Lexicon

Nostalgia

2020-11-01T17:58:00.001-06:00

Deviating from my usually analytical style, I went through some of my old blogging accounts, reading old posts and looking at how the level of my writing has changed over the years.However, I came across an old post with this picture in it (the one you see to the left), and this weird feeling of nostalgia came over me, as well as reading through the comments once more. Most of the people that looked at it originally thought I had just taken it from some random website, but no. My midterm final in high school, before our winter break, 2010, we were required to make a still life, and that had always been my forte when it came to art (and actually, replicating things usually seems to be what I'm good at).

The original image I used as the centre of my focus was an image was a PNG from aethereality.net, a full rose including its stem and leaves. As you can see, I clearly disregarded those features in this imitation for the scale I decided to sketch it at deemed it impossible. Nonetheless, it turned out very satisfactory to my taste, what do you think? (you can click the image itself for a larger view)

On the other hand, I randomly decided to blog today just for the heck of it, not that there's really anything too terribly exciting to blog about at the moment. Rather than spending my entire afternoon doing daft things by myself at home, I decided to accompany my family to my niece's birthday party that we were invited to at the last minute. Wasn't really comfortable there considering I don't really talk to that cousin, and thus, other than just my intermediate family members, I didn't know anyone there at all. Although I did have to admit, the food was rather delicious.

...but I digress. And Filipino food is always delicious (except when it's not...).

My friend invited me to this bioethics seminar this coming Tuesday (and friend who I will not reveal the name of online, you know who you are). I don't know whether to look forward to it or be absolutely terrified. I mean, for the ethics part, I pretty much know what most would say and question about certain situations, but then, an entire seminar of just repeated ideologies and theories over and over again would make me much more unwilling to stay. On the other hand, the subject has always intrigued me and what others have to say about it, so my internal debate continues. In all honesty though, I'd probably end up going anyway, seeing as how I don't ever have anything extremely productive to do during the evenings, and that would fill up a good chunk of my time with something I'm interested in.

That's pretty much it, lest I find something else slightly intriguing to write about. Til next time.

An Obtuse Hybrid

2016-02-18T08:53:00.000-06:00

I am now roughly three to four weeks into my semester (because I’m a bit too much of a lazy ass right now to actually check for accuracy) and I’ve come to the realisation of something extremely weird.

First, allow me to introduce my current circumstance. I’m currently enrolled in 16 units this semester along with 27 hours in my work schedule per week. Going by this, along with that common recommendation given to one that explains that it is very much helpful for every hour you’re in class, another 1-2 hours outside of class (on your own time) should be devoted to studying for these hours, 59-75 hours of my week is solely devoted to school and work, not including sleep, and of course, whatever remainder, as meagre of an amount as it may be, is my “free time”. You’d think I’d be dead by now, and you may be right to some extent, because I don’t know if I’m completely alive or not anyway (though this opens one up to too many philosophical or existential interrogations, so we shall deviate from this topic appropriately).

A good bulk of my classes are scheduled on Monday. I don’t remember my exact reasoning for having my schedule originally like this other than the fact that perhaps I thought it would be a good idea to get a good amount of my classes out of the way in the beginning of the week and then I would have an easy rest of the week, leading to a relaxing and stress-free weekend. One of my classes is online this semester, which is also taking a bit of getting used to, probably because this is my first experience having a class that did not physically require my presence, and it’s a bit disconcerting but also a bit liberating in the fact that I get to choose when I do the coursework at any point before the scheduled deadlines.

The problem with that single online course that I am now feeling the stress of is the fact that because I have that disconnect from a physical class setting, I tend to put off the class work until hours right before its due, which in this case, is usually Sunday right before Monday. Couple that with my four classes (one of which is my three hours lab) on Monday, and I’ve managed to become even more sleep deprived than I have been the last 7 years of my life.

So what’s up with the really vague blog title?

Well, here’s the thing. I am completely worn out, I am constantly getting frustrated that even with me driving separately from my brother so I don’t have to go to school at 7:30 am every morning just for parking, I am still barely getting to my first class on time. I am even more frustrated with the fact that even before my current school schedule, I am working the same amount of hours that I did last semester, but I’ve had to spread it out to even more days because of said schedule, and thus, even more time and money lost because I’m having to drive to work one more day than usual.

But I am more relaxed and happier than I’ve ever been.

Even more so, it’s weird that with the level of courses I’m taking this semester, I am only tired because of the fact that my sleep is lacking and the work is numerous, not necessarily because the work is difficult.

I don’t know, mates. It’s an awkward feeling to say the least, “an obtuse hybrid” of emotions, as per the blog title that I came up with in probably half a second. Needless to say, I’ll take all the frustrations and stresses that I have right now, because it’s better than being bored out of my mind, or being completely frustrated because I’m finding my coursework difficult.

Outdated

2016-01-18T23:31:00.002-06:00

So in an attempt to say that I actually have a partially legitimate excuse for not having written on this thing for so long, apparently I’d been away for such a length amount of time that I did not realise that the program I used (Windows Live Writer) was now defunct when in use with Blogger, and thus, when I actually attempted to resurrect it yesterday, I was unable to sign in.

Fortunately, with the help of my best friend Google, I was also able to find out that because of the now unsupported stature of the program, it has also been outsourced, and the new developers handling the project have found a work around that works perfectly. Thus, I am back to making the same false promise that I’ll be updating more often.

Back to more important things.

ACADEMICS

It has literally been over a year since my last post and I want to take the time to perhaps ponder on the fact in what substantial growths I’ve gone through.

Before this post, back in 2014, I’d been subject to the horrible effects of lack of motivation, and so my academic level had seriously reduced at that point. I’m proud to to say that I’ve regained said motivation and now consistently getting more than satisfactory marks in all my current classes. Actually, my upcoming semester starts tomorrow and It is very unusual for me to feel this motivated about it, but I suppose there could be much worse things. In addition to my Biochemistry degree (which will not be completed this semester, but I’m almost there), I will be completing my English Literary Analysis minor (at least I think that’s what it’s called). I’ll also be taking the next, and most probably my last, semester of Spanish at the collegiate level. This is the class that I’m most timid about considering it’s actually a requirement for us to speak to a foreign hispanic student in their own country using their native tongue. I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet, but I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we? I’m also taking a Piano course for non-majors as an elective to somehow keep me motivated throughout, I need at least one class to kind of mellow myself out in.

SMARTPHONES

On a lesser, but probably more obsessive, note, within the time span of a little over a year, I have gone through four different phones. No, I did not just manage to break them so quickly that I had to buy a replacement, but…well, yeah. I buy rather impulsively, and I like technology. It’d be less of a problem if technology wasn’t so damn expensive, but not much I can do about that, not that’d I’d really want to in the first place.

Nonetheless, the last time I was here, I was still sporting my beautiful LG (Google) Nexus 5 in all its glory. I don’t even think that I had upgraded it to Android 5.0 Lollipop at the time I had written my last post back in September 2014, which is kind of ridiculous.

My next phone that followed was probably the best phone that I had ever owned, the LG G3. However, despite it having the sexiest hardware that I’d seen on a phone at the time, the software, more specifically the UI (user interface) was rather cumbersome and hindering, so I ended up rooting it and installing an AOSP (Android Open-Source Project) ROM onto it. I would have kept it that way, but then Android Pay came out to replace the older Google Wallet for mobile payments, and did not work with rooted devices.

So instead reinstalling the stock ROM and just using it, I had opted to give that phone to my mother and bought from a co-worker my next phone, that being the Samsung Galaxy Note 4. Now, this was probably my shortest lived phone. I hadn’t even finished two full months with it before deciding that the larger screen size accompanied with the overall less refined bezels (than those of the G3) were just too out of hand for me, literally. Especially since I bought a case for it, it was much too larger to my preference regardless of the fact that watching videos on that thing was absolutely gorgeous. Also, while definitely improved from earlier iterations, Samsung’s signature Touchwiz UI was still much too foreign for an AOSP lover like me.

Currently, this phone is sitting in my room in pristine condition in its original box while I’m carrying the very classy Samsung Galaxy S6 on hand, and may I just say that it is by far the most powerful mobile device I’ve ever held, and not to mention, the most refined Samsung product I’ve owned yet. Opting for the 128gb variant, it’s honestly weird looking at my storage and seeing that I’ve only managed to use 20% of it so far when all my other phones, I’ve used at least 70-80% without my entire music playlist on there. In addition, it has the most minimal, rather pleasantly refined version of Touchwiz I’ve seen to date with updated icons that actually to not look completely cartoon-like in the past variants. I don’t care what anyone says either, while not practical, the back Black Sapphire glass is probably the best thing I’ve seen on the back of a mobile device. I specifically bought a case with a clear back just to show it off too.

Let’s not even talk about upcoming phones that I’m looking forward to…

HEADPHONES

I’d actually gotten into the headphone scene just a tad bit, and while I am definitely not what one would refer to as an audiophile, I do have a sharp enough ear to recognise that slightly differences between each model of headphone I get.

My first switch from the earbud territory (which a majority of it consisted of Apple earpods) came in the form of my Monster NCredible NTune On-Ear headsets. They were definitely not the most high-end pair that you could find, though Monster makes some quality products. As soon as I broke them in, I fell in love with the much more immersive experience that one would have never experienced with an Apple earpods (this is not to say that the earpods are horrible, but they are what they are). Sadly, I kept getting the lengthy cord caught against the most random corners and edges, so I had to switch.

It was then that I opted for the Bluetooth route which was perfect for me because 1) I’m not an audiophile so the distortion that comes with transmitting audio wirelessly doesn’t matter to me, 2) I have no qualms about charging another device, and the most obvious, 3) I wouldn’t have a cord to get caught all over the place. The only thing that I really needed to pay attention to was the estimated battery life. Since I would be using them at work, I wanted them to at least last throughout the entire span of my shift so I wouldn’t have to take them off and charge them. This would also eliminate the need for me to take another charger with me.

And so came my rather impulsive buy of the rather oddly designed pair of cans, though I suppose the design being partially inspired by gaming sets had something to do with it. These were the Sentey B-Trek H9 Bluetooth 4.0 headphones. Claiming to last eight hours long, my battery never actually ran dry on me to where it just died mid-song, but if the LED flashing red was any indication, that 8-hour claim was pretty accurate. However, I was a bit disconcerted with the sound quality. Then again, I should have been aware, I bought them at full retail price, and the NTunes full retail price was literally $100 more, so there wasn’t much to be expected. I did, however, misuse the hinges that allowed these headphones to be folded inward. They snapped, and thus, off to my next set.

By this point, I was a bit desperate. I wanted a good sounding pair of bluetooth headphones that also held extensive battery life, and I was willing to make a much larger investment than I had on the previous two pairs. And then, I found them. The pair that I fell in love with came in the form of the Samsung Level Over set of cans. They were perfect, despite not being Bluetooth 4.0, but that was a moot point. They even came with the active noise-cancelling feature AND had capacitive controls on the right ear pad, which just made them all the more appealing. Plus, there was a Samsung Level app on Google Play that would provide some more functionality to the sets, as well as be a rather easy to use equaliser. Bigger and bulkier, they also did not have foldable hinges, so these things were sturdy. I actually waited about a month after stumbling upon the beauties before I bought because I was waiting for one in my price range, and I finally bought them off eBay for literally double the amount I paid for my two previous pairs combined.

When they came in the male, I was so damn happy, and then I put them on and allowed myself to be immersed in a perfect music listening experience (well, not perfect, but certainly the best I’d experienced til that point). The sound was rich, crisp, and flat, well, much flatter than I heard before. Because I listened to primarily electronic music at the time, I actually had to take advantage of the app’s equaliser to tune the bass up just a bit for my liking. The active-noise cancelling actually disoriented me a bit because, since I’m used to hearing so much ambient noise, it literally felt like sound was being sucked away from my ear-canals which caused some imbalance for me. I had to turn the volume up to compensate, which was a double-edged sword because then the sound would leak a bit more than I would have liked. But the battery was out of this world. I listened to them for over 30 hours and I never once managed to drain it completely to zero.

And then they got stolen.

To whoever took my precious pair of Samsung Level Over’s,
enjoy them while you’re alive for once you die, may your soul be
consumed by the infinite depths of scorching hellfire.

I probably wasn’t as mad as I should have been, but at the same time, I had to bide my time, for I spent a good $200 on those pairs, I couldn’t just shell out another when I hadn’t even used them for a month. I hadn’t even paid the credit off.

During this transitionary period, I went back to cheaper pairs for a while, buying some earbuds such as more Apple earpods, official Wired Headsets for my S6, and a couple of cheap Bluetooth earbuds by Bluedio which were surprisingly good for how much I bought them for, but of course, I still missed the immersive experience of a true, over-ear set of cans.

After about 6 weeks, I finally found myself in a good enough shape (financially and mentally) to start my hunt for another pair again. This time, I was aiming for something cheaper because I found myself not using the active noise-cancelling feature enough for me to really put it to use. Admittedly, I would miss the capacitive functionality, but if that functionality is what made the sets so expensive, I wasn’t opposed to disregarding them.

One of the pharmacists that I’m rather close to at work said that his favourite brand of headsets was actually JBL (and he is sort of an audiophile for he is constantly buying more mixing equipment). I trusted his word over mind, and quickly found myself constantly going back to these pairs of JBL Synchros E50BTs. I finally bought them, and let me just make my verdict. They are nowhere near as bulky or sturdy as my previous Samsung sets, but still sturdy enough, nor do they feature any striking features that I could really take advantage of. They look rather plainly, almost cheaply, made with the JBL logo plastered on the set three times, and the controls on the left earcup take a bit of getting used to.

That being said, these headphones are the best pair I’ve owned to date, and they cost half of what I paid for the Level Over’s. It does not have a flat line when it comes to its sound reproduction signature, but how it is right now is absolutely perfect for me. Basses are beautifully emphasised, highs are crisp and do not distort even at higher volumes, but the mids, especially with vocals…It’s like the artist is whispering in my ear. Even with the emphasised bass and perfectly tuned highs, the vocals are all you focus on. And, while the battery life wasn’t a monster like my Level Over’s, it’s lasts me just fine for it still lasts a solid two days, a very solid and accurate comparison to the 16 hours claim on the box.

I also bought myself a pair of Samsung Level U Bluetooth earbuds for whenever I go to the gym. The on-ear sets were never meant to be used for an extensive workout, and the Level U’s are sweatproof, and they have excellent sound quality in relation to how much I paid for them. Plus, 11 hours of battery is nothing to be ashamed about.

CONCLUSION

So yeah, I figured I’d already managed to bore the reader with all the tech crap that I’d just spouted, so I’ll stop here. I didn’t quite get through everything that I wanted to say, but most of it consisted of future events anyway, like my upcoming trip to the Philippines to attend my cousin’s wedding this summer, so I suppose those can wait.

While I’m saying this mainly to myself to somehow redeem my past failures, I’ll go for a rather inclusive closing statement.

May we all have a blessed new year, and perhaps we change for the better as well.

Not letting myself fall

2014-09-10T14:20:00.001-05:00

I simply won’t let that happen. Well, at least not in my words anyway.

Random subject, but I don’t think many people realise that like many other things, writing is a developed skill, it is not inborn talent alone. Like being able to play an instrument, to be able to experiment with words to create glorious visages in stories is the same as how a musician experiments with different patterns of notes to create wonderful ensembles.

Now, as informal as my own writing may be, I can’t let it fall behind. I don’t want to lose one of my only means of communication that I feel most comfortable with, and if I let my writing itself deteriorate, what would that mean to my own, spoken language?

Generally (and I am including myself inn this particular spectrum), people tend to write a higher level than they speak, albeit even if just a little bit and ignoring all of this chat text abbreviations. Whether or not the lack of face-to-face communication allows them to actually think before they write/type is the reason behind that, I’m not quite sure. I would hope that I am the same way, even if it’s just by a little.

I’ve actually never had a person have a grey opinion of me, meaning I’ve never had a person voice their opinion about me and were really undecided on how to place me. I’ve only ever gotten opinions that were on the far ends of the spectrum, whether that person thought that I was smart, or whether that person questioned how I got into college in the first place. Mind you, I’ve always been irked when someone blatantly expresses the latter, but I guess that’s just how it is. Not like I can change their mind once it’s made up.

But if in a hypothetical sense I had the chance to convince them otherwise, it would be through my writing, and this is why I refuse to let that part of me deteriorate.

Whether or not this is a foreshadow for more blogs to come, and at a slightly higher frequency, I can’t honestly tell you. Half the time, I’ll have my blog editor open just sitting there, blank, because, though I want to write and know that I can write about practically anything on this blog, I want it to actually mean something, and have my rambles connect, even if only loosely. I think about what I’m writing, so it doesn’t seem like random jargon put together like a collage, even though that’s how it is sometimes.

But I figured, if I wrote every single blog post like an essay, you’d get tired of seeing a horrible worded thesis statement somewhere in the midst of the first paragraph, because I apparently overcomplicate the phrasing of the points that I attempt to make.

But nonetheless, I won’t let myself fall. If I fall and lose my writing, lose my words, there’s no point in trying to get back up.

My Introversion

2014-08-25T15:39:00.001-05:00

I typically go by Karlo, seeing as that’s my name.
Quite frankly, if you actually knew me, it’d never be the same.
My paradigms, visions, memories give shape to my progressing form.
Not yet fully developed; like the calm before the storm.

My opinions, views, and beliefs run deep, even oceans now seem shallow.
A quality world so intricate and firm, one might even consider it hallowed.
I’ll not thrust my beliefs upon you; such arrogance, my hatred burns.
But respect and tact should be common sense, through experience, I’ve learned.

I’d even create a great facade to maintain this subtle rapport.
I’d falsify my ability to rhyme in quatrains, perhaps, I’m not quite sure.
But with merely shallow simulacra, my persona can’t be defined.
No labels, archetypes, or characterizations could it ever be assigned.

Let no words gain such power to create a visage of my ever yearning spirit.
Such imperfection shan’t be perceived, let alone words ever coming near it.
Perhaps I’m over reaching the boundaries of my literary scope.
But hopefully I’ve explained, as plain as I am, that words are beautiful, I hope.

Unless you’ve met me, our only tie is pixels upon a screen.
With words, I hope I’ve shown you the “me” no one’s ever truly seen.
But even if my convoluted thoughts confused you more than intended.
The message is clear, no person is one colour, but a variety of them blended.

So with a parting note, I’ll say again, I’m Karlo, yeah, that’s my name.
Now you’ve had a glimpse of my true nature, will you still look at me the same?

A bit of a compulsory, but very lame poem by me in attempt to explain (in a very roundabout way) that even though I can be similar to other people you’ve talked to, I’d still never be the same as that person. Also, I can’t say this from a professional standpoint, but I typically classify myself as an introvert though I exhibit features in opposition more often than not (which is very typical I might add).

The title was actually supposed to be a pun for “My Introduction,” seeing as how I’ve never properly written an introduction about myself on his blog, but I couldn’t really find a more fitting title that combined the words “introduction” and “introversion” correctly, seeing as that’s what I was trying to express. I kept it as is, and besides, it’s not much of an introduction anyway.

Searching for the one…

2014-08-17T02:32:00.001-05:00

Though I’ve not blatantly expressed it on this particular blog, I am what some may call a tech junky, or at least leading up to one. I wouldn’t really consider my level of knowledge involving electronics to be very superior, but I would like to think that it was at least above the average civilian’s.

Anyway.

About a week and a half ago, I began talking to a very good friend of mine again. She had moved a state away so the frequency of our conversations was hindered to horrid, and obviously, our main method of communication has been limited to online chats and/or the occasional text message (we work weird shifts, so immediate responses are somewhat rare). Of course, we got onto the topic of school starting up again, and though we had a perfectly normal conversation about our own academic paths, we got off to a slight tangent about laptops when I remembered that she had the misfortune of having her laptop stolen a couple of months further back. She began telling me about how she had saved up quite a bit of money and was now looking for one, and it was becoming a priority for her to get one because school was starting up again.

I jokingly mentioned that perhaps I should just sell her my own. Mind you, though it was in a playful manner, it would not have been completely out there for me considering I have two laptops (three, if you count the one just collecting dust, though still functional) and one desktop, though I only use one for school, a small 11.6 inch one that’s rather light on the specs themselves, but also lightweight, perfect for lugging around on a college campus.

Funny thing was, even though she knew that I meant it in such a manner, she was not opposed to the idea, which sort of surprised me. In fact, it flattered me, and even more so when she mentioned that because she knew I took pristine care of my electronics, she would rather purchase one from me than from some random seller on eBay. Lo and behold, I gave her the price I was looking for, and she agreed, the final price being well below her budget.

But the thing is, I only agreed to this because I was getting ready to upgrade. That laptop that I was getting ready to sell to her, though being my dream laptop at the time, was getting rather dated for me. Quite honestly, I’m not too big on having the latest and greatest specs (nor do I really have the monetary power to acquire them), but I find that if a laptop can’t even play Netflix videos without heating up and lagging a bit, it’s a bit weak for me.

So before I packaged the laptop up for shipping (mind you, I had to factory reset it as well as install the proper Microsoft Office software for her to use beforehand), I literally spent four days scouring and constantly refreshing eBay pages for the perfect ultrabook. For those not really into the lingo, ultrabooks are those ultra thin, portable laptops, such as thee Macbook Air.

I actually had to switch my target and range a couple of times because I was being too optimistic, and not realistic enough. I mean, come on, I was looking at a laptop originally selling for $1650, and trying to find a used one in decent cosmetic and functional condition for around the $300 range. Talk about trying to find a deal. Not to mention, I was being extremely picky (and time for me to go into my geek mode for one second). The list below shows only a couple of my prerequisites for the laptop I wanted to buy. Well, at least after I got a bit more desperate (the list was much more intricate at the beginning).

11”-14” screen size only, anything bigger or smaller was a waste.
Solid State or Solid State Hybrid drive, no more traditional hard drives.
(Though really, ultrabooks are usually all SSD because of how thin they are)
At least 128gb of hard drive space, and at least 4gb of RAM.
Core i3, i5, or i7 processors specifically, at least 1.5 GHz clock speed, dual core.
Weigh less than 3.5 lbs.
The chassis around the keyboard (and palm rest) had to be coloured black.
The outer casing colour had to be neutral/sleek. (No pink, orange, or neon green…)
Responsive, one button touchpad with multifinger mouse gestures.
If the laptop had Windows 8/8.1 installed, it had to be a touchscreen.
Priced at no more than $400, shipping included.

Quite frankly, the first 9 criteria listed, though some just being picky, were quite easy to fulfill. It wasn’t until we got to my pitiful budget that things started to get rough.

At first, I was looking at the Samsung ATIV Book 9 Plus, which is a damn sexy lookin’ piece of machinery. The wedged design that is most apparent when viewing it from its side is probably one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen, and it just works for this laptop, but of course, trying to find it for less than a fourth of its price, even through bidding, was hard to find (even with its older, Windows 7 models).

Next, I dropped my standards a bit (gee, this sounds like I’m some cocky, arrogant jock rating women as they pass me by). I began looking at the Dell XPS 13. Not as posh of a design, but still quite professional looking. And. I knew for a fact that by design, Dell had received great reviews for having the most comfortable keyboards to type on. I know, I know, right now, you’re probably like, “What the hell Karlo, just get a damn laptop and be done with it!” Yeah, well, you’d be surprised just how much of these subtle issues people have with electronics are taken into account when creating these things. For example, how all of the iPhones up to date still only have that narrow-width screen because it was designed so that your thumb can reach all the way across and so you wouldn’t have to have to use your other hand while operating it.

Anyway, that one didn’t last too long either, because though I thought it was a really nice machine, it original price was still well over $1000 (I think it was around $1300-1400, but I’m not too sure), even with the older models, and so, finding it at around $400 was pushing it.

Finally, I began looking at the older Lenovo Ideapad Yoga models. Yes, the Yoga, and not the Yoga 2 (which, obviously, the 2 means a newer, more updated model).

I was actually surprised as to why I never even looked at the Lenovos themselves in the first place. Honestly, I’d always had this sort of respect for Lenovo products. Though they tended to have a more square design (meaning, with slightly more angular corners and more shaped like perfect boxes), because of this, they tend to be much more durable, which they have a history for being reliable. Afterall, they were IBM. Perhaps it was because they tended to be sold at a higher price given the specs of each individual machine, but at the same time, I always looked at the most current, advertised models, and never the older ones that still worked perfectly fine.

So skipping forward a bit, I finally did manage to buy a laptop, though more by sheer luck than anything. I found this one listing for a price listed at much more than my budget, but I put in an offer for literally $50 less than that list price. (It must have seemed like a random price to the seller, but with the calculated shipping from eBay, it turned out to be $400 even). They miraculously agreed to the absurd price drop, but perhaps it was due to the fact that they were a new user trying to build up their positive rating (the user had absolutely no ratings whatsoever, not even as a buyer).

The laptop model I got was the Lenovo Ideapad Yoga 11S (the S matters, because the 11 by itself is a much weaker model, but looks identical on the outside, and you have to read the specs to know which is which). At first, I wasn’t really into the whole 360 degree rotating of the screen, but I’ve found it nice every once in a while, though I don’t think I’d find myself using it all too much.

And finally, here’s how my desktop looked like a mere three hours since the laptop itself arrived on my doorstep.

Perhaps I just got a bit obsessive with personalising it with school that it’s completely ready for all the note-taking and email receiving as well as all the document editing that needs to be done for my classes. Now perhaps I can utilise this preparedness for some actual productivity. You know, like making sure all the work gets in on time, making sure the material is learnt properly, etc.

And perhaps I should actually sleep at past 2:00 am in the morning rather than typing out pointless, ridiculously lengthy blog posts.

Note: The wallpaper used in the screenshot was not created or edited by me whatsoever. I take no credit for it and all rights go to the original creator.

Re-piqued Interest, Lexicon

2014-08-11T01:52:00.001-05:00

Admittedly, I would have probably been the first to admit that perhaps this online journal of mine was abandoned ages ago, yet for some reason, here I am, writing another post. You know, those rare, once in a blue moon posts that just happen to find themselves on here from time to time. In all honesty though, it’s more than likely that not many people will be reading this, but there’s this certain solace I find when writing as if I were talking to some unknown audience, just to have them listen (or in this case, read) without receiving an immediate response, whether it have been positive or negative.

Perhaps it would be more appropriate to say that this was my form of venting, though I’m not even sure that would be the word to describe what I’m doing.

I digress.

As you can see (yes you, the random person I’m talking to who magically stumbled upon my page) I’ve finally managed to make my page look a little bit more formal. Frankly, I find it a bit overkill for a blog, but there’s just something about minimalistic/gradient-flowing/shaded designs that I find appealing. However, I will admit that I had turned lazy. Originally, my plan had been to reopen my long, dormant Photoshop and design my own layout, and then look up the countless tutorials to study the HTML/XML codes for blogger templates to fit my own needs, but lo and behold, it took up way too much time and effort for me to do so. I did in fact make a header image…a rather generic one that would be deemed more appropriate for some Photoshop resource site, but I never actually finished it. So that’s less than 50% of the work right there (I never even bothered to look at the coding for all the widgets involved and such).

And then life took most of my time again. I didn’t go on vacation this summer, opting to temporarily work full-time hours at my current job (yes, I have one of those now) to earn a little more spending cash in the case that I feel that I want (read: need) to spend it relentlessly when school starts up again. Now, a mere week before classes commence and that I’m finalising my off days with a more appropriate end note, I decided that it would be interesting to see what I’d written on here before.

Surprisingly though, I’m quite impressed with what I’d written before. Though this seems daft to mention, rereading my other posts, I can’t help but think that they’re just so…me.

Of course, I wrote them, so why wouldn’t they be, right?

But I can see the evolution of my own mannerisms and persona through the words alone. I was foolish back then (hell, I still am right now), but I’ve grown somewhat. It seemed as though I was creating a facade that I was this supposedly intellectual individual with highly admirable viewpoints on certain issues, not hesitating to back them up whatsoever. The truth is, it was honestly just me trying to find some subject to write about that would supposedly get others to talk to me, as minimal as those exchanges of words may have been. I used the internet as a cloak, a veil, and my own words as a weapon, to where I expressed an idea in such a manner that unless one honestly thought and pondered on it for more than a moment, they couldn’t help but automatically assume that this person had as least some brains within them.

What I mean to say is that I’m constantly in the stage of epiphany, even when it comes to my own identity. And all this discovery coming from rereading those words that came from myself a few months ago? Words are more powerful than I ever dreamed.

One of the posts (here) I reread was a ramble of me switching subjects almost every other paragraph, talking about friendship, language, self-expression, as well as an array of a few other subjects. It even started out with, what I thought was cool at the time, a lame intro sentence: “And as the threshold between yesterday and today is surpassed, here I am, once again, wondering what this next set of twenty-four hours will have to offer me.”

Sometimes, when you’re trying to sound more eloquent, you seem to completely disregard your own personal literary limits, and your words just sound stupid, but you don’t realise until much, much later. In this case, it’s taken me two and a half years to do so.

My point with that post is that (and I’m totally not stealing this from James Joyce or anything) it was definitely some rudimentary form of stream of consciousness writing from moi, and I didn’t even know what that was at the time. As primitive as it was, there was a certain flow to the words that only I seemed to familiarise with because they originally came from me, but how did I even see it?

And that’s when it finally came to me.

It didn’t matter that my writing was (and probably always will be) a bit random and childish at the time. Personal psychology makes up for it, we always try to make sense of something when it seems as though we can connect to it somehow, and how did I connect?

With words, and nothing but.

So that’s my final note, as well as my explanation as to why I finally changed the title of this blog. Before, I tried to make the title sound cool by adding some weird tagline that alluded to my username (or the one associated with this blog, at least: DarkHybridx). Aesthesia was a form of feeling, sensual, and sometimes eliciting certain emotions, and I tried to get that across.

Now, I’m reverting to the most primitive form of expression there is, disregarding the type of synaptic feedback that aesthetics give.

The words, and only the words themselves. Because as long as there are words, there is essence.

Tiësto - Red Lights (Lyrics)

2014-04-02T11:08:00.001-05:00

Blacked out,
Everything's faded on your love,
I'm already wasted.
So close that I can taste it now, now...

So let's break right out of these gilded cages,
We're gonna make it now.
Don't ever turn around.
Don't ever turn around.

Nobody else needs to know where we might go.
We can just run them red lights.
We can just run them red lights.

There ain't no reason to stay.
We'll be light years away.
We can just run them red lights.
We can just run them red lights.

We can just run them red lights...
We can just run them red lights...

White lights blur in the darkness.
This road leads where your heart is.
These signs, something we can't ignore, no...

We can't back down, we'll never let them change us.
We're gonna make it now.
What are we waiting for?
What are we waiting for?

Nobody else needs to know where we might go.
We can just run them red lights.
We can just run them red lights.

There ain't no reason to stay.
We'll be light years away.
We can just run them red lights.
We can just run them red lights.

We can just run them red lights...
We can just run them red lights...

Maybe I'm wrong, but my only reason for posting this was because of two words that all of the other lyrics submissions I seem to find were incorrect (at least to me).

"Gilded cages", not "guilty".
"White lights blur in the darkness", as opposed to "White lights, flirt..."

Anyway, perhaps all of those other submissions are correct, considering one of them is on the Tiesto blog, but meh.

To let it flow…

2013-09-09T00:55:00.001-05:00

So it is more than obvious that I’d pretty much abandoned this blog without any prior announcement of doing so over a year ago, and perhaps it’s even more pathetic to now admit that I never even planned on coming back, but of course, we all have a relapse every now and then and manage to come back to something we enjoyed in a past repeatedly.

But now I’ve decided on a simple purpose of this blog.

My aim had always been too high. I wanted to make a couple of online friends, I wanted an active in-flow of commentary on my posts, and I tried to make at least a slight majority of my posts to somehow encourage that behaviour, but my lack of activity had always been my hindering factor.

So now what I really want to do is clarify. No longer am I striving for anyone to honestly read my posts, but more like, it’d be a pleasant surprise if that does indeed happen every once in a while.

I’ve always been more technologically inclined when it came to everything. Even now, I’m not the type of person that you would find having any type of paper with them. A very large majority of my notes and assignments are electronically stored. I take written notes with a stylus on my tablet in class, I type them up whenever I deem it easier to do so, and I don’t find the aesthetic appeal of needing to have a hard copy of everything.

Thus, this is why I came back here.

It was a simple and random, but still shockingly logical decision on my part. I was looking for a way to vent through writing, and though I love creative writing (particularly stories), I was way too much of a perfectionist to even bother posting anything that could have still been considered a draft. Not to mention, I’m too nit-picky with how I want things worded, and that becomes even more apparent when I’m writing a story. So a blog was the perfect way to vent, through all the bland posts and reflect. And, of course, because it was electronic, I was even more inclined to do so.

Basically, I’d come to the conclusion that blogging is the perfect way for me to vent, and knowing that there might be some random person reading this, I still try to maintain a bit of formality within my writing, and not just curse everything to their deaths as I tend to do more often than not…

I will not say that I will update this often, but I will say that I will use this blog as a way to let my own words flow as freely as I’d wanted them.

When is this threshold crossed?

2012-04-02T22:20:00.001-05:00

I just want to say that I do not generally watch any type of television programming whilst here on my college campus for the channels are usually preset up to some type of sports channel that I don't find too terribly interesting. However, on this particular day, I found News9 broadcasting and decided to update myself with certain hot topics going on around the USA. This was when they broadcasted this:

Detroit High School Protest: Students Suspended After Demanding 'An Education'*
*this is linked to the original Huffington Post article which News9 linked to.

I will not bore anyone with just a huge synopsis of the article, so read if you wish to follow up with the next. And as the person I am, before voicing out my own personally biased views, I ended up reading some of the comments first before plotting out this obviously organised blog post.

I sort of shake my head in disapproval in some of these views that some people still hold, no matter how outdated/overrated/obnoxious they are (hey, three Os. Perhaps I should adopt 'triple O' for those three adjectives alone), but nonetheless, i could not completely say that any of those views was completely incorrect.

I should also probably mention that I am forming each of these opinions all on my own after reading the article solely. I have no personal experience with this type of situation and looking at the pictures on that post alone, so if my views seem more biased towards one side and does not take the other to full consideration, I apologise in advance.

Okay, so after having read a few portions of the article, I found myself questioning certain things from a possible philosophical perspective, the type of view point that seems to plague our system even more by making things much more complex than how we originally thought them to be.

I believe (whether in the comments, News9, or somewhere else) that I had read that they regarded the education they were receiving as sub-par. Here's the problem with this. Who defines what education is up to par? What is par in the first place?

I’m fortunate enough to have attended an International Baccalaureate (IB) programmed schooling in which, no matter how much I complained about all the workload and the daftness of some of the teacher’s styles of lecturing, am thankful for every second I spent there and admire how much they work for as little pay they get for doing their job. That is what I call dedication.

The point of mentioning that small aside is this. When one says par, it creates a threshold, a minimum in which everyone below or sub-par gives a negative connotation, and everything above just vice-versa. However, it depends on where par actually is until those assumptions can be made. I went to this IB school, and frankly, I regard that type of schooling in which nearly all my classes were honours, at or above the AP standard, as my par. It’s my biased view in which when I see another school in a less fortunate setting, I find it below par, even if that school was still a pretty good school as well. I ended up getting out of 22-course hours before even coming in as a freshman, and I felt that perhaps I could have gotten more. To me, my performance was sub-par. I don’t have that viewpoint in which I can mention for the rest of the country’s standards where par is on this educational scale, but then again, what person does? Not even going into international statistics, our education levels right here in the US change dramatically just moving from region to region, and par-level education is viewed differently in each. So while I may agree with the major view that this school is substantially enough below this par-level that we needn’t fuss too much about that aspect of it. The problem lies with what happens next. Were the school to actually improve just to attempt to match up to par-level education, it is then we must consider where par is.

The other problem that sort of stems from this is the fact that this current generation’s intellectual scale is so broad. Those that don’t want to learn will laze around as always, but those that find so many things fascinating have access to so much more information because of our technological advances. This becomes problematic when trying to set this par.

If we were to take a very oversimplified example, we can make a small model of a scale. Not to say that people back then were not intelligent or anything, but our generation is just so much more intelligent for their age (and certain studies have hinted that as a balance to this, they also stay in their adolescent stage for a significantly longer period of time, but I digress). Back then, we can label the genii (geniuses) as being rated 5 in intellect, 0 for those that do not wish to learn. If par were labelled as the average or midpoint in between the two, this would be 2.5. However, let’s say this generation’s mental capacity would be up to 10 for genii, and those that are academically apathetic still being at 0. That would mean our par would then be 5, and you can see that our par for standards has basically doubled. Perhaps this is the reason why some schools’ standards have changed and have risen to a slightly higher level, and it's becoming harder for those that have been labeled as sub-par to catch up.

Another thing that I want to mention would be my uneasiness with some of these actions taken.

Firstly, I want to also mention that though I may be analytically discouraging throughout this entire post, I do find this type of action done by these students to be rather admirable. However, perhaps actually marching out of the classroom to go through with this protest may not have been the best decision for that becomes a little bit contradictory on their part. To me, perhaps it was just how the article had phrased that gave me this impression, but, marching out of the school and ditching class in order to protest because of lacking education was not the most brilliant move. Maybe a more media-appealing one (since that seems to have been their goal), but not the brightest.

The suspension seems rather incorrectly justified. Sure, had the students been skipping too many classes and such, perhaps some merit would be given on their side, but if the suspension had been given solely because of the fact of the protest, then that seems like daftness overkill. Is this some form of academic misconduct that I’m unaware of? Why should the students have to pay for their lack of education when they’re really striving to learn? But of course, as I mentioned before, unless these kids have also been technologically deprived (and god forbid if they couldn’t find a nearby library), they could always learn by other means.

I do want to mention a rather daft ideology that most people have adopted, and I don’t know why it’s turned this way. A couple of years back, within the pre-2000 era, when a student wasn’t doing well, he would be scolded for his laziness and lack of effort. Now, it seems as though the teachers are being reprimanded more by the parents because of their children’s lack of knowledge. I don’t mean to back up those teachers mentioned within the article for 68 days of absence, and to such extents that large groups had to be formed to keep an eye on the students, is totally unacceptable. However, this ideology that the teacher is like an all-knowing being and that it must be the teachers fault isn’t learning anything is completely incorrect. If anything, I would say that if the child is not learning, it’s either that the child apathy level has risen to such a high extent, or the teacher fails to encourage the child to want to learn.

That’s honestly all there is to it. Unless the child has a serious learning disability, if the child has the desire to learn, they will learn. If they don’t, they won’t.

I do believe in the 50-50 split of efforts though. Obviously, it cannot be the student’s fault entirely, but it also works the other way. The teacher is only responsible for half of that responsibility to learn, you must meet them half way, but once again, where is this half way point in which you must meet? It’s become the same as how we define par.

Now it seems as though I’ve digressed into my own personal rant and not to much focus on the article itself, and perhaps that’s why I decided to write this post anyway. Perhaps the message I was trying to convey turned out to be rather useless after all, just restating the problem and never providing any solutions. I would like to say, however, that regardless of the circumstances, regardless of the possibility that this was another publicity stunt (though I highly doubt this), I do find it admirable that they would go to such extents for their own education.

And I’ll leave the rant about defining education (and what it means to be educated) for a later time.

Testing Faith - Foreword

2012-03-12T22:23:00.001-05:00

I am Lee Jaehwan, and I am the last one left.

Trudging footsteps. Centimetre by centimetre, as if eternities would pass by, the man made his way down the infinitely stretching hallway, door aligning the vast space in between. Only armed with such pitiful weaponry of pen and paper, his scribbles began to resemble letters, then words.

I have yet to discern whether my lengthened lifespan had been granted as a gift or a curse. The times in between my worships are getting shorter.

Reluctant to move forward yet unwilling to move back, like a waning moon, his confidence began to be shadowed, faltering from full glow. Nonetheless, his hands moved in the same robotic movement, frequencies exceeding normal human behaviour.

There’s a room for everyone. There’s always a room for everyone.

Somehow he had reached the end of the hall, or perhaps it just shrank to such an extent that the other end was now right in front of him. A door, opening slightly before him, already unlocked. Already prepared to reveal its interior to this poor being...

You never know what’s going to be behind it until it’s opened, and then you realise that it couldn’t have been anything else.

A vision. Severed flesh. So real... Almost...tactile.

But...it all made sense now. I...

A translucent figure, eyes gouged from their sockets, knife in one hand, slowly making its way towards the young man.

I...am so happy. Happy that I am able to shine in his glory.

Unwavering, the man stood his ground. His complexion revealed nothing but a calm and relaxed expression as the corners of his lips moved upward, almost smiling as he closed his eyes.

He is the beacon which lights our way through this sea of darkness.

And as if time itself had slowed down to capture such a blissfully sorrowful moment, the translucent figure’s hand which held the piercing element descended upon the man’s chest, injecting death upon this mere mortal body, and relieving the soul from its miserable shell.

Praise him…praise him…and be relieved of thy fears…

So technically, this is the prologue/foreword to my fanfic titled "Testing Faith," a mixture of science fiction and suspense. It's a fanfic, but please don't let that word alone immediately deteriorate your hopes for this story, I've worked hard on it, and since it's set in an alternate universe (AU), the only thing that really pertains to fanfiction about it is the name of two characters, but that's it.

But then again, this solely relies on your interest in these types of stories as well, but I still hope you'd at least read until the first chapter (which I may or may not post in the near future) before you finalise your verdict on it.

If some of you did not notice, or perhaps just aren't informed in that area, the idea for this story was originally inspired by the 11th episode of the 6th season of the British science fiction series, Doctor Who. Some of the lines match up for I found them very well-suited for this type of science, as well as this entire foreword itself, but the rest of the story deviates from the original idea of it. I suggest you watch that episode to, more or less, find why I found this type of story so intriguing and enchanting.

That's all for now.

Are there no depths?

2012-03-06T21:45:00.001-06:00

Are there no depths that still remain that make one want to ponder upon a subject for more than the briefest moment?

It is never extremely appropriate for one to consider themselves so much more superior than others, but honestly, as the days keep passing by, I cannot help but notice how...shallow and colloquial conversations seem to be, and it's just an endless string of them all woven together that form this society most refer to as college.

Today, before lunch, a friend and I were walking down the main walkway of our campus. Apparently today was the "perfect" day for all of the pro-life members to grace this major walkway with their presence as they hand out flyers for the public to support their views. The piece of paper that I received was presenting the comparison of abortion with slavery, and both are generally a touchy topic for anyone. My friend and I do not particularly share the same views, for she is atheist and I am the resident Catholic in our group of two (as most refer to as a duo, if you must know). However, we did share one thing in common pertaining to the entire scenario, and that is that we both found it completely daft and were rather irked by the imposing nature of those standing out there in the gusty wind. Not only that, but even though the paper presented some valid, debatable points, credibility is completely lost when one uses the word "effect" as a verb.

My friend and I go to eat lunch and discuss our opposing views upon the topic. We don't generally agree, but we respected each others' views and did not impose our own upon the other's and it turned out to be a rather lively and enjoyable conversation (which is actually rather difficult to do with such a touchy topic).

And because it is such a touchy topic, and although it irked me when I found the large amount of "advertisers" lining the boundaries of the walkway from earlier, it irked me even more to find many of the people accepting these flyers only to be throwing them on the ground a few feet from the source. Firstly, let us not litter. Our world is dirty enough and your contribution is honestly not needed. Secondly, are you that primitive that any type of subject that seems a little more complicated than what you're used to is just disregarded as soon as it is presented?

Are there no depths to thy mental complexes?

I hear more about sex, drugs, and alcohol more than I would ever want to on a daily basis, and though I've grown accustomed to it, it baffles me as to why I even had to adapt. I hear the largest strings of curses just listening to what my hallmates say in a two hour interval most evenings. I hear more about addictive iPhone apps and upcoming parties more than I do about actual education. It disturbs me to bits as to how shallow this generation has become.

Of course, there are not many who will take these thoughts very seriously for as of right now, I'm only on the verge of turning 19, but just because I take into account the fact that most would ignore my views, perhaps placing them right here in a small sanction of the vastness of the internet would attract even the smallest audience's attention.

Is it because of this horrifying degradation of our supposed intellect that those at a younger age are usually ignored? Or perhaps we lack the real-life experience that would justify many of our claims that make us so easily abused and pushed aside (and by us, I mean our generation in the overly generalised sense).

Do not misunderstand me when I say the degradation of our intellect for perhaps that's not the best way to phrase it either. Maybe I was aiming for more of the apathetic nature of things. Many individuals are generally smart, though it seems that they just won't use this "innate" intelligence of theirs for anything useful. It's as if we have a shallow sea with gorgeous, uninhabited trenches at the bottom. Most would prefer to swim in the open waters blessed with the glorious amount of sunlight that sheds any doubt. Only those willing to use a little more effort to learn more would muster the courage to travel deeper, into the true depths of these trenches, and find that perhaps it's not so bad. Treasures are never found in the open, it is only when we dig deeper that we are ultimately rewarded.

However, many things are right in front of our eyes, or are we blinded by such colloquial rhythms of everyday life that deviating pattern would cause more pain than not?

I, for one, would much prefer listening to the frustrated grunts of those trying their hardest to understand chemistry concepts they have yet to grasp than amiable laughs about how they thought that a girl was lousy in bed.

And with that, I leave you with a rather poetic end note, as well as a Chinese proverb.

To seek greater understanding, one must travel many miles.
No jewel polished without friction, not a man perfected without trials.

Pondering?

2012-02-27T00:37:00.002-06:00

And as the threshold between yesterday and today is surpassed, here I am, once again, wondering what this next set of twenty-four hours will have to offer me.

Did you know that it's actually a rather relaxing feeling as one ponders upon many things. Perhaps it's the fact that for this pondering to even commence, one must have at least a very slight amount of serenity to greet them. It's funny actually, how most of my deepest thoughts as to what will become of me in the future, or perhaps, how would I cope with certain disastrous future events, all come up as I sit here in the dark, coziness of my college dorm room listening to the shower in the background as a suite mate cleanses himself of his daily odours and filth. But then again, since when were things not completely contradictory to each other.

For example (and albeit, it may be rather disturbing), I'm Catholic, yet I find it much more disconcerting to see interracial couples as opposed to homosexual ones. This is not to bash against my own religious outlooks, but it's just another contradiction that I make do with, I'm guessing.

The other billions of intricate details that, when woven together in such a specific pattern, form my overall persona contradict one another too. I am not a gradiented melting pot design in which you can't make me out. I'm the tiled mosaic that seems almost childishly and hastily put together that it seems out of place, and not very appealing to look at or interpret. However, if you take enough time to actually look at all of these pieces, you will see that though it's rather random, there's a unique aspect to it that cannot be matched. You find yourself drawn in, and then never letting go. Then a bound is formed.

This is what friendship is.

Whether this is advantageous or disadvantageous, I know not. My closest friends have always been very limited to a select few, perhaps six or seven people at most, but these are tight bonds. I'd always found it rather hard to make friends, but these few that I've made, we've known each other for years, and this friendship doesn't appear to be deteriorating either.

And then, once again, I find myself isolated in this room as these friends of mine are probably all sleeping soundly in their own beds. The clicks and sounds of the keyboard keys consecutively being pushed down upon has become a natural sound to me. At times, I don't even notice it anymore. My hands just instinctively guide themselves above this plain with smooth gestures, and this is how I'm communicating.

This is language.

Be it spoken or written (or typed, if you prefer that to be a separate category), my realisation of language being expressed in so many different ways is not exactly a new one, but still rather intriguing to stumble upon when I, once again, find myself in this serene state. It is so broad, so vibrant, but still so limiting in many ways if diversity were to be taken out of the equation. Some things can only be expressed through written scripture, while others, with the numerous intonations in one's vocal chords. Some don't even need words, gestures become sufficient enough to communicate all messages. However, we cannot focus on one of these alone and hope that we will survive. We must implement all forms to truly master the art of language and communication.

I will not attempt to imitate James Joyce's Ulysses, but were you to imagine this entire post completely devoid of any punctuation, this message I'm conveying to you through these words would be completely lost. It could be read in a series of shouts just as easily as a stream of whispers that drift off into nothingness. Periods themselves help convey emotion. Though you may not see it physically, you can assume that I'm not shouting throughout this entire post (and don't be so daft as to say that I could be, I don't contradict myself that much). There is a certain flow that I like to keep as I write, was that expressed?

Ah, the magic of such things, but now, I must bid you adieu for even constant attempts to fabricate great wisdom cannot combat the mighty power of exhaustion.

But perhaps these drabbles or pondering blogs (or whatever you would want to label them as) will provide a new insight for you, and maybe even me when I read it in the future. It will give me a chance to reflect and perhaps even adjust my own views as I continue my journey through this thing called life.

Though I suppose the lesson we must all learn is that, wisdom or intelligence is not about knowing answers. It's being able to wonder about things in such obscure manners, yet not to the extent in which it would affect one's life negatively.

It's being able to accept the fact that you don't know, and still be comfortable with that feeling.

"Sequence raveled out of reach..."

2012-02-26T23:20:00.000-06:00

Foreword

I FELT a cleavage in my mind
As if my brain had split;
I tried to match it, seam by seam,
But could not make them fit.

Love may be blind, but that does not dictate the word’s concrete connotation. There are many other things that hinder one’s vision—anger, hatred, pessimism, even optimism. Ah, how wonderfully the human body works! It is able to selectively block out features that one does not take a liking to, whether unconsciously or not.

In the state of emotional crisis, even if one’s words or thoughts clearly express it, the idea of wanting to look on the brighter side of things always manages to weave its way through, though only noticeable from a certain angle of perspective. In this state, the mind works as so: those things that help one cope with their misfortunes become accentuated, as if the peripheral vision suddenly highlights the good (or bad, depending on preference) on which one focuses. Perhaps it is easier to think of it tints and shadows. The items focused upon become highlighted while everything else becomes a simple blur within the shades of insignificance.

The mind isolates these objects; it places attention fully and solely on them, leaving everything else forgotten—its sacred flaw.

Vision is powerful…vision is perilous.

The thought behind I strove to join
Unto the thought before,
But sequence raveled out of reach
Like balls upon a floor.

-Emily Dickinson

Story

Her hands swiftly moved in jagged, yet controlled motions as she guided the sketching utensil across the vanilla coloured page. It seemed as though she merely weaved a simple pattern into the page (quite like sewing, though with the single sharp end of a pencil as opposed to two needles); her zigzagged patterns now took shape. The rough edges formed from the back-and-forth motion defined the contours of what she had imagined in her head.

The jaw line…the hair…the ears…all the unmistakable physical features that defined his anatomy so clearly had been perfectly plotted along the uncharted plane. His broad shoulders curved in the manner which she had always seen him. The lines darted off the page rather harshly as she dragged the sharpened end of the pencil right off the border, the paper almost tearing from that action alone. She went back to work. His hair, tousled in such an elegantly suave form as it had always been, his jaw line now being revealed with more depth as if perfection was actually attainable. All his features had been flawlessly captured and documented by simple lines and gradients upon this single layer of thin fiber. Her contours were complete, and her shading commenced.

This woman’s features appeared to be contradictory. There was a smile plastered upon her lips, though her eyes told a different story.

The eyes are the windows into one’s soul…

Her eyes—her pupils, the dark brown hue of them—made the smile almost a façade. Her eyes gleamed with sadness, horror even—as if an ominous presence had taken her place as her hands were hastily darting over certain spots on the page to add even more shades. Or perhaps, even that sadness or horror seen in her eyes was merely a front, as well. Her actions appeared unconscious. Was she even able to see what she was doing? Her eyes were open, yes…but even then, her actions seemed blind.

The pencil softly scraped its graphite-pointed end against to reveal more blackened marks on the page. Oh, how she captured his form so perfectly!

It appeared as though the pencil itself had uncovered the wild geometry of the soul hidden underneath the contrasting tint…

A sinister laugh, a combo of contradictory emotions expressed. Tension rose; the hot air seemingly condensed into an entity that acted as an extension of her own, invisible to the eye, but present to the mind. Ominous forces took over. She jabbed the tip into the thin layer, almost expecting as if it would scream to her satisfaction. The corners of his mouth now curved upward, darkened corners…blood? No, accents. Simple accents to accentuate his sophisticated nature, a smile looking more like a smirk to express his beautifully arrogant yet chivalrous attitude.

Though of course, flaw always took over after perfection’s momentary time span had reached its conclusion…

Looking over her work now, she dropped the pencil atop the surface of her desk, presenting another deviously elegant smile that could be perceived as the mask of insanity to the wonderful absence of any other rational being. Her eyes began to water, though the smile did not leave her face; she set aside her incomplete masterpiece and pulled out a small journal that lay almost forgotten to her right. Taking the same pencil from before, she opened to a blank page, beginning to document another one of her days that would be passed on.

“Sunhee-ah.”

The man, after calling his companion’s name, had entered the small apartment they shared. Needless to say, exhaustion had overcome this man, as if the slow dragging of his two feet did not imply that. He sloppily threw his jacket up onto one of the hooks beside the door and basically threw himself onto one of the couches, closing his eyes and resting his hands in a lazy fashion behind his head as he did so.

This man was Kim Jonghyun, and perhaps his profession was not exactly one of the more admirable ones out there.

He was a philanderer, perhaps another one of the infamous Giacomo Casanova’s voluntary apprentices that had chosen to practice the art of seduction, choosing to test his knowledge by applying it to real-world scenarios. However, this was not exactly the way he had made his living. It seemed almost outstanding how he had managed to live with a person of the opposing sex for such a long period of time, though that was not to say their relationship was very smooth at all.

The woman, Lee Sunhee, was the only woman to ever break through the barricade that Jonghyun had built around himself, the only one able to reveal his true colours, and for that, he was probably more than thankful. Though, there was this aspect of a bruised ego that ran through his blood, and that was probably why he had made her swear to never reveal the fact that they had lived together.

Jonghyun, with a girl? No visible indications of lustful attractions towards her? Such a thing was strange for anyone’s taste, having that name associated with that type of…platonic…behaviour.

Nonetheless, he had this soft side to him that he would only reveal in the confines of their apartment. Even with his countless late night rendezvous, he would always take care of business elsewhere. Whether this was purely out of consideration of the other inhabitant of the opposite gender within this apartment or not remained a mystery.

However, at the moment, Jonghyun was tired for another reason, and yes, it was a reason that did not have to do with anything sexually involved. Ever since he had been promoted at the architectural firm where he worked, the longer hours combined with his body’s inability to cope with the stress had taken a toll on him. He had barely gone to the nearby club anymore and placed a majority of his focus upon this new project they were working on. In truth, this had been his first arrival back at the apartment in about two weeks; half those nights had been spent out with more women. What better way to relieve stress than through pleasure, right? Of course, these faults led to his exhaustion, for the many late night rendezvous had already lagged him behind significantly through late arrivals at work, as well as the fatigue that followed shortly afterwards; but he was slowly getting back into his usual efficient routine, though he was still as tired as ever.

“Sunhee-ah?” he called out once more, rather baffled by the lack of response.

The television screen that sat across the couch, Jonghyun noticed, had been turned on and remained at a rather low volume, almost as if perfectly set for him to be able to rest while updating his brain with the latest news feeds being aired. He spared no effort turning it off as he miraculously picked himself up and off the couch, still questioning the silence he had received. The digital clock placed atop the television read 11:30 p.m. She could not have gone out…or perhaps she was sleeping. Nonetheless, he decided to look inside her bedroom.

A step inside…

“Sunhee-ah?” he said a little more…quietly this time. The atmosphere felt alien—as though he had crossed boundaries into some uncharted territory that seemed more ominous in nature than he liked.

Darkness had fallen over her room, only two light sources illuminating a mere fraction of its interior—the moonlight that dimly lit a part of her bed on the far side of the room, and her desk lamp that lit up the entire top of her desk. That desk—or rather, what was on top of it—had caught his eye. A single vanilla page lay on the surface, the size of a regular piece of printing paper; a ruler had been placed top of it, perpendicular to its length and parallel to its width. The placement seemed too perfect to be mere coincidence.

Jonghyun approached the desk slowly, defensively—preparing for a nonexistent beast that was about to lunge at him. The darkened walls of the room did not help with uplifting this eerie nature. Taking one last shaky step, he peered down upon the paper.

What the-…wow…

He did not have to look at the full image to notice the perfection planted upon rough, sketching paper. Every contour, every gradient of shade had been sketched and detailed with perfect precision. It was him—well, his torso at least. In the picture, his hands were folded over his chest in an arrogant fashion, which was proven by the playful smirk drawn and accentuated by dark, heavy lines and shades at the corners of his mouth. If looked upon from a certain angle, it almost looked devious, as if blood had suddenly taken form and was about to trail from the corners of his mouth, but nonetheless, the image remained still and unmoving.

Jonghyun was almost tempted to imitate the action displayed on that image, though right as he was about to do so, his fingers traced the borderline of the ruler, moving it slightly upwards, his eyes immediately widening as the pupils now seemed isolated and lost in a sea of white upon the moistened surface.

Eyes-…where-…what-…

There were his eyes…absent from where they should be. Instead, it had been drawn as though his eyeballs never existed, the entire area shaded the darkest shade of black from charcoal.

Just like the absence of the eyes, the absence of the soul from the body was also apparent.

He stumbled backwards, trying to get away from the perfectly horrifying image, but then—

A pause…a cough…blood spreading through the white cotton of his polo…

Jonghyun fell forward, onto the desk, and finally to the ground.

“Oh, Jonghyun-oppa,” the girl, now identified as Sunhee, called in a sing-song voice with the body of her beloved Jonghyun sitting behind her; this body, though not in the same posture, now seemed like a reflection of sketch from earlier—eyes gouged from their sockets, blood trailing from the now open portals or gateways into the soul, though it was empty. Of course, it was now only a body, the soul had drifted off to some better place to escape this miserable fate.

Sunhee smiled as she looked at the items in her hands. Two, perfectly round spheres—white, with a small, red smudge in the back (from which veins had been severed) as well as small trails of red that branched out from them subtly across the white plain that were seen all around this white, spherical object. She turned them over to face the two black circles on the other side, clean of any cuts, proving her precision in initiating such an act.

“There must be something wrong with your eyes, Jonghyun-oppa…” Her voice trailed off, almost as if expressing some sort of melancholy in the decreased volume, perhaps even scorn.

Eyes…gouged from their sockets, now sitting in the hands of this woman…

…where they truly belong…

“…you never saw me more than a friend…” Her voice came out deep, dark, and full of resentment. “You always went out with those sluts and never even looked at me. What did they have that I didn’t? I’m a girl too!” Her voice suddenly boomed with frustration, and then switched back to her original sing-song tone. “But that’s okay, because now I’m here to fix them!”

She brought the two moist orbs to her desk that had small specks of drying blood still present upon it and laid them down on top of the image of the man they had originally belonged to.

“I saw in those TV shows that before surgery, they usually had to put something called…anes…anesthesia? I think? It was a number type thing, Jonghyun-oppa, and then they would push the needle all the way into your vein. I didn’t have any needles, so I used something else sharp!”

At this point, Jonghyun’s body that was leaning against her bed’s side lurched forward, revealing the 28-centimeter blade that had been roughly jabbed into the left half of Jonghyun’s back…close enough to where the heart is. The blade poked through the other side, now merely concealing a permanent hole that was yet to be revealed.

“I had to cut some other parts to get these, but it’s okay. I can just glue them back together later!”

From a random drawer on the side of the desk, her hand dug into its contents and withdrew a much smaller knife, gleaming with a devious glare in the dim lighting of the simple desk lamp that proved its worth as the single manufactured light source. It had started to drizzle outside, though small rumbles of thunder could be heard, as well as the punctures of lightning that flashed upon the window in an arrhythmic fashion.

Delicately holding this sphere in place on top of the test, she took the miniature blade, placing its sharpened edge upon the delicate, moist surface of white, and then, adding pressure, pushed the knife downward, cutting through the soft fiber of the orb-like figure, letting some of pressure inside be released, ultimately severing the eye completely, leaving it as two different entities, two different hemispheres. She took one of the halves and looked through its now cleanly cut end—through the reverse end of the retina, using it nearly as some sort of lens to look at the corpse that was still by her bed side.

“Waah~” She admired the perfection of this object through the reverse end. “Your eyes are so awesome, Jonghyun-oppa! But then, what’s wrong with them. Why can’t they see anything else besides your stupid sluts?”

Of course, she received no reply in return, only the silence that surrounded her, keeping her company.

…oh, the fallacy of perfection…the closer one comes to attaining it…the further away it seems…

“But at least now, my drawing will be more than perfect!” she exclaimed.

Was it insanity? …Was it the insanity that clouded her very own vision to think that perfection was ever possible?

The blind, blurred contours of one’s perception. Only seeing anything within the periphery of one’s vision, leaving everything else out of the picture. It was only in this state of mind…the clouded, doubtful mind…that perfection was perceivable. It only took one simple look at the details to clear these misconceptions…to see that flaws existed everywhere. Vision is that powerful…to be able to view many things…ideas…at different, countless levels…

Sunhee took her knife once more and replicated her actions earlier, though with the other orb that laid still on the desk before. Taking her ruler, she measured the length and width of the blackened portion of her masterpiece from earlier, which she merely filled in as to indicate that she was not exactly finished, but her chance had come. Tracing the contours onto the whitened surface with the black opening in the middle, she, once again, cut through the fibrous edges of his hemisphere, sculpting (in a sense) perfectly into form to fit within the shaded borders of the image’s eyes.

“Now you’ll look at me…and only…at…me.”

She smiled deviously at her work and turned to pick up the other precious half-orb to repeat her previous actions when something at the corner of her eye caught her attention, gleaming with an almost innocent aura.

“Oppa?”

“Happy birthday, Sunhee-ah~” her favourite oppa had greeted her by talking into her room with a sloppily (yet very personally) frosted birthday cake. There were still small stains from the frosting on his shirt, as well as small specks of that same frosting that dotted his face in a random fashion, and that probably touched this young woman the most.

“W-What’s this?” she stuttered. Apparently, she still could not grasp the fact that her best friend had bothered to acknowledge the fact that it was her birthday.

“Well what does it look like? I’m here to celebrate my dongsaeng’s birthday!”

Unable to control her emotions, her tears poured down her cheeks in very visible streams—her vision becoming blurred and skewed behind the moistened layer. Jonghyun hastily placed the cake gently atop the mattress while sitting down beside her, wiping her tears as he did so.

“Yah…” his soft voice expressed this sense of care. “Stop crying, alright? You still haven’t opened your…”

Sunhee looked up to face him, confused as to why he paused, and only to be greeted by his overly exaggerated grin.

“My…”

“Your…” and then he pulled his hand that was hidden from behind me, “present!”

There in his hands sat a small, square…jewelry box? Jonghyun-oppa got me jewelry? The woman thought to herself, but nonetheless, found herself opening that small box to reveal its contents.

A gasp.

“Do you…like it?” his voice sounded nervous, yet still full of confidence—the contradiction was clearly conveyed by his facial expressions.

The gift was a simple necklace with a heart shaped pendant sparkling under the dimmed lighting of her room (if only they would ever replace that light bulb). Her eyes shimmered in a similar fashion as she took the pendant from the box and into her hands, admiring the beauty right before her eyes.

“Oh…my god…” Her voice had managed to suffice in a very soft whisper.

What else was there to say? It was beautiful…nothing more, nothing less.

“So…do you like it?” he repeated his question.

“I love it.”

A simple whisper of confirmation.

I FELT a cleavage in my mind
As if my brain had split;

A spark, a flash of electricity darted through the soft fibrous membrane of the woman’s heart, and suddenly, the whites of her eyes became fully uncovered, the two black orbs in the center now surrounded by a pool of a pinkish tint.

“J-J-J-…J-J-Jong…-h-h-hyun….o-o-o-oppa?”

Her head pivoted in a stuttered motion as her pupils attempted to veer in every direction possible, not wanting to accept such a horrid image to be etched into the fiber of her mind.

A flash.

A knife; a body collapsing forward. The body rolled onto its side. Eyes? No…there weren’t any.

I tried to match it, seam by seam,
But could not make them fit.

A gasp.

The knife in her hand. The piece of paper her hand had rested upon. Deadly and poisonous against her skin. Dead…no. Not dead…but certainly not alive.

It was as if though its lifeless nature stirred some ominous force within it and brought it to life. Contradictions blending…

Her foot inched sideways just a bit, also not fully permitting her to completely turn around, but she felt something against the edge of her foot.

What was on the floor? Moisture? What could have made her foot feel as if it were now drenched in such a fashion? …what would have such a dense nature within its presence? It was not simply water…there was no way it was just water…

Her eyes managed to shift their focus now upon the foot she had inched with such caution from just a couple of seconds ago. ...Was that…red? Dark red…crimson…Sanguinary…no, it was not her own blood.

Wait- blood?

But then-

“O-O-…p-p-ppa?”

Her voice managed another futile attempt. Her beloved oppa still lied unmoving on the opposite side of the room.

Her eyes scanned the dark shade of liquid trailing from her foot. Where had it originated from? No…why was it there in the first place? Was her mind playing some obscure game with her conscience? Her eyes…no…her conscience had stopped her eyes’ panning vision from continuing any further. The only thing her peripheral vision could distinguish as another body was the single leg that lied still. The torso of this corpse had yet to be revealed, if it were to ever be revealed in fullness that was.

“AH!” Her shrill, brief scream had accompanied her shocked reaction.

What was she holding?

The moisture upon her finger tips seemed to mold around them…as if eating away through the layer of skin…eating away her own being. She quickly let go.

“AAH!” Another shrill cry. The white that surrounded the black…what-

“AAAH!” Her screams were not only increasing in length of duration, but in volume as well. Her hand unceremoniously released its grip on the knife she had held onto somewhere in mid air; the loud ‘clang’ resonating in the uncarpeted area, barely missing her toes… Was that by pure luck? …or had some unseen being purposely done this deed?

The thought behind I strove to join
Unto the thought before,

What was going on?

…a cold essence seemingly touched her from behind…

“Sunhee-ah…”

Her head immediately turned in the opposite direction, a gasp, followed by a scream, resonating through the open space… Sunhee’s eyes widened even more as she stared at the corpse…did it just turn towards her?

“AAAAH!”

Why did it seem as though her voice now surrounded her; attempting to suffocate her already wavering being?

…her hands immediately grabbed onto the edge of the desk behind her, as if to keep her sanity…to keep her alive. Was she imagining things?

A contour, a pale doppelganger, a replica of her beloved oppa’s being formed right in front of her eyes, as if standing up from his previous position…eyes absent, the visible, vertical hole through his torso where the knife from the corpse still lay… The figure’s right hand reached out to her hauntingly and slowly as it approached her— the air surrounding her increasing in weight. Sunhee backed up even more, somehow that was possible, for her skin had already hugged the edge of her desk so tightly that it might leave an imprint later on.

The figure bent down just as it had come within 1 meter of her form…reaching for the discarded knife that lied at the tip of her bare toes.

“AAAAAH!” she proceeded to scream and thrash about relentless. Apparently, survival instincts now finally kicked in for she was able to pick up her body and run across the room, heading for the closed door.

Locked.

The terrified moans and screams multiplied— attacking her poor being from all sides. What else was left?

He was waiting for her. The body now turned around— the being’s translucent hand wrapped around the hilt of the knife.

One step towards her. Sunhee’s cries reduced to mere, breathless exhalations. Another step, but she remained in the same spot; physically exhausted but still mentally screaming. Another four steps, and the figured now loomed over her, the absence of his shadow very apparent. The knife rose above his head—its sharpened point gleaming with darkened purpose.

Sunhee’s mind, once more, attempted to figure out what was going on, but…

Sequence raveled out of reach…

The irrationality of her thoughts became only enhanced with the constant fear running through her blood. The doppelganger’s hand descended upon her chest—the young girl’s life ending before she even had the chance to protest one last time. The blood dripped down from the wound, creating small dots upon the ground…

…Like balls upon a floor…

“So what do we have here?” A man stepped into the musky aroma of the room, observing his surroundings whilst waiting for the younger detective to inform him of the situation.

“Well, sir, it seems as though it’s another one of those…”

“Those what?”

“Well, it seems as though this woman…had stabbed the other man over there, but then what’s unexplainable is how the knife…” The younger man referred to the hilt of the blade extending out of the woman’s upper torso. “…had lodged itself there. It’s clearly obvious that the man had been murdered, and there are no traces of any other DNA samples in the surrounding area. Only these two were present.”

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t mean to seem…sexist, sir, but a woman’s own strength is not sufficient enough to drive through her own sternum. Some outside force must have done that, but we don’t know how…”

The older man contemplated for a moment before furrowing his eyebrows and sighing. “Gather what else you can and keep me updated.”

“Yes sir.”

And with that, the man left the room, leaving the younger detective to continue with his work.

(O/E)utopia

2012-02-06T20:12:00.000-06:00

A city upon a hill, they say.
A paradise woven subtly into the fabric of history.
A legend drifting among indiscernible whispers.
A perfection sought for endless eternities.

I’ve craved for its taste;
desired to indulge in its infinite goodness.
Even if perfection was merely temporary,
a moment captured was all I needed.

So this journey began, but one of the three kings, I was not.
No star guided my way
through the darkness. I wandered helplessly
with only this biased vision as my driving force.

The shadows revealed their true depth,
or perhaps my adaptation surpassed my consciousness.
The difficulty of the obstacles deteriorated gradually;
my progression hastened.

But then-- Nothing...
The road’s end had come to a perilous stop.
Frustration spewed flames from its nostrils
but vanished as soon as it came.

And half my journey concluded-- the other half just about to begin.
A lesson learned: perhaps the trip proved more exciting than the destination.
Trudging back into darkness, my feet walked into familiar territory;
accepting the fact that this perfect place was never there.

Four Walls

2011-03-15T18:13:00.001-05:00

In the beginning was the Word…

Well, perhaps citing scripture was not exactly the most proper beginning of a story, but I suppose there was not any perfect beginning either.

I took a look at my surroundings. Nothing had changed, at least not to any noticeable extent. It had been four months, four very interesting months, since I had been confined in this room and ordered to remain practically stationary for the remainder of my visit here as many more tests were to be done on my physical form. Yes, I’m in the hospital, and for reasons that I found rather stupid yet still logical in its own sense.

Simply put, I had cancer already in one of its most serious stages, and as soon as my thorough diagnosis (or at least that’s what the doctor had referred to it as) had concluded, I was given only a week maximum to clear up things with my employer and everything so that I could fully move into one of the many conformed rooms of the hospital. Why did I think this was stupid? Well that can be simply explained as well, and that would be that since I had already been confined to such a strict schedule, whether or not I had decided to succumb to the healthcare professionals’ wishes, at least let me work to my fullest extents before the limited amount of time I had left would completely diminish. I was only twenty-four years old. I had many more miles to walk before I would finally decide to rest.

Nonetheless, I had found myself practically stripped of everything I once had as I entered into this chamber of bare white, the only thing that seemingly had any deviating pattern to it being the very thin gown lightly draped over my form and tied around my back. Forgive me for preferring faded polka dots rather than just the pure tint of white.

Perhaps I’m too harsh, or perhaps I just seem too harsh in comparison to the rather high concentration of apathy flowing in my blood. Cancer was cancer, nothing more, nothing less. If one of the downsides of this particular state of the anatomical being was that it would ultimately lead to fatal results then so be it. Those constantly attempting to extend life as much as they could were simply wasting their time. One of the reasons life was so precious was because of its aspect of being finite. We do not live forever, and if we continually pursue that horrid curse of immortality, sure, one would be able to live longer, but in turn, the absence of one’s appreciation towards the aesthetic values of life would be emphasized. No longer is life something beautiful, but rather, just another variable that could be manipulated in a large, nightmare-ish science experiment. Take life for what it is, and not what it could be.

Though I was not really fond of it before, I had grown quite accustomed to the routinely schedule that one followed on a daily basis here in medicare heaven, and taken out of context, there were quite a few advantages to being confined in this closed area, though most would seem as though I was more lazy than I intend to be.

Firstly, it was like a proper exchange between I and the workers here. I did not have to work in order to keep a roof over my head. I did not have to stress over the fact that my full 40 hours a week may not be met, for everything was given to me practically free of charge. In turn, it was more an indirect order than anything, but I almost felt obligated to have them run tests on me endlessly as I go through these multiple cycles of chemo. In other words, they provide for my living, I provide for them data.

Another thing is that I did not have to stress over work, but that had increased my boredom to a rather unearthly extent. It was like you’ve been locked in this chamber exterior to time itself. There was no sign of personal routine (other than the tests, of course), no sign of pattern, no sign of liveliness. It was just me and these walls, and due to the time span that I had already spent here, I had become more acquainted with them, though not to the extents of paranoia in which I had referred to them with certain names or labels.

Lastly, because I had remained stationary virtually every second I had spent in this white chamber, I had learned to become much more observant. Perhaps it may not be such a large step for those who constantly used their analytical mind, but I had led a hectic life previously, and the time my brain had spent actually using its powers to observe were significantly hindered because of that, the focus being on just surviving. I was able to take time to look at something objectively, examine it to more than just what was on its surface, and make an inference about it. Personally, it was more of a privilege than anything else.

For example, I look to my left and face the wall that had a window on it, allowing me to view the outside world while still keeping me out of harm’s way. The night sky had seemed a merely very dark shade of blue that could be mistaken for black at this time of night (7:00 p.m.). There were no stars, or at least they were not able to be seen. The street lights that illuminated the city, along with the many other buildings that had yet to close for the night, had created a sheer cloak against the eye, disabling its ability to see the beautiful patterns of constellations that stars had made with their light. However, I was able to admire the aesthetic value of nature in the simple form of the sole color the sky expressed, because unlike ever before, I had finally realized how far away something was. I had finally seen the simplicity in something so complex.

The window was an illusionary device that most did not give any second thoughts about. It was a more a barrier than a wall, for you could not overcome it; a permanent separator between you and the outside world that emphasized one’s domesticated state all the more clearly. Yet, it feels as if though you are still part of that world out there, and that was where the illusion, the evil power of deception, had full control.

I tended not to look at the window during day time for it had made me just that much more melancholic, mainly because I had still slightly missed my old, hectic lifestyle compared to this one. Most of the time, I looked that wall, through the window, only during the nightly hours when a blanket of shadows had dominated the scene and the contours of many edifices became indiscernible due to the shades of black. Pathetic as it may sound, it was almost as if I had preferred my accurate perception to be altered and contradicted, for it did not provide me any disappointment, like a natural antidepressant, if you will.

The wall in front of me was also bare and white. There was a small couch set against that wall, as well as a mini square-shaped table with two more chairs. I looked to my right, the slightly open door had permitted the lights of the main hallway to illuminate a very small fraction of space in my room, enhanced by the fact that the lights were not on at the moment inside this space. There was a digital clock right beside the door, and a television set that had been mounted to the corner of the right and front walls that, most of the time, remained turned off, for I had never found any programs, cable or not, too terribly interesting.

For the last four months, these simple objects scattered around the room (though not really “scattered” for that gives the connotation of a mess) have become my companions of some sort. Inanimate as they may be, they were all I had. I had no direct family, I had no family in general, for my parents had passed away during my teen years, and the one aunt that I had usually confided in was still over 3000 miles away in our home state because I had moved away for college. I had many acquaintances, but no one I had honestly gotten close enough to for the label of being my “friend” had been placed upon them.

The only person I had honestly considered the one closest to me probably did not even mind my absence over at our workplace, but that may have been my fault as well. The amount of time we spent with each other before my admittance to the hospital was well above average than just mere friends that most thought we had some type of romantic relationship, though those was clearly fabrications that were left unhandled. I had allowed myself to become attached for one reason and one reason alone, and that was simple because he was more like family to me than anything. Perhaps he was like the brother I never had, the missing piece that just completed my full spectrum of a perceptual family, the one that always seemed to be blurred out in the photo. Whatever it was that I shared with him, I knew that it would not escalate to such extents as those rumors mentioned. It was merely…an indirect cry for some type of personal attachment, if you will.

But that had all ended after I had gone on a hiatus from that job for an indefinite amount of time. He never contacted me, nor had he visited me, not that I was really expecting him to. I guess he was simply fed up with all the rumors that when the opportune moment had arrived, he had taken it without any second thoughts.

Sure, at first, I had been disappointed, but after some unknown length of time, I had found myself thanking him more than anything.

He had given me the chance to regress, because that’s what this entire thing was. As soon as I had entered through those solemn, revolving, glass doors of this hospital, I knew everything was reverting to how it had been 24 years ago, with my mother wearing a similar gown to what I had on, the pain she had endured as she was in the process of giving birth to me, the only child she would ever conceive. Now, it seemed as if I was doing the same, staying in here for long periods of time with nothing but a gown on, though only this time, I was not giving birth, but rather, my own life may be taken away at any given moment. The cycle had come almost full circle, from nothing, to everything…and then back to nothing.

The door opened.

One of the many nurses had come in and did not even acknowledge my presence, well, consciously that was, merely taking the clipboard that had been attached to the foot end of the bed, reaching out unsophisticatedly for my hand to check my pulse, check the readings on the machine behind me (the name of the machine still eluded me til this day), and recorded all her new pieces of data onto that sheet she had taken from the clipboard.

She then roughly let the clipboard slam rather roughly back onto its holder at the foot end of the bed and turned to leave, though before she took a third step, she turned to me, face completely devoid of any emotion.

“How are you feeling today?”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

And that was the end of our interaction. You knew the conversation had concluded when the eminent sound of the door slamming had resonated through your ear tunnels.

Now, one might wonder why I had given such a generic answer, and the explanation was simple, really. How are you feeling today? It was probably the most robotic/generic question to be asked within this realm of white conformity. It was like an unwritten rule that was known between all the employees here. They were not obliged to be nice to their patients, they just had to act like it, and apparently, that was the least imposing, yet most thoughtful question they could think of. It was all a façade, merely used to generate good reviews from the patients, having them comment on how “caring” or “kind” their workers were, but I saw past it all. They did not care at all, and most of the time, if you took over two seconds to reply, I would find myself being blatantly ignored. It was a sad reality in some aspects, knowing that any attempts of trying to converse, even if just a couple of minutes to get your mind off of your current predicament, was futile.

So after that small ordeal, I found myself staring up at the blankness the ceiling had to offer once more, and before I knew it, another two months had passed.

Somewhere during that two month period, I had found a small, yet still discernible crack on the ceiling, and that, more than anything, had seemed to convey the severity of my already malfunctioning system. At times, the crack would blur, its contours suddenly blending in with the white ceiling, as if it had never existed in the first place. At those specific moments when I would not be able to see that crack, I was in deep pain, my back hunched as I rolled over to one side of the bed, shivering as if I had just come in from an ice storm, and many times, tears would blur the periphery of my vision, distorting all that I would normally see in front of me.

A couple of hours ago, my condition had stabilized, though not without the assistance of a fair dosage of morphine that had put me out for quite some time, but now, my condition had worsened once more, I, finding myself hunched over to one side of the bed, trying to suppress the unbearable waves of pain that resonated throughout my entire physical form.

“Hey…” I heard a familiar voice drift off into the silence of doubtfulness as I looked up to see him, the one that had not bothered contacting me for months. There was just a slight indication of shock in that small glint in his eyes, though they soon vanished as she shrugged at my “reduced” and rather pathetic state and position.

“What…are you…doing here?” I managed to get out through my shortened breaths, clear distaste in my raspy voice. Whether it was hatred or merely temporary frustration that had been expressed, I was not sure, but all I knew was that his presence was anything but pleasant. I had been alone, without any companionship for the last six months, so I was more inclined to think of his visit as an invasion of personal space more than anything.

This room…this little realm of conformity had been mine and mine alone… Why was he even here?

“I went to visit you at your apartment…but your neighbors told me to come here…”

“Why did you decide to visit?” My speech had come out surprising fluent and not stuttered as it had previously been, but my voice was raspy as ever. My position had not changed either, my hands still hugging my lower abdomen while I was supposedly in a fetal position.

A mere sigh escaped his lips as he placed his backpack gently over to the side of my bed, taking a seat from the table across from me and placing himself down on it, leveling his head with mine, “You’re not looking too swell.” I guess I wasn’t going to receive an answer.

“Go away,” my ever so eloquent and obviously well matured reply had come as I closed my eyes again because of the pain. However, before my eyes had closed completely, I was almost positive that I had seen a rather mocking smile play along his lips, and that was more than enough for me to hate his presence even more, because even after a lengthened period of time without any contact between each other, he still knew my ins and outs.

The surrounding silence had taken over for the time being, though it was surprisingly not as awkward as I would have originally assumed.

…and that’s when I finally arrived to the conclusion, that I was, indeed, weak. No matter how many thick layers I had produced over time, exemplifying this image that I had created of myself being the independent person, no matter how many times I denied my previous image, it had all come crumbling down. It was as if a force had stabbed right into the core of my well being, and ripping all those protective layers to shreds, leaving the bare, weak, lonely being I truly was exposed and vulnerable.

All because of his presence.

Those layers I had intricately woven had been set afire, disintegrating before my very eyes, and he was the source of the flame, and I found myself confiding in his warmth. The warmth of his being, the warmth of his presence, the warm feeling inside of me building up because of the fact that his visit here today had confirmed the fact that I was still part of his life, no matter how miniature of a piece of the puzzle I was, and though it may just my immature presumptions that had led me to this overall idea, his presence had made me, once again, believe that someone out there still cared and would be there for me when the stress’s weight would just be too much for me to handle. The regression of my thoughts, back to the naïve girl that I could still see running around in the park, carefree as usual, not having to worry about any of the other obstacles that life would inevitably slap down right in front of her.

The simplicity of that time period…I had missed it. No, it was much more than just the reminiscing of it. I had desired to revert back to that. This entire regression phase that I was currently going through, it was not placed upon me by some unknown outside force that I could not see with my mere human eyes. No, it was all voluntary, and now, with my new epiphany, the tears had begun to flow again, and I even found myself whimpering in my pathetic state.

But then, I felt the familiar heat arise upon my shoulder as hand had been placed upon it, as if consoling me in a compassionate manner.

“Hey…” he said in a half-whisper, still holding my shoulder firm as his other calloused hand had begun rubbing my back in a circular motion. I didn’t hesitate and allowed his touch to comfort me, succumbing to my naïveté and dependence. “It’s going to be okay…”

“No…it’s not,” my voice had come out scratchy as my entire body was shaking, not only because of the physical pain anymore, but as well as the pain of knowing that I had finally become too dependent, the fact that I knew that I wouldn’t be able to support myself any longer. I could not even cope with this simple realization, and now I had to deal with it for the remainder of my lifespan.

“Yes, it will be,” he shushed me in the same caring manner as I had remembered…as I had longed for.

“What do you know?!” The shock had clearly been expressed through both of our facial expressions, more so his than mine. How I had managed to shout in such a dignified manner that completely contradicted my current position was something of an unusual occurrence. “What do you know…?” I managed to repeat, finally reverting to my previous tone of voice, crying more than ever. The contours of the man in front of me had blurred significantly, though he was close enough for me to differentiate from the contrastingly colored wall behind him.

“Hey-”

“After six damn months, ONLY after six damn months, had you finally decided to visit me!” I cried out in desperation. Dignity was no longer part of my vocabulary. I had given up on it for it could no longer be maintained.

“Look-”

“No, you look!” I struggled at first, but finally freed myself from his touch, though the absence of the familiar warm sensation had caused me to be slightly uncomfortable, “…” I couldn’t even figure out the words to say, that’s how pathetic I had become.

“What…?” he asked me, a tinge of regret accompanying the tone of his voice.

“I have cancer. I’m going to die. Bottom line. End of story.”

“Since when did you become so morbid?”

“Six months,” I emphasized that length of time, “can definitely change people.”

“Then again, I suppose not much has changed. That’s more realistic than morbid.”

I could sense the slight amusement in his voice, and the confirmation of my assertive presumption had come when I heard his light chuckle right afterwards. It made me hate him ever the more so, the simple fact that he’s still able to joke around be so…carefree, even as I’m slowly wearing out.

“Go away.”

“You said that already.”

“Then do it already,” my replies had become more crude as our little conversation (or at least that was the most proper title for what it was we were exchanging verbally) progressed ever so thoroughly.

I heard his sigh come out, rather short, but still very audible, and filled with intent. “Look…I did have a reason for not coming to visit until now.”

I felt like such a fool. Had my intentions been so clear that I had not even have to reveal them directly with my words? Had I become just so emotionally dysfunctional that even my small actions and expressions had rendered me completely transparent, so easily see-through? Why couldn’t I defend myself? Why did I have to seem so pathetic? No…why AM I so pathetic? Why, even after continuously attempting to convince myself that I hated him, want to know his reasoning? Why was it that I still longed for his touch, his warmth, to surround me?

“And I won’t waste both our precious time-”

“Just tell me.”

An exchange of a smile, forgiving and understanding, came between as, as he hesitated, but ultimately began talking about his story. He knew me too well… I could tell that he had stripped away all of the finer details of how hard it had been for him, but even then, the simplicity of his explanation was far more than I would have expected.

“…You even went to that funeral, remember?”

I nodded weakly, for that was all I could suffice. That funeral he had mentioned was (in the most appropriate terms) an eye-opener for me. After all the time I had spent with him, it had been the first moment ever in which I had seen him in such a vulnerable state, silently sobbing throughout the night at the hotel we had spent the night in because his relatives had requested for him and I to stay for the entire weekend in which the burial of his grandmother had taken place. So, the fact that I had been there, consoling him, I had concluded, had been the reason for our solidified bond that we shared.

“My share was already piling up. I had to make the money somehow. Working overtime, no breaks what so ever, you get the idea.”

My silence, to him, had confirmed my understanding of his situation. The cost of funerals, the entire service, was not exactly cheap, and thus, even divided amongst familial relations, it would take one quite a while to pay off that amount.

“Anyway, I’ll save you the unending boredom,” I noticed the small smile creeping on his face, “You look like you need more help than I do. Just rest, won’t you? I’ve told you this repeatedly, you’ve worked yourself too hard.”

And of course, the repeated statement that he had always given me had come into play, but this time, it had been different. How? Simple. Because this time, rather than just completely ignoring said advice, I had yearned for the ability to adhere to his words, but my own strength would not allow me to do so. No, my will power would not allow me to do so, for my body was too adamant in its attempt to fight off all my health issues and keep me alive.

However… I felt his ever so simple touch and warmth make contact with my cold, bare forearm once more, and I suddenly as if I would be able to finally relax all my tensions.

That’s when I had finally allowed myself to be drawn to him again, after so long, when I had finally allowed myself to accept the fact that I needed his presence to keep my sanity, when I finally allowed myself to let go of this childish inhibitions of mine and have myself freely accept the compassion which I had secretly longed for. How the simple presence of a human had so much impact on one soul, such as mine, one would never know, but even the simple deterioration in the eloquence of my language had definitely proved how much I had fallen from that treacherous, narrow cliff of momentary independence.

“Just rest…” he whispered as my vision began to blur, my eyes slowly closing, “It’s time…”

And with that, because I no longer had anything holding me back, or any doubt in following his words, I closed my eyes, allowing myself to drift off into a deep slumber, succumbing to the darkness surrounding me…but then…a small light had illuminated that path way…was that…mom…dad?

The EKG machine across the width of the bed had finally shown the ever so distinct flat line, drawing out that long, single, unwavering beep that had confirmed the person lying in bed was no longer of this Earth, and though a weak smile had appeared on the man’s face, the single tear that had dropped down from his left eye and landed on top of the thin fabric of the hospital gown had contradicted it so.

Bittersweet…just like her favorite chocolate…

The man had said within the boundaries of his own thoughts, bringing his unused hand up to his face, wiping the small trail of clear liquid from his left cheek as his other hand had finally retreated from the body in front of him.

It’s time…now rest…

And with that, he had taken his belongings from the side of the bed, and left, leaving the body to, once again, be forever left alone, but that everything had all gone well.

All she needed was that presence of support, to help her finally overcome these falls that she had been confined in. She had been bounded to such a small space for so long that she had learned to adjust to those surroundings, as if they had become her permanent home, but now, it was time. She had received her support, the care of another being other than herself, and with that, she had been set free. Now, she had to re-experience that freedom in which she lacked…the right way…without any walls or barriers holding her back….