places they want to be at, the jobs they want to get placed in. A shining light they head towards.
“天の光は全て星”
What kind of stars do they head towards? What motivation brings them on their journey?
An edge and advantage in the future economy?
A status to satiate one's pride?
A high standard one has to live up to?
A consideration as to what would be the wisest choice?
All lights. Lights that bring them on to higher ground. The end of the tunnel; the crystal clear view at the top of the hill.
And when they finally touch the hill, they reach their target. The status they wanted. The edge they needed. The standard they achieved. The wisest choice for the wise man.
What brings them there? Light. What leads them there? Light. What is to be. Moving on from the darker past (Or perhaps for some an already bright past) into the ever-brighter future.
Whether it is by pride, by role models, or by economic consideration, these are things that renew themselves.
---------------------------------------------
The marionette graces the stage. The audience stares in silence.
"A wish!" The marionette cries. "How many of you before my eyes bear them?" Some eyes brightened, probably those who look up towards a good life. Some murmured to themselves, likely those without the simple expression of hope. A slight whisper across the crowd.
"A wish of mine it is!" Silence again. "A wish to be human. A wish to sit amongst the audience and stare at the clown of a marionette joke and play along on stage. The higher caste! The chance to enter school, work, play, and life itself! The world to which a mere marionette such as I is disallowed." Chortles from amongst half the crowd and silence from the other half. An interesting sight to be honest - half a group laughing and half a group mesmerized, both by the very same message.
The marionette's strings tightened and slacked with each and every movement. It walked, albeit jerkily, towards a young man at the right.
"What wish, young man, do you have? Share, please, to this poor marionette that he may learn what to wish for once he joins you in kind." A baffled look on the young man, as if asking the stagesman if it were serious. He opened his mouth and spoke.
"A doctor, o marionette. I wish to help the weak and ill."
"What lead you to such a wish, o noble doctor?" The doctor-to-be thought a while.
"But a sincere wish it is, and that is all it will be, o marionette."
"A noble wish it must be then, oh lad! I pray it comes true for you."
"And likewise to you too, o wishful marionette." Chuckles from the same half of the crowd. The marionette moved over to the left side now, each step a knock against the hardwood stage. This time it was a young lady.
"Fair lady, what wish do you have?" The fair lady looked up, surprised that she was chosen among the left crowd. She spoke.
"...My wish is to get into a college of good standing, o fair marionette."
"And what lead you to such a wish?" She thought a while.
"A standard, I would guess. One I must live up to; a trial and tribulation of sorts. Is that not what you face too, o kind marionette?"
"Indeed it is so, fair lady. And as those before you have done, I wish you good luck getting your academic status." Clicks and clocks again with each step towards the center stage. He first looked at a relatively older man, and stared at his unshaven beard.
"What wish do you hold, mister? Please, do share it with the audience." The man stroked his beard and thought a moment.
"To get into a college of good standing, much like the lady there." The marionette tilted its head to the left, and dropped a bit before the string tightened and kept it in place.
"And what makes a man of considerable age like you choose this wish?"
"An economic consideration, o marionette. You may find this concept rather alien."
"And I almost wish it stay that way, old man." Lastly, the marionette turned to the old man's left, and looked down. The marionette now met eye to eye with a child.
"What wish do you have, young child? I pray you share it with the audience!"
"I want to be the very best!" A bright, shining voice, certainly one of hope, of the sorts of idealism that was tinted with shades of innocence that had not met with the bitter realities of societal life. A slight feeling of warmth amongst the crowds, yet a slight chuckle around it at the same time.
"And how did you come upon such a peculiar wish, young child?" The child smiled.
"I just want to! I know I can!" The marionette raised its body.
"Pride it is, then, that leads you to this wish. And though my heart is wood I wish that you all find your wish fulfilled in your hands." The child rose and spoke.
"What about you, o wooden marionette? What leads you to your wishes?"
"What motivates me, is it? Child? A curse that you should ask me such a difficult question!" The marionette slowly backed towards stage center, then spread its arms wide out.
"Light! That is what leads you all on! Pride! Status! Faith! Calm consideration! Fine motivations, and well ones at that. But what of me?" The marionette twirled itself left and right, looking around for any answer. Pure silence.
"What of me?"
"What of me, o audience? This wooden heart of mine can bear no wish for the betterment of humanity, o noble doctor. I have no peers or people before me to look up to in my wish and achievements, fair lady. I have no knowledge of the societal ways and have too little in this wooden head to consider, old man. And most of all-" The marionette lowered its head and looked at the again.
"I can't just believe that I can do it." The child stared blankly while the marionette began to walk around the stage.
"What leads me then, if not the light that leads you on, from the dark past into the bright future? Who knows, some of you never had a dark past! What leads me to the end of the long uphill climb? What is the light at the end of the tunnel for me? What is that light?" The crowd stays silent, mesmerized by the words of the marionette. The marionette took a step forward - a knock against the hardwood floor.
"To that, I say." Another step. "There is none." Some of their audience turn their heads. Some raise their eyebrows. "There is none, I say!" The cry amongst the deafening silence shocks them back. "A mere shadow is my motivation."
Another step.
"Look at this before me! A stage! An audience! Look at the spotlights! See where they shine! On me! Look at yourselves; the audience, sitting in the darkness! Pitiful creatures, the lot of you! What were you doing thinking that you ever stood tall against me, the stagesman? What leads me towards you? What can possibly lead me from the light into the darkness? It can only be the shadow; the shadow of me, cast from the light of the past into the darkness and uncertainty of the future! This is no light, o child. There is no light that can possibly bring me to higher ground."
"And yet I head there. So may your light may lead you on to greater heights, yet my shadow do the same."
A member of the audience stood up. "Why a shadow, marionette? Is there really no light that we can give to you? A reason or hope, perhaps?"
"Hah! What mere spark can you give towards me? Mock me not, mister. Though I have no light I find the shadow brighter than your fake illumination." The child stood up and looked at the man, head hung in shame, before turning around again and facing the marionette.
"Then what was it that placed your wish to be a man, o marionette? The shadows are but your journey from light, they cannot be the cause."
The marionette hung its head low for a moment before looking at the child.
"You have a love for difficult questions, it seems, o child. What it is then I shall tell you, and the members of the audience. Listen well." The crowd was silent. "I too am but a mere marionette, wishless and hopeless. Yet chance would have it that a child like you come up to my imperfect wooden body. That young girl gave me this wish, oh child, that I become human. Yet she is long gone; a shadow lay in her place from the direction she headed off." The child remained silent, and the marionette, noticing that, continued.
"Tell me, oh child. If I become human, may I see her? May I give her my thanks? I may; I may not. Yet it is this promise with a shadow - the shadow of the past, child - that gives me this wish. And it is this wish that gives birth to the shadow that wanes as I walk further into the darkness until it has completely blended in; that I have finally entered the unknown world in search for this girl. But a mere marionette I am! What can I do?" The marionette stomped on the floor, a loud knock. "Chains, these things! Chains from the past that keep me here in fear and sentimentality, from moving on! Oh, how I wish that the past be gone, the shadow stop chasing me!"
And the marionette continued to talk. But the show was soon over; the marionette was soon to leave the stage. And the strings pulled slowly; the marionette went up slowly and slowly. And the child, the audience; they looked as the marionette lifted from the ground.
"Look at me! A mere marionette! Never to be a human!" The marionette fumbled and twisted its arms left and right, resisting. The child ran up.
"Let the marionette go, vile strings! Let his feet stay on the ground!" And the child jumped up and grabbed the marionette.
Slowly and slowly, the strings tightened. The child pulled the marionette down. "You will have the light, o marionette. I am sure that you will meet the girl someday."
And the strings gave way, and the marionette and the child dropped on the floor with a loud thud against the hardwood floor.
"You will, right? O marionette."
But the marionette was wishless, hopeless and motionless.
やがて来る日は新しい季節を開いた
---------------------------------------------
いつか聞いてほしいこの思いも
言葉にはならなくても
力の限りを振り絞って
ありがとう そう伝えていくから
---------------------------------------------
“俺たちは登り始める...長い、長い、坂道を...”
At the end of next year, everyone around will have finished walking their educational path (Barring readers not my age XD). Finished walking up the long, long, uphill climb.
Everyone probably has their own choices in mind; the universities they want to go to, the places they want to be at, the jobs they want to get placed in. A shining light they head towards.
“天の光は全て星”
What kind of stars do they head towards? What motivation brings them on their journey?
An edge and advantage in the future economy?
A status to satiate one's pride?
A high standard one has to live up to?
A consideration as to what would be the wisest choice?
All lights. Lights that bring them on to higher ground. The end of the tunnel; the crystal clear view at the top of the hill.
And when they finally touch the hill, they reach their target. The status they wanted. The edge they needed. The standard they achieved. The wisest choice for the wise man.
What brings them there? Light. What leads them there? Light. What is to be. Moving on from the darker past (Or perhaps for some an already bright past) into the ever-brighter future.
Whether it is by pride, by role models, or by economic consideration, these are things that renew themselves.
---------------------------------------------
The marionette graces the stage. The audience stares in silence.
"A wish!" The marionette cries. "How many of you before my eyes bear them?" Some eyes brightened, probably those who look up towards a good life. Some murmured to themselves, likely those without the simple expression of hope. A slight whisper across the crowd.
"A wish of mine it is!" Silence again. "A wish to be human. A wish to sit amongst the audience and stare at the clown of a marionette joke and play along on stage. The higher caste! The chance to enter school, work, play, and life itself! The world to which a mere marionette such as I is disallowed." Chortles from amongst half the crowd and silence from the other half. An interesting sight to be honest - half a group laughing and half a group mesmerized, both by the very same message.
The marionette's strings tightened and slacked with each and every movement. It walked, albeit jerkily, towards a young man at the right.
"What wish, young man, do you have? Share, please, to this poor marionette that he may learn what to wish for once he joins you in kind." A baffled look on the young man, as if asking the stagesman if it were serious. He opened his mouth and spoke.
"A doctor, o marionette. I wish to help the weak and ill."
"What lead you to such a wish, o noble doctor?" The doctor-to-be thought a while.
"But a sincere wish it is, and that is all it will be, o marionette."
"A noble wish it must be then, oh lad! I pray it comes true for you."
"And likewise to you too, o wishful marionette." Chuckles from the same half of the crowd. The marionette moved over to the left side now, each step a knock against the hardwood stage. This time it was a young lady.
"Fair lady, what wish do you have?" The fair lady looked up, surprised that she was chosen among the left crowd. She spoke.
"...My wish is to get into a college of good standing, o fair marionette."
"And what lead you to such a wish?" She thought a while.
"A standard, I would guess. One I must live up to; a trial and tribulation of sorts. Is that not what you face too, o kind marionette?"
"Indeed it is so, fair lady. And as those before you have done, I wish you good luck getting your academic status." Clicks and clocks again with each step towards the center stage. He first looked at a relatively older man, and stared at his unshaven beard.
"What wish do you hold, mister? Please, do share it with the audience." The man stroked his beard and thought a moment.
"To get into a college of good standing, much like the lady there." The marionette tilted its head to the left, and dropped a bit before the string tightened and kept it in place.
"And what makes a man of considerable age like you choose this wish?"
"An economic consideration, o marionette. You may find this concept rather alien."
"And I almost wish it stay that way, old man." Lastly, the marionette turned to the old man's left, and looked down. The marionette now met eye to eye with a child.
"What wish do you have, young child? I pray you share it with the audience!"
"I want to be the very best!" A bright, shining voice, certainly one of hope, of the sorts of idealism that was tinted with shades of innocence that had not met with the bitter realities of societal life. A slight feeling of warmth amongst the crowds, yet a slight chuckle around it at the same time.
"And how did you come upon such a peculiar wish, young child?" The child smiled.
"I just want to! I know I can!" The marionette raised its body.
"Pride it is, then, that leads you to this wish. And though my heart is wood I wish that you all find your wish fulfilled in your hands." The child rose and spoke.
"What about you, o wooden marionette? What leads you to your wishes?"
"What motivates me, is it? Child? A curse that you should ask me such a difficult question!" The marionette slowly backed towards stage center, then spread its arms wide out.
"Light! That is what leads you all on! Pride! Status! Faith! Calm consideration! Fine motivations, and well ones at that. But what of me?" The marionette twirled itself left and right, looking around for any answer. Pure silence.
"What of me?"
"What of me, o audience? This wooden heart of mine can bear no wish for the betterment of humanity, o noble doctor. I have no peers or people before me to look up to in my wish and achievements, fair lady. I have no knowledge of the societal ways and have too little in this wooden head to consider, old man. And most of all-" The marionette lowered its head and looked at the again.
"I can't just believe that I can do it." The child stared blankly while the marionette began to walk around the stage.
"What leads me then, if not the light that leads you on, from the dark past into the bright future? Who knows, some of you never had a dark past! What leads me to the end of the long uphill climb? What is the light at the end of the tunnel for me? What is that light?" The crowd stays silent, mesmerized by the words of the marionette. The marionette took a step forward - a knock against the hardwood floor.
"To that, I say." Another step. "There is none." Some of their audience turn their heads. Some raise their eyebrows. "There is none, I say!" The cry amongst the deafening silence shocks them back. "A mere shadow is my motivation."
Another step.
"Look at this before me! A stage! An audience! Look at the spotlights! See where they shine! On me! Look at yourselves; the audience, sitting in the darkness! Pitiful creatures, the lot of you! What were you doing thinking that you ever stood tall against me, the stagesman? What leads me towards you? What can possibly lead me from the light into the darkness? It can only be the shadow; the shadow of me, cast from the light of the past into the darkness and uncertainty of the future! This is no light, o child. There is no light that can possibly bring me to higher ground."
"And yet I head there. So may your light may lead you on to greater heights, yet my shadow do the same."
A member of the audience stood up. "Why a shadow, marionette? Is there really no light that we can give to you? A reason or hope, perhaps?"
"Hah! What mere spark can you give towards me? Mock me not, mister. Though I have no light I find the shadow brighter than your fake illumination." The child stood up and looked at the man, head hung in shame, before turning around again and facing the marionette.
"Then what was it that placed your wish to be a man, o marionette? The shadows are but your journey from light, they cannot be the cause."
The marionette hung its head low for a moment before looking at the child.
"You have a love for difficult questions, it seems, o child. What it is then I shall tell you, and the members of the audience. Listen well." The crowd was silent. "I too am but a mere marionette, wishless and hopeless. Yet chance would have it that a child like you come up to my imperfect wooden body. That young girl gave me this wish, oh child, that I become human. Yet she is long gone; a shadow lay in her place from the direction she headed off." The child remained silent, and the marionette, noticing that, continued.
"Tell me, oh child. If I become human, may I see her? May I give her my thanks? I may; I may not. Yet it is this promise with a shadow - the shadow of the past, child - that gives me this wish. And it is this wish that gives birth to the shadow that wanes as I walk further into the darkness until it has completely blended in; that I have finally entered the unknown world in search for this girl. But a mere marionette I am! What can I do?" The marionette stomped on the floor, a loud knock. "Chains, these things! Chains from the past that keep me here in fear and sentimentality, from moving on! Oh, how I wish that the past be gone, the shadow stop chasing me!"
And the marionette continued to talk. But the show was soon over; the marionette was soon to leave the stage. And the strings pulled slowly; the marionette went up slowly and slowly. And the child, the audience; they looked as the marionette lifted from the ground.
"Look at me! A mere marionette! Never to be a human!" The marionette fumbled and twisted its arms left and right, resisting. The child ran up.
"Let the marionette go, vile strings! Let his feet stay on the ground!" And the child jumped up and grabbed the marionette.
Slowly and slowly, the strings tightened. The child pulled the marionette down. "You will have the light, o marionette. I am sure that you will meet the girl someday."
And the strings gave way, and the marionette and the child dropped on the floor with a loud thud against the hardwood floor.
"You will, right? O marionette."
But the marionette was wishless, hopeless and motionless.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)