Changing Change Rooms

Today, as I went to work out at my local Aquatic and Recreation Centre, I was greeted with an unexpected situation. ~ Due to workmen installing new lockers in the ladies' change room, the women were to use the men's change room, whereas the men would use the women's in order to facilitate the builders' work. ~

Feeling like I was violating the laws of nature, I cautiously stepped into forbidden territory, expecting an unsightly view to greet me. ~ I did not relax until I saw a woman tousling her wet hair in a corner. ~

Satisfied, I turned my eyes to take in the room. ~ The layout inside was completely different than that of the women's change room. ~ It was smaller, and in surprisingly better condition than the women's change room. ~

I walked around, inspecting the place to satisfy my curiosity. ~ I noticed with surprise that the showers had no dividers, unlike those in the women's change room. ~ In fact, there was barely space for me to stand under a nozzle without intruding into the space allotted for the adjacent nozzle. ~ I tried to imagine a large man standing where I stood, with an even larger man next to him, and an unpleasant image of two balloons squished in a too-tight spaced surfaced in my mind. ~

In the washroom area, the noticeable difference was, evidently, the four white urinals lined up along one wall. ~ In addition to those, there were only two stalls, as compared with the five in the women's change room, yet that much was understandable. ~ However, there was half as much counter space surrounding the sinks. ~ I cocked my head in curiosity. Did men not need just as much room to shave and freshen up? ~

I finished the tour of the place as I went to scope out a locker to stash my bags in. ~ It was then that I was struck with the realization that there were no change stalls. ~ How odd, I mused. What about privacy? Those two bathroom stalls are hardly suitable for a change room full of men. ~

This lead me to ponder about the differences between the two change rooms. ~ Why was it that the City had constructed change rooms with so many less commodities for men than for women? ~ Also, why was privacy considered of so little importance in the men's change room? ~ Did they not deserve the opportunity to change in peace, out of sight, or did they simply not require it? ~

And, can we extrapolate this to society in general? ~ Does society believe women deserve more privacy than men? ~ Do women have some unspoken need to cover themselves? Did society unconsciously impose this need upon them? ~ And what of men? Did society decide that men should not be ashamed of showing themselves, and thus didn't even provide them with the chance to decide whether they wanted to or not? ~

Many questions, and no answer. ~ I suppose when you delve into the intricacies dividing the two genders, neither a female nor a male is justified to make the final judgement. ~

A final note: Much to my astonishment, the men's room was a lot cleaner than the women's. ~ So much for those rumour about noxious fumes and unnavigable terrain. ~

Christmas Time

Written yesterday, while sitting on a stranger's couch amid boisterous laughter and the smell of roasted chicken. ~

Lately, I've felt very disjointed from the "outside" society. ~ What with Organic Chemistry, Historical Inquiries and A Doll's House occupying my mind, the holiday festivities have seemed like a distant dream. ~ When school snares you and keeps you entrapped in her hold, it's hard to get caught up in the holiday experience. ~

So that has gotten me thinking... What is it that really defines the festive quality of the holiday season? ~ Is it the snow-covered, pure-white, snowy winter landscape? ~ The glittery, red-and-green-coloured Christmas decorations strewn on every coverable surface? ~ The candy-cane-loaded, garland-encircled, lit-up Christmas tree? ~ Or should we consider things like the joy of giving and receiving gifts, or of donating money to charity, or of spending time with family and friends? ~

Well, as I sit here on this foreign couch, a brief epiphany relating to this topic strikes me. ~ What really creates and maintains that holiday season feeling is that everyone participates. ~ The shopping malls are all fully-packed with busy, last-minute shoppers struggling to check off everyone on their lists. ~ Bands, choirs and symphonies perform Christmas carols non-stop. ~ Radios food drives are in full-swing, amassing hundreds of thousands of dollars to support those who are less fortunate this cold wintery season. ~ On the last day of classes or of work, everyone says goodbye with a smile and a hug, wishing each other a "Merry Christmas!" and a "Happy New Year!" ~
And admittedly, there will always be that one grumpy Scrooge, complaining about the festivities and good food (Heaven knows why!). ~ But what's most noticeable about even this situation is that they too, are a part of the Christmas experience. ~ Ironically,as a cornerstone of celebrating the holidays, the Scrooges of our world are essential to completing the holiday posse. ~ I'm sure they would be mortified if they thought about it this way, though. ~

So all in all, cliché as though it may seem, it's the humans that make Christmas what it is today. ~ We have constructed a time when everything else is put on hold, where even the busy IB children are caught up in celebrations. ~ And indeed, as my parents enjoy a glass of wine or two, I sit here (not drinking - I'm the designated driver, it seems) and pull out my phone, ready to call a friend and begin my own Christmas experience. ~

Uncertainty

The more I learn, the less I know - at least, the less I know for sure. Nowadays, it seems as though I don't have a firm opinion on anything. Thanks to the analytical skills that have been ingrained into my mind, everything is gray for me. That beautiful, childish black and white is no longer separated by a nice, straight line anymore. Everything is nuanced; all that varies are the shades of gray in my mind. I'm not sure about anything anymore. I see good and bad in everything; beauty and ugliness, joy and sorrow, steady and weak - they're all ambiguous.

I envy those who can firmly argument anything for extended amounts of time. Even as I try to make my point, arguments in favour of the opposite opinion pop into my mind, unbidden and unwanted, yet relentless. By the end of a debate, I can't stop mulling over what my own actual opinion is. While everyone else around me is bickering bitterly, my head swings side to side, nodding now at one, then at the other. Am I really that easily influenceable? The thought saddens and worries me.

Once in awhile, though, I'll see the light. That one stray ray of brightness - almost white in its certainty. Like a flash, it comes and goes before I can even register what has happened. Those moments - those moments of absolute, wonderful certainty - that's when I feel the adrenaline rush, the shift of an out-of-focus world righting itself, the sense of peace. My eyes open wide, both literally and figuratively. I suddenly know - I do have an opinion. No longer is a shadow cast over light, or light shone into dark. Everything looks crisper, cleaner, clearer. I can make judgement and stand by those decisions.

But these moments are short-lived. With dread, I sink back into doubt, into that disgusting gray.

Truly... growing up is growing gray. In more ways than one.

No tildes for this post. Tildes suggest a certain lightness. Uncertainty is too dark for that.

Perfection

You pull the moist, creamy cake out of the oven. A tantalizing, mouth-watering smell of rich chocolate emanates from it. You hold your breath, hardly daring to breathe on your masterpiece. Its perfect roundness, the impeccably smooth surface, the just-right shade of chestnut... ~ You smile in contentment. This is perfection. ~

When someone has achieved a semblance of perfection, the initial high seems to drown out everything else. ~ That moment of euphoria, of a sense of complete certainty that the world is right, of self-justification at last, can at once wipe away days, weeks, even months of toil and despair. ~

Just as easily, though, an inkling of doubt wedges itself back into the mind. ~ That dreaded blemish, that fall from perfection, seems just a half-step away. Misplace your foot, and the scale tips. ~ The ice-thin surface you were treading so confidently on is suddenly jarred by an ugly crack. ~ All at once, the illusion is shattered. ~ Ice cold water engulfs you, taking your breath away. ~ As you hold your breath, your mind goes numb. ~ How did it all go wrong, you wonder? ~ What changed? ~
Almost nothing. ~ Simply, your art. ~ What you have produced. ~ Your creation. ~ What's in a painting? Strokes. One after the next, you paint away, your brush dancing gracefully on the canvas. ~ Then, splat. ~ An ugly glob, born of carelessness, right in the middle. ~ Perfection, ruined. ~
Yet take a step back. ~ If you add a tiny bit of paint here, and a swipe there, that blob turns into a beautiful rose. ~ Not the perfection you were looking for, but a new, more vivid and jarring piece of work. ~ An unexpected appeal to the eye. ~
So while perfection may have produced a picture-perfect piece of artwork, failure drew your attention to a different kind of beauty - an asymmetrical beauty, a flawed beauty, a bittersweet beauty. ~ And that inspires so much more emotion than the mundane perfection, which in itself loses it special quality because it lacks dissonance. ~

The String of Life

Life is a test of resistance. ~ We are all strings, stretched and pulled, loosened and slackened, let out or reeled in. ~ It's this ebb and flow that is the test. ~

We start out as a ball of string, nicely wound and compact. ~ But as life starts, we begin to unroll the string. ~ Like a yarn ball thrown down a flight of stairs, we tumble down, down, down, driven forwards by a compelling force (in this case, gravity). ~

At times, when we have gained too much momentum, we often start to lose self-control, to go all out and release too much string, too fast. ~ Just like a young child playing happily and naively, we let out too much line and end up with a tangled mess. ~

Then, there are times when we become too tightly strung. ~ Living on the bare minimum, our string pulled back as if an archer were pulling on a bow; tension builds up as we resist the urge to let go. ~ But how much can a person stand before he or she snaps? ~ Even the best quality string can't withstand the strength of time. ~

But as we grow up and we learn, we adopt temperance. ~ Like an expert fisherman, we known as if by instinct how much line to let out, how long to wait before we reel in the prize fish. ~ Like a trapeze artist, we find perfect balance on our rope, a precarious peace. ~ Like a seamstress, we know how tight a thread can be pulled before it snaps. ~ "Experience is necessary." ~ In fact, experience might just trump education, because experience itself encompasses not only education, but also throws at us those special cases, exceptions like the numerous ones found in French grammar. ~

So instead of memorizing complicated physics formulae calculating string tension, or studying up on the different types of materials that strings can be made of, or, if you're the type to ramble on like myself, writing poetry or philosophical blog posts about string, just get out there and start truly experiencing your own string of life. ~

Paranoia

Today, I had a chat with EZ, and the topic of moles (the skin kind, not the animal), popped up. ~

"The thing is, Google is way too convenient. It makes people paranoid. If people had a mole before, they'd just think, 'It's probably fine. [...] It's just a little spot.' But now Google provides you will all the information possible [on] moles." ~

This set my thoughts a-running. ~ The whole point of the Internet, and thereby, Google, is to provide users with information. ~ Very few people would deny the usefulness of this enterprise. ~ After all, who hasn't performed some Google search or other, which ended up with a harmless and easy gain of knowledge that would never have been possible before the existence of the search engine? ~

But now consider what EZ has mentioned. ~ When is it better, not knowing? Innocence is not only bliss, it is also useful at times. ~ What's the point of worrying yourself sick over some tiny little mole, which turns out not to be dangerous at all? ~ In this case, information seems to be counter-productive, even harmful. ~ It's good to be aware of dangers, but it's not good to over-worry. There's a fine line in between. ~ And as thoughtful, sharp-minded individuals, it's up to us to distinguish fact from fiction, to calm our easily-panicked mothers, and to learn how to use information wisely. ~

The Future

My first post in quite awhile. ~ Summer has finally caught up to me. ~ My fabulous internship being over, I now have three weeks of supposed "relaxation," "fun in the sun" and "me-time." ~ Which is what I'm trying to do. ~

But to be honest, thoughts of the future have begun to invade my mind more and more often recently. ~ University looms like a dark wall ahead, foreboding. Yet beyond that wall lies everything that I've been working towards. ~ I feel like this is it - this is the moment of choice, the moment where I plan out my career and my life. ~ And yet uncertainty overwhelms me every time I realize that I will soon be aflight, a bird who can now fly and must choose where its wings will take it. ~

And I know that I still have a year to go. ~ A year of work, friendship, and exams. ~ But I'm finding it difficult to concentrate on the present and near-future when I'm faced with the dark pit that I feel like I'm headed towards. ~ Maybe this is what soldiers feel like when they get ready for battle and lie waiting for the enemy to approach - anticipation, fear, dread, and a bit of excitement, all mashed into one butterfly sensation in the stomach. ~

And while some who read this post might lament me for bringing up school right in the middle of summer, I know that I'm not the only one to start thinking that far ahead. ~ And that thought comforts me, knowing that I'm not alone, and definitely not the first to have such qualms. ~ If everyone else survived it, then so will I. ~

Brave on. ~ Brave on. ~

Balance

A few months back, when teaching us the Nervous System Unit in Biology, my teacher informed us, as a side note, that we actually have six senses. ~ Balance, the often-missed sixth sense. ~

Intrigued, I promised myself to write a post. ~ Now, nearly half a year later, I am fulfilling that self-promise. ~

Balance is actually sensed through the ear. Semicircular canals as well as the utricle and saccule help us determine dynamic and static equilibrium. ~ These send messages to our cerebellum, which coordinates our movements. ~ Not surprising, then, that when we're on dizzying roller coaster rides, our head begins to hurt, complaining to us about the atrocious environment our body is being subjected to. ~

But on a higher level, balance is also a sense which keeps us centered. ~ "Extremes [...] meet. For the good reason that they were made to meet." (Mustapha Mond, from Brave New World.) ~ Without balance, we would always be at an extreme, straining upwards, downwards, sideways. How can we live that way? ~ Therefore, finding balance is key. Though it might sound cliché, balance is the essential component of any healthy lifestyle. ~

Balance is also, in a way, acceptance. Accepting you might have to give up the fight for extremes, the competition. Accepting peace. ~ Balance does not mean you give up; it merely means you find where you're most comfortable, most at ease, and keeping that place with you in whatever you endeavour. ~

Finally, balance can bring contentment. ~ Not necessarily happiness - that is an emotion which is usually felt at extremes. Though happiness is stronger and more fulfilling, it is also non-lasting. ~ On the other hand, contentment is the less grand version of happiness, the emotion we often under-appreciate. ~ Contentment is the more sweet-smiled, gentle sister of happiness. It also sticks around longer, soothing your body, like honey, rather than bringing instant gratification, like candy. ~

So look for the less glamorous balance today. ~ Listen to some soft music, sip some of your favorite hot beverage, and study for finals. ~ There's no need to scope out an extreme, when balance is right around the corner. ~

The Ripple Effect - A Journey of Sin, Part Fifteen (End)

As a special touch for the last bit of our story, Ankur and I decided to both post Part Fifteen. It's been a long ride, and though there were tough patches, I have to admit that it was an eye-opening experience to create this story. The planning, the writing, the (endless) editing, the late nights... They all paid off. I'm glad to have embarked on the journey with Anne, and we sincerely hope that you like the ending. ~
Don't forget to read Parts One, Three, Five, Seven, Nine, Eleven and Thirteen at The Devil's Advocate if you haven't done so already! ~

Part Fifteen

The carriage ride back to the manor was filled with a deathly silence as I thought about the events that had transpired in the marketplace; the strength of the woman who tried to defend her baby, her valiant attempt to save her precious bundle, and her horrible death. I felt guilt rise up inside of me once again as I thought of how much harder I should have fought, how much harder I should have struggled against the tyranny of Lucifer to protect my child.
We arrived at the manor just as the sun was setting. Wordlessly, I began to unpack and carry in the bags, while Lucifer went to greet his parents. As I made trips to and from the carriage, I saw him return, retiring to the garden that he knew so well. Anger burned in me. How could he act so normal?
As I walked into the kitchen with the last of the bags, a glint caught my eye. The rays of the setting sun were reflected off of a sharp knife used by the head cook to butcher animals. I paused. How sharp the knife was; how vulnerable flesh would be to it... and I realized, with a sudden clarity, what I had to do.
I glanced around. The kitchen was empty. No one would notice. I reached for the blade, then hesitated. Could I really do this? My hand shook.
Then I remembered the cries of my baby as he had been torn away from me, and my resolve hardened. I grabbed the knife and hid it behind me, slowly advancing to the garden.
"Lucifer!" My voice was steady, clear with determination. "I've let this go on for long enough." I stepped forward, not caring that someone might overhear me. In fact, I hoped that someone would hear me.
"I know about your night-time escapes to the garden, the women you defile, the things you do. And what you did to me." My voice cracked a bit, but I swallowed, ploughing on. "I was naive to think you'd stop at that. I see how innocent I've been. That woman at the market - she taught me to defend my love with all my heart, to never give up! You'll regret the day you ever parted a child from its mother."
I stood there, my breathing coming in heavy lungfuls. It felt good to let it all out at last. Adrenaline pumped through my veins. I had never felt more alive.
I heard Lucifer laugh, perhaps not believing that I would follow through with my claim. His cocky expression changed, however, when I revealed the knife gripped in my right hand. There was fear in his eyes now. I felt satisfaction course through me. I had caused that fear.
“Money. I’ll give you as much as you need. You’ll never have to work again!” His tone was tinged with desperation. My lips curved into a smile, but it never reached my eyes.
I worked up a gob of spit and threw it in his face. He looked shocked. Little did he know that all the money in the world could not save him now. The life of my child was worth more than anything he could offer. I raised the knife, ready to plunge it into his bare throat.
A dark light flickered in his eyes as he realized I could not be bought, that this was the end. His eyes grew blacker under the setting sun, and suddenly I saw a glint of murderous desire enter those fizzing green eyes. My hand flashed down, striking hard and true as I saw the blood begin to spurt, coating my hand with a warm, dark glow as the sun shone off the deep red liquid. For a moment, my mother's face flashed in front of my eyes. Then, there was just Lucifer, staring up at me with wide eyes.
My hands trembled as I withdrew the knife from Lucifer’s bloody neck. I stared at the gaping wound in his skin, so grotesque and so vivid against the deathly white of the rest of his body. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw his fingers move. His glare intensified for just a moment as he lifted his hands to the knife, tearing it from my grasp. I looked on in horror as he raised it above his head.
I turned to run, but a cold hand grasped my neck. I turned, ready to fight for my life. I reached for his throat, wrapping my hands around it, when I felt my skin being separated by a cold, hard metal.
A searing pain flashed through my body. I looked down to see the handle of a knife growing from my throat. Lucifer was falling, falling onto a mulberry bush. As I stood there, wavering, I felt the blood flow in rivulets from my throat. I knew that I was dying, and that nothing could save me now.
I heard footsteps in the underbrush. It was the stable boy, his face ashen with horror. I smiled weakly at him.
"Anne!" He fell to his knees next to me.
"You're here..." My voice was but a croak.
"I'm going to go get help! Try to stay conscious!" He turned to leaved, but I gripped his hand.
"No... Don't go..."
He hesitated.
"Please... tell my mother..." I could barely get out the words. "Tell her..."
He leaned in, and I noticed that his face was streaked with tears. "Anne..." he murmured.
"Tell her... That I tried my best... I tried my best to save them all..."
I felt a sense of peace settle over me. The morning star had finally fallen, here in the very spot where he had committed his horrific deeds, to be consumed by the shadows of darkness, and as my eyes closed for the very last time, I felt my soul, finally at rest.

- End -

It took a lot of debating, convincing and tweaks to write this ending. We put a lot of effort into it, but it was extremely satisfying to see it all come together in the end. ~

Thank you for having been such a great audience. Any feedback is greatly appreciated ~

And remember, our blogs are on-going, so we will be continuing to post in the future. Visit The Devil's Advocate to bask in more of Ankur's talent. ~

The Ripple Effect - A Journey of Sin, Part Fourteen

Apologies for the late post. Please enjoy! ~
The odd-numbered parts, all the way up to Part Thirteen, can be found at The Devil's Advocate. ~

Part Fourteen

I awoke in a bed. Glancing around, I spotted white gloves, like the kind that doctors wore, laying in the corner of the room. The pain in my body had been replaced by a heavy pulsing in my head.
Amidst my confusion, I heard the sound of a high pitched cry emanating from a chair across the room. As I turned my throbbing head to the chair, I saw the Lucifer holding a bundle swathed in blankets, and I struggled to rise.
"It's a boy," the cold, clear voice rang out as I sat up on my bed. I held out my hands for the child, anticipation at seeing his face giving me strength, but he did not carry my boy to my side. Instead, he stood up and walk out of my room. With a Herculean effort, I scrambled after Lucifer, wanting to hold my baby to my breast, but he continued on, nary a pause in his long, purposeful strides.
"Please... please, just let me hold my child!" I begged, crawling after him. He paused and stood there, his back to me.
I finally reached him and leaned up to grasp his jacket. "Please..."
He turned around. In his arms, I saw a tiny bundle which was the most beautiful thing I had ever laid eyes on. An angelic face peeked out back at me. My eyes alight with wonder, I held out a hand, wanting to touch my baby's cheek. He smiled at me, his tiny hands clutched into fists.
Suddenly, a sharp boot kicked me in the side. Gasping, I fell to the floor, my head hitting the wall and blood spurting from my newly cut lip. I cried out in pain, and my baby began howling. I felt a maternal instinct to comfort him, to hold him close and to soothe him, but I saw that Lucifer had turned around again and was continuing his stride towards the front door.
"Lucifer!"
The word escaped from my mouth. He stopped again and turned around, training his cold gaze on me. At that moment, I knew in my heart that this monster was taking my infant away from me. Fear gripped my soul, not for myself, but for that tiny figure still crying in Lucifer's arms. Then, without another look back at me, Lucifer left, locking the door behind him.
I ran to it, pounding with all my force at the door, screaming for him to come back, to stop. But all I heard was the sound of rain hitting the roof, and his boots as they crunched on the gravel, carrying away what I loved most.

There was a dull ache where my heart had once been. I felt lifeless. If Lucifer's actions before had seemed terrible, they were absolutely devilish now. He told me later, emotionless, that he had sold our child. I had long since cried myself out, though it hadn't helped to reduce my pain in the slightest.
The time had come for us to return to the Rothschilds' manor. The carriage ride back was utterly silent, with Lucifer sleeping while I looked outside the window, finding no more joy in the beauty of the nature that surrounded me.
We entered the town in late afternoon. The streets were crowded with people: men in top hats busily heading to important places, children running around, and women bustling about to purchase goods.
A commotion drew my attention. I saw a woman wearing dirty rags, her face streaked with tears, holding a bundle in her arms. I knew that a baby was in there, and my heart gripped at the recollection of a similar bundle which had belonged to myself.
Two guards with spears were confronting the woman, shouting at her and gesturing menacingly with their arms. The woman refused to let go of her baby, shielding it instead with her body. The guards advanced, and I reached out a hand, instinctively wanting to help the poor woman. She stood her ground, her eyes blazing with anger and defiance. The guards took no heed, however, for one of them wrenched the child from her. She screamed, and even through the carriage, I heard the agony I knew so well in that sound. She lunged forward, hitting the guard with her fists. Then, as if in slow motion, I saw the other guard raise his spear, and before I could even call out a warning, he plunged it into her defenseless breast.
Blood gushed everywhere. People screamed. I didn't realize it, but I was screaming as well. I wanted to jump out the carriage and help her, but suddenly I felt cold hands gripping my waist. Lucifer's lips were moving, but I couldn't here anything he was saying. That terrible scene was still vivid in my mind.

Don't forget to check out Part Fifteen tomorrow at The Devil's Advocate. We are beginning the end. ~

The Ripple Effect - A Journey of Sin, Part Twelve

And here's part twelve, up for your scrutiny. Parts One, Three, Five, Seven, Nine and Eleven can be found at The Devil's Advocate. ~

Part Twelve

I awoke in my room with a damp towel over my head. Lucifer was sitting next me, dozing. He stirred as I attempted to get up.
"Don't move."
I immediately froze at the command. He rose and made his way to my bedside, leaning in close to me and gripping my shoulders as I tried to shy away.
"We have a problem." His voice rang out, clear and cold in the small chamber. "You are carrying my heir, and this simply will not do."
Fear gripped my throat as I suddenly remembered my mother, a lifetime ago, telling me about her experience when I was inside the womb, and my heart stopped. I realized with despair that the signs were all exactly the same, and that all my efforts to hide my shame had been in vain, for the world would soon know of my humiliation, and there was no way for me to stop it from happening.
“This problem must be solved immediately," he continued. "It cannot affect my prospects for the future, and as such, we are departing at once for my cottage in the countryside.”
I was stunned. “But... but Young Master Lucifer, your family... I am expected to serve them! How can I perform my daily duties from the countryside?”
“Your duties will be, firstly and foremostly, to me. Nobody - absolutely nobody! - can know of this transgression. I have been groomed for leadership since my birth. How am I to become head of the Rothschilds if news of you becomes common knowledge? No, no, that simply won’t do," he said, pacing the room like a caged lion. "I have dealt with my family already, and they believe that you will be my maid for the next six months while I retire for the summer to my new cottage estate in the countryside, miles away from this gossip-filled town.”
I knew I had no choice but to accompany Lucifer, if only to keep myself hidden from the world as well.
That very night, Lucifer ushered me into his carriage while Lady Rothschild waved goodbye to her son, thinking him still to be the same innocent morning star she saw in her dreams. If only she knew the truth... The truth about his monstrous nature which he hid so well from them all...
As the door of the carriage closed, I looked back one last time at the manor. This place had witnessed so much of my pain, my joy and my despair, that I didn't know whether to feel sad or relieved to be leaving it. Then, I caught sight of the stable boy, staring at me with an unreadable look in his eyes as his figure became smaller and smaller. My heart caught, and I wanted to run out of the rolling carriage to fall into his arms. Instead, I turned around, resigning myself to the journey into the unknown with the monster who had caused my misfortune.

Part Thirteen will be up tomorrow at The Devil's Advocate. ~

The Ripple Effect - A Journey of Sin, Part Ten

Parts One, Three, Five, Seven and Nine can be found at The Devil's Advocate. ~

Part Ten

I fell back, curtsying deeply as I attempted to hide my surprise.
"Young Master Lucifer, how may I serve you?" He grasped my wrist, his green eyes staring directly into mine. He leaned in, and I now realized that the mulberry smell emanated from his mouth – he must have been drinking mulberry wine, and a lot of it. My suspicions were further confirmed when he wobbled unsteadily on his feet.
“You… can serve me just fine… right here… right now…” he murmured, leaning in to nuzzle the cleft formed by my collarbone and my neck. My eyes widened.
“Please stop!” I cried, pushing him back. He looked up into my eyes, and I was instantly transfixed. I let out a small “Oh!” as his fingers entwined in my hair and he undid the bun it was held in. My chocolate brown hair fell around my shoulders, yet I couldn’t move, still locked in his green gaze.
He started to drag me outside and I suddenly felt myself free from the hypnotizing power of his gaze as he turned. I tried to struggle, to fight, to break free of his grasp, but those hands seemed to be infused with the power of the devil himself.
I began to scream, hoping that my voice would reach the stables, that my companion would come and save me from this atrocity, when I felt a cloth being pushed into my mouth, preventing any sound from escaping my throat. I gagged, tears springing to my eyes.
I was powerless as he pulled me along to the mulberry bush, to the very spot where he had defiled so many others before. The sickening smell surrounded me, infiltrating my lungs and poisoning me.
I begged him with my eyes to stop what he was doing. In response, he caught both of my wrists with one hand, holding them together so tightly they turned blue. With the other, he stroked my hair, gently, like a predator lulling its prey into a false sense of security. I let out a sob. His fingers stopped and pulled out the wildflower I had slipped into my hair earlier. Smirking, he threw it to the ground, grinding under the toe of his boot. The crushed flower lay there, its beauty deformed by Lucifer.
Catching me off guard, he grabbed my shoulder and gave a push. The breath was knocked out of me as I hit the ground. Dazed, I was too dizzy to scream when he removed the cloth from my mouth and threw it aside. Then, his hand cupping my chin just like the stable boy had done earlier, he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine.
Except this time, instead of a gentle kiss, I felt the full force of his drunken lust as he mashed his face into mine. Chocking on my tears, I tried to throw him off, but the full weight of his body crushed any hope out of me.
As he kissed me, his fingers groped at my clothing, looking for an opening. Suddenly, I heard a sickening rip as I felt my dress fall apart. My whole body quivered at the breeze that danced over it, sending goose bumps prickling down the length of my torso. Lucifer gripped me even tighter, his eyes alight with a lustful madness that terrified me.
“Please… please…” My voice caught. I tried to claw at him, but once he pushed my hands into the ground, I knew there was no delaying the inevitable any longer.
His onslaught ripped me apart. My body, my soul, my innocence – all those white sheets of paper were being torn apart.
The pain was unbearable. I cried out, repeatedly begging him to stop, but he was immune to my pleas, his lust-maddened body fulfilling his desires as he released all his rage and anguish into my defenseless body.
I closed my eyes, silently begging one last time for help, but I knew that none would come. My cheeks wet with tears, I lay there, broken.

Don't forget to check out Part Eleven tomorrow, Tuesday, May 31, at The Devil's Advocate! ~

The Ripple Effect - A Journey of Sin, Part Eight

Greetings! For those who have diligently kept up with the story, please skip these formalities. ~
If you haven't had the time to keep up, you can check out Parts One, Three, Five and Seven (wow, quite a bit!) at The Devil's Advocate. ~
Enjoy! ~

Part Eight

After that incident, Lucifer changed. The morning star shone as brightly as ever, yet I now knew the darkness that it concealed inside.
Time passed, and he never tried to hurt or pursue me again. However, I did notice an ever-increasing number of unfamiliar ladies visiting the manor. Ladies who seemed to change almost daily and who never stayed the same for longer than a week. I also noticed that they only visited without the knowledge of the masters of the manor, and from this I understood that these women were not ladies Mrs. Rothschild would particularly approve of. My suspicions were further confirmed when I realized that they never entered the cottage itself; instead, Lucifer would take them into the garden behind the kitchen and lead them past the bushes, beyond my line of sight. The girls were always willing to do whatever he asked them to.
One night, about two years into my service at the Rothschild manor, I was awoken by Lucifer bringing yet another girl home without the knowledge of Lady Rothschild.
Today, however, was different. It was past midnight. Lucifer had never brought a girl to the cottage so late before. Worried and rather scared, I decided that I would find out what Lucifer was doing to these women behind the large mulberry bushes that covered the estate.
I made my way into the cellar below the Main Hall and looked out through the small window high up on the cellar wall. It was barred, and I adjusted my position so that I could peek through two of the cold, iron bars. Outside, I could make out the shape of Lucifer and his female companion.
Although it was a crisp clear night, the darkness enveloped them like a shroud, making it difficult to see exactly what was going on in the shadow of the mulberry bush. The little I could see by the light of the stars, however, led me to realize immediately that something was amiss. I could see Lucifer's pale body rebelling against the darkness, casting its own glow, as if reflecting the light of the stars.
This glow both fascinated and terrified me, until I saw the beautiful shawl the lady had been wearing carelessly thrown aside, along with Lucifer's own coat, shirt and trousers. I gasped. I was aware of the amorous activities in which the town boys engaged in, yet I had never quite imagined that Lucifer, son of a noble family, would do the same, and behind his parents’ back, no less.
Through the window, I could hear moans coming from the girl, which were repressed as Lucifer put his hand over her mouth to silence her. As the sounds escaping from her mouth quieted, Lucifer pulled her to the grass, directly below his body.
I turned away in disgust and crept back to my quarters, trying to purge my mind of the horrifying acts I had witnessed.

Never again did I spy on Lucifer, his actions had invigorated in me, instilling in me a strong repulsion for the boy who took advantage of what appeared to be every single lady in the town. This repulsion led to my isolation, as I began speaking less and less, choosing instead to devote my time to my duties – that is, until I met the new stable boy.
More than a year had passed since the night I witnessed Lucifer’s horrifying acts in the garden. Lady Rothschild seemed to have noticed my moping, because she introduced me to the stable boy, thinking to give me some company, a companion closer to my own age. As I looked into his kind brown eyes for the first time, I immediately felt at ease. The weeks passed, and our shared commonalities brought us ever closer as I learned that he too had been sold to a slave trader, whereupon he had also been “rescued” by Lady Rothschild. As he told his story, I felt hot tears welling up in my eyes as memories of my own family flashed through my mind, still as fresh as they had been the day I left.
As we talked I learned about his dreams of one day acquiring enough money to escape the chains of slavery and finding his family once again, his optimism planting in me a seed of hope for my own future.
One night, as we lay by the fence bordering the acres of meadow lands that belonged to the Rothschilds and watching the fiery streaks of the setting sun as it slowly dipped down below the horizon, I noticed Lucifer lurking by a mulberry bush, his sparkling green eyes trained on my prone figure lying in the grass.
As I conversed with my friend, I stole occasional glances to where Lucifer lay hidden. My heart throbbed with fear whenever I caught a glimpse of those eyes, burning like green fire and staring at me from beyond the leaves of the mulberry bush. Finally, as the sun's light sank below the horizon, leaving the sky tinged with a deep purple hue, I glanced over yet again, my heart lightening with relief as I realized that he had disappeared. The sentiment did not last, however, as I realized, deep in my heart, that I could never escape from Lucifer's grasp.

For Part Nine, please visit The Devil's Advocate tomorrow, Sunday, May 29! ~

The Ripple Effect - A Journey of Sin, Part Six

Parts One, Three and Five can be read at The Devil's Advocate.
Voilà! Part Six for your reading pleasure. ~

Part Six

After he left, I quickly forced down what was left of my soup as the cook handed me an apron and began to show me my duties in the kitchen. I was to serve food to the family every meal time, as well as supply them with light snacks and beverages as needed in between. I was also required to clean up the kitchen at the end of every meal and ensure that the cooking fires had been dampened every night before going to sleep.
Slowly, I adjusted to my new life. Physically, it was much easier than my previous one – I had fewer duties and I was always well fed – yet I was always emotionally exhausted at the end of every day. I couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that seemed to engulf my soul, despite my material comforts. My nightmares haunted me incessantly, as night after night, I saw my hands covered again in the blood from my mother's head. Yet although I so longed to see my family again, I never tried to escape, for I knew that outside the walls of this luxurious abode, I was just another poor girl, replaceable with just one trip to the slave market.
One night, about six weeks into my stay at the Rothschild household, my nightmare returned. It was so vivid that I could almost feel my mother's warm blood seeping through my fingertips, and just as I saw the monster turn towards me with his fat lips curled in a smug grin, I awoke in a cold sweat. As I lay back down in the sheets that were now soaked, I looked out the small porthole in the room which had been assigned to me and saw the moon, gleaming in all its pockmarked glory. The white glow of its fullness set to a starry night called to me, and before I was fully awake, my legs had carried me off the bed and towards the small side door beside the kitchen that led out into the garden. This was where I always came on nights I couldn’t sleep or had been awoken by nightmares, which was almost every night. I walked out into the cool night, savouring the taste of the chilly night air. Sitting down on the cold stone bench, I lifted my face up to the equally cold moonlight and let my thoughts drift.
Suddenly, I heard voices behind me. Turning around, I spotted four figures several yards away from me. They hadn’t noticed my presence, and I crept up closer to them under the dense foliage to hear what they were saying.
“… filthy rich... Oughta try livin’ without yer father’s money for a change…”
I lifted the top of my head out of the underbrush and saw the speaker. He was a large, imposing boy of about sixteen who was glaring down menacingly at a younger boy. I peered at the latter’s cowering form and gasped when I realized only one boy had skin that could glow like that. Indeed, the moonlight had made Lucifer's pale skin shine with a glow that was even more unnatural than usual. Suddenly the clouds shifted, and the full force of the moon’s light shone down on his figure. At that moment, he looked nothing more than his namesake, the morning star. The glow intensified to an almost painful brightness, yet he appeared more vulnerable than ever, lonely as that first star which shines so brightly every morning.
I couldn't understand why Lucifer would cower from anybody. After all, he always seemed so confident, so proud whenever he was inside the house. Then I noticed the gleaming red on his shoulders and back – the same deep, rich red that had covered my hands as I held my mother, the very red that had plagued my dreams ever since that horrifying night. The boys advanced on Lucifer, holding their sticks, and called out to him: "Not so tough without yer rich daddy around, are ye, ye little pale freak?" And as Lucifer lay whimpering on the cold, hard street, they beat him, beat him mercilessly, continuing to draw blood until his gleaming white skin ran red with the dark liquid, the moon shining off of his still figure and casting a red shadow on the ground. I ran inside, terrified of what I had seen. My night time escapade, transformed into a scene of horror and brutality, forever seared the cruel reality of the world into my innocent mind.

Part Seven will be up tomorrow, Friday (thank goodness!) May 27, at The Devil's Advocate. ~

By the way, for a hint at the reason for each of our picture choices, see the labels for each post.

The Ripple Effect - A Journey of Sin, Part Four

Parts One and Three can be read at The Devil's Advocate.
As promised, here is Part Four! ~

Part Four

I stood in front of her beautiful carriage, refusing to enter. She turned to me, waiting, but there was no way I was stepping into her gilded prison.
She frowned. "Well, come along now," she said, gesturing impatiently to the carriage. I didn't move.
Her face softened. "I understand this must be hard for you. But please, I'm here to help."
I couldn’t believe her. Her kind eyes and honeyed words could be laced with poison, just waiting for me to fall into her trap. But then again, I was hungry, so very hungry… I couldn’t recall the last time I had eaten; my stomach was completely empty. She heard the grumbling and turned to her coachman, who held out an entire loaf of the nicest-looking bread I had ever seen.
I lunged forward and ripped the bread from her hands, stuffing it into my ravenous mouth. The moment I swallowed that delicious, soft, and wonderfully sugary bread, I knew that I had just sold my soul for a mere loaf of bread.
When the food was gone, I hung my head shamefully, unable to meet her eye. She ushered me into the carriage, and I knew that if I had any hope of surviving in this cruel world, I would have to submit to the whims of this hypocrite, if only to obtain some more of that delicious, life-giving bread to fill my empty stomach.
Once inside the carriage, she began chattering away, asking me dozens upon dozens of questions. “Well now, poppet, what would your name be? And what misfortune has brought such a shy little girl to this place of horrors? Oh, and isn’t that Mr. Williams just horrid?" I remained silent throughout, eyes downcast. Eventually, I felt myself sink into a deep sleep.

I awoke just as dusk was falling. The carriage had stopped, and for a minute, I wondered where I was. Peeking out the window into the night sky, I gasped at the sight of a huge country cottage before me. I had never seen such extensive gardens anywhere before.
At my awe-struck face, the woman just laughed. “Welcome to our humble abode,” she said ironically.
My eyes widened. How could anyone own so much land while there were families like my own struggling to pay the taxes that were collected each year?
I stepped slowly out of the carriage. The woman followed, aided down by the coachman. She bustled forward, and I followed meekly. My stomach was still somewhat empty, and as we approached the cottage, the delicious smells of mushroom soup wafted to my nose.
Once we entered into the cottage, she called forth a footman and told him, "Take the poor girl to the kitchen and give her some food. Still in shock, I believe, the dear soul. Hasn't said a word to me yet."
As I followed the footman towards the source of that sensational aroma, I scarcely noticed the paintings on the walls or the intricate designs on the marble floors. However, as we passed through the great room on our way to the kitchen, some exquisite portraits of the entire family, surrounded by the leafy patterns on their gilded frames, caught my eye. I paused for a moment to take in the features of my new masters.
The first was a man with a perfectly trimmed moustache, looking sternly down at me. He had a large brow and bushy eyebrows, and beneath those, piercing blue eyes. Underneath the portrait, inscribed in flowery, golden ink, was his name: Count Richard Emilio Peter Rothschild.
Beside him, I saw the lady who had brought me here, with the familiar garland of gleaming pearls around her neck. The deceptively-kind brown eyes gazed down warmly at all who passed through this giant room. Her name, written in that same flowery script, was Countess Maria Helena Rothschild.
Next to her portrait, there was a picture of a young boy not much older than myself. His green eyes and high cheekbones were quite different than the characteristics of what I presumed were his parents. But most shocking of all was the contrast between his pale skin and his jet black hair. It seemed almost unnatural, the likes of which I had never seen. I glanced down at his name. Lucifer Emilio Phillip Rothschild. I cocked my head to one side. What a peculiar name, Lucifer.
As I hurried after the footman, who had stopped to wait for me and was growing impatient, I glanced one last time at the portraits. What would my new life be like?

Hope you enjoyed that. Part Five will be up tomorrow, Wednesday, May 25, at The Devil's Advocate. ~

The Ripple Effect - A Journey of Sin, Part Two

It's finally here! The long-awaited co-post! But wait - it's even better! It's not one, not two, but a whole compilation of co-posts! (In case you can't tell, I'm quite excited by all this.) ~
My talented and sarcastic friend Ankur and I have put together a story relating to the nefarious effects of sin. Inspired by Dante's Inferno, this story will be broken up into parts and scattered amongst our respective blogs. Though this prevents us from keeping the story in a tidy, neat package on one blog, we decided it was the best way to not only keep you anticipating more, but to also present to you both of our blogs. Ankur is an incredible writer, so be sure to check out some of his other posts as well! ~
Part One can be read at The Devil's Advocate, Ankur's blog. ~

Part Two

The blood froze in my veins and my heart sank. I crawled back into the corner of the dark space, hugged my ragged teddy bear close to my heart and felt the hot, wet tears stream down my face. I sniffed loudly, then immediately covered my mouth and held my breath, but it was enough. He knew where I was. Thundering footfalls came ever closer to my secret hiding place. The small door crashed open, and in came that awful man. I saw him in all his despicable glory for the very first time, illuminated by the faint light behind him. He wore that exact suit which my brothers had always gawked at in the window of the local tailor shop, and his large pipe blew a noxious cloud of foul smoke around his fat lips. A felt hat covered his thick brow.
As he dragged me out by my hair my mother fell at his feet, clutching his pant leg and sobbing for my life. The monster kicked her away, and I heard a dull thud when she hit a wall. I broke free of his grasp and ran towards the crumpled form of my mother lying on the ground. I lifted her bloody head onto my lap as the blood covered my hands and she lay silent, unmoving on the cold hard floor. I stared hard into the coal black eyes of Mr. Williams, stared down the monster that had hurt the light of my life, when suddenly a dark cloth covered my mouth. I tried to scream as I felt my consciousness slipping away, but my eyelids closed into darkness.

I awoke to the soft clip-clopping of horses on the road and the sound of wheels rattling over stone. The seat of the carriage I was in felt soft, its velvety smoothness deceptively shrouding me in pleasure. As my mind cleared from the heavy fog of sleep, my eyes snapped open, and I saw that despicable face sitting across from me, twirling one of the golden rings on his fat fingers, wearing a smug grin as he stared into my eyes. As I looked away in distaste, I had to hold back the urge to cry, fighting hard so that I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
“You know he sold you to pay off his debt,” he said, his grating voice violating my ears as his bitter words stung my soul. I glared at him.
“My father would never sell his only daughter to a monster like you,” I quietly replied, seething with rage.
His laughter boomed throughout the carriage, unsettling everything, even the horses, as he said “You’d be surprised at the depths people will go to for money.”
“Monsters like you, maybe,” I quietly muttered, refusing to engage in any more conversation with my kidnapper.
Suddenly, the carriage jerked to a stop, and a footman opened the door. Peeking outside, a terrible sight met my eyes.
People, hundreds of them, stood on pedestals as a sea of wealthy landowners with cruel expressions on their faces argued over the price of each person. The scene made me sick to my stomach.
“What is this place?" I asked.
He just laughed and told me that this place was my future, where he took all the girls who had been sold to him. And at that moment, the tears I had been holding back so strongly leaked out as I began to cry, for I finally saw what I had become: a slave girl, never to see my family again.

Part Three shall be up Monday the 23rd, at The Devil's Advocate. We shall be posting daily, so please be patient! ~

Picture Perfect Post: Flower Can

"You cannot grow here."
"Why ever not?"
"Haven't you heard? Evil is sterile. You, as a blossom, represent growth and therefore are a direct embodiment of evil's opposite."
"Well then. How do you explain my presence here?"
"How should I know? I'm just a guardian here. Neither evil, nor good. Why should I care?"
"How can you not care? You live here! This is your home. Doesn't it matter to you at all that you're surrounded every day by a gloomy, dusty darkness in which no life can be found?"
"Not at all. In fact, I was just fine until you came along."
"It is not my fault I flourished in ground foreign to all others."
"Yeah, well, could you kindly move somewhere else? You're attracting the sun here."
"I am? Oh, I see it! How delightful! Its light casts a gentle warmth on me. I can feel my colour returning."
"Oh, this is terrible!"
"Why are you so resistant to this welcome change?"
"It's because I'm used to the dark."
"Just because you were born in a bleak place, you'll accept staying in it forever?"
"What else can I do?"
"Water me. Help me grow. Once I do, I'll spread seeds in this land. You'll see; you can be initiator of it all."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I don't need a lot. A bit of sun, a bit of water, and I'll spread my colours to the world. A little love, that's all I need."
"I guess I can try..."
"That's all I ask."

I hope you're enjoying my new series of posts. AC has sent me a whole whack of pictures, and that means I won't be short on inspiration for quite awhile. Many thanks for watering me! ~

Narcissism

A video a classmate and I put together for English class. The inspiration came from Ovid's Metamorphoses, Book III. Hitler here represents Narcissus from the Greek myth. You might have to turn up the sound a bit once the theme music finishes playing. Enjoy and comment!

Picture Perfect Post: Shoes

"I want to be just as tall as you."
"One day, you will be. Then you'll regret ever wishing you would grow up."
"Why?"
"With each passing year, I see you growing taller, and with each inch, you lose some of your innocence and carefreeness. I want you to stay the way you are, or the way you were."
"But with each passing year, I see myself growing taller, and with each inch, I gain some wisdom and experience. I want to continue growing, and continue experiencing new aspects of life."
"Even the darker sides?"
"Of course. Would I really be living if I didn't?"
"Would a harsh life even be worth living?"
"Would living a blindly joyful life be worth living?"
"Then you'd rather suffer than smile?"
"Of course not. But it's in living through the suffering and overcoming it that I'll smile."
"Time only will tell, but I have faith that your flame will never flicker out."
"It'll stay alight to guide your way out of the dark."

Credit given where credit is due to AC for sending me this sweet picture.

Comfort Zone

I found this little post today that's been lying around in my Draft box since January just waiting to be matured, and so I have taken the precious time needed to add on my final touches. Please read and enjoy. ~

It's so strange. Why is it that when so much is the same, it's the differences that stand out? ~ Perhaps a concept similar to edge enhancement? The brighter the white, the darker the black? ~

Now, these ramblings might not yet make sense, but let me link it to a more relatable topic: the difference between cultures. ~ I'd describe it as a feeling. ~ For example, I feel Asian. When I talk to other Asians, I know approximately what answers and reactions to expect to the questions I ask them and news and tell them. And I'm usually right in my predictions, because the other Asians know what it's I'm expecting. ~ Why does this happen? ~ Well, it's essentially because a conversation is an agreement, an exchange of knowledge and opinions, that is held together by an unspoken contract to not exceed the boundaries of what one is expected to conform to. ~

Say I decide to try talking to a Caucasian person in the exact same way I'd talk to an Asian. ~ It just wouldn't be the same. ~ Not that any one of us is wrong. ~ It's just that we're playing by different rules. ~ Imagine playing Tic-Tac-Toe with a deck of cards. ~ The other person doesn't know what you're expecting; the whole vibe of the conversation would be off. ~ The social contract has changed shape and form, and therefore the conversation itself has to change. ~ And so over time, you develop a complex for speaking to people of other races that differs greatly from the tone that you would use when speaking to a person of the same race as yourself. ~

In the end, control is what it really comes down to. ~ We always want to know what others will say in response or at least their attitude on the topic. ~ When you're thrown out of your comfort zone, you feel like you're on the defensive. ~ As Dr. Sheldon Cooper (TBBT, ofc) so poignantly put it: "It's called the comfort zone for a reason." ~ Because interacting with people from other races is initially challenging, many choose never to conform, sticking to their own comfort group. ~ This is how cliques form. ~

I'm definitely not saying there aren't people who are as comfortable with Asian people as they are with Caucasian or Black people. ~ But it's an acquired skill developed over time and with practice. Subtly but surely, each time you interact with someone, you tweak your speaking style with them a bit. ~ And that's how it's done: little by little. Step by step. ~

NB: This post is not meant to racist in any way or form. It simply expresses my honest opinion, one that is completely harmless. ~ In no way do I believe that any race is superior. Simply, each marches to the beat of its own unique drum. ~

Opinions

This post is intriguing in that it is entirely comprised of a conversation. The dialogue occurred between me and a new friend of mine, BS (yes, interesting initials, I agree), quite late at night, as the best discussions usually happen during evenings.
Be warned that there will be extended metaphorical allusions to food, as well as interesting insights of two very different yet also very similar individuals. Though the conversation originally started out in an almost interview-like style, it slowly progressed into a more casual dialogue. The black writing is mine, whereas the green denotes BS's.

[...]
I don’t usually have goals.
Why do you not set goals for yourself?
It gives me more freedom, and I feel like I have less obligations. [It] reduces my stress.
Don’t you feel less of a sense of accomplishment? When I realize I’ve accomplished a task or a goal, it's one of the best feelings in the world.
Well, not having goals doesn't always mean that nothing is accomplished. Goals don’t do that for you — they just make you feel guilty that you haven’t gotten them done.
But you might not realize that you've accomplished as much as you really have if you didn't set a goal for yourself in the first place. And subconsciously, I think goals are always on my mind, urging me on in a good way. Without them, I feel like I’m a bit loss, even though I do feel less constrained.
Well, I think that goals make you too focused on the future. [Personally,] I think enjoying what you’re doing right now is a better way to experience life, because once you reach a goal, you're either at a loss for a direction to go further, or you’re dissatisfied again and [feel a need to] seek a Utopian future [once again]. It's just never ending, and it's difficult to ever find satisfaction in life.
True. Once we have something, it’s no longer valuable to us. We're always looking forward to things. Furthermore, to add to your comment: it’s because once we find satisfaction, we're no longer satisfied. And that's why we have goals: to have something to look forward to.
[...] But I feel like [that's] a false sense of hope, because most of the time we'll be disappointed when we reach our goals. It's almost like deceiving yourself, although I have to admit it does allow you to endure more pain at the present time, since you're alluring yourself with a future award. But deep inside, you know that it's not going to be as great as you make yourself believe it too be, and the reward is only something that makes you keep going, but almost to nowhere. [In my mind,] it gives me a picture of a dog following his master who is holding a piece of bone tied to a string and driving away. The master first waits for the dog, and when he's about to catch up, the master drives away, then waits again. [When] the dog approaches the bone [once more], it [again] escapes him. Goals create a false sense of destination and completeness, which never really exist in life.
So what's your approach if goals don’t satisfy us?
[I] think living in the moment and being flexible to your current situation is much better. Just try to make the most of every moment you live, because you don’t know what [will] happen next. Instead of waiting for a future date to live your life, do it now.
How? I understand what you’re saying, yet I’m wondering how you do it.
Don’t deprive yourself because you say you're saving everything for later.
That's actually something very characteristic of me. For example, when I have lots of different types of food to choose from on my plate, I always eat the stuff I dislike the most first and save the treats for last.
For me, I always eat the thing I enjoy the most first, because if I eat the least favourite things first, the things I enjoy might get cold, or feel unappetizing by the time I get to [them]. In addition, even better [tidbits] may arrive during the meal, so if i start on the things I enjoy, I get the good, then the better, instead of the bad, then the better, leaving the good behind. Do you know what I mean?
I do. For me, I realize I don’t actually enjoy the treats I leave for myself. Strangely, it's more of a sensation of enjoying deprivation, which is very, very bizarre. Rather, it's a sense of accomplishment. Maybe I’m thinking too deep into this, but it basically boils down to the journey is better than the goal!
I can sort of relate to what you just mentioned. Although I prefer to go through the more enjoyable experiences first without enduring some pain, the pleasure isn't as pleasurable as it would be. There’s a need [for] contrast. The pain acts as something that amplifies the pleasure when it arrives.
Exactly. But in your case, if you experience joy first, doesn’t the pain feel worse? Whereas, if you go through pain first, joy seems brighter?
That's true, but my perspective is that what's pleasurable now might not be pleasurable in the future. [Therefore] you should enjoy it now, before it escapes you. And if pain isn’t mandatory, [then] there’s no need to choose it.
However if you never choose pain, it'll creep up on you when you least expect it and be worse then.
Well, the future is unforeseeable in my opinion, which is why I prefer to get the best of the moment. If pain comes, it comes. But if it's possible to choose pleasure right now, why not choose it?
I suppose. Your view of life is oh-so-tempting, but I don’t think I can give mine up. It's internal. Deep down, I’m still a pessimist at heart. I accept that there are hardships, so I’ll deal with them first, and then maybe occasionally remember the good.
But the hardships might never end. Just when you finish the food you don’t like and begin on what you do [like], more undesirable food may arrive and the good food may have gone bad as well. Why not grab the opportunity when you have the chance?
Then are you the type of person who makes on-the-spot decisions?
Yes, but I do think about the future consequences. [If I had to choose] between receiving something good now or [in] the future, I [would] choose now. But if that choice entails ruining my [entire] future [in an] irreconcilable [way], then I would choose [receiving the good in] the future.
You stay within reason, then. Still logical.
Yes, [an] utilitarian with the future in consideration. The smart utilitarian?
[...]

Small note: I decided to boycott the use of tildes (~) in this post, as I felt that this already very lengthy conversation should not be further clustered with my usual decorations.

A Little Fantasy in the Air

A little foreword:

Good day there. I've been meaning to write for quite awhile now, but many things have gotten in the way. Today I've finally had some time to come visit my cozy corner. As I browsed back to the little blurbs I'd written in December, during that period when writer's block plagued me, I found this little fantasy story I'd written on a whim, the 20th of December. ~ I'd meant to go all out and write a myth, but, sadly, the WB wasn't very permitting. ~ And so I came up with what is presented below. ~ I laughed as I read it over, yet strangely, I found that I like it. ~ A friend of mine, AB, has also read it and encouraged me to share this, and so I have. ~ My hope is that when reading it, you will, for that one brief moment, dream of fantastical creatures and feel a small thrill course through you. ~

Another quick note before you delve in:

I will soon (hopefully very soon) be writing a joined post with the Red Star. Please look forward to the intriguing post we will deliver! ~

Every year, on the day of the summer solstice, the mystical creatures of the Netherworld gather at the gate to Our World and peer in. Some of the more curious and daring sprites manage to slip through the cracks in the massive oak door, while the very bored Shape Shifters risk disintegration by becoming zephyrs to dance through the edges of the door. The larger creatures, both ferocious werewolves and lovely phoenixes alike, simply gaze through the Impenetrable Glass with longing eyes. The mighty ogres solemnly bow their heads in memory of the Days of Old, when they were free to roam the cliffs of Our World. The pure white unicorns and the wise centaurs toss their manes, feeling the need to run freely among human children as they used to. The dragons, dusty with age, gaze malevolently out at the rest, lusting for the gold just beyond their grasp. ~

They are feeling the Call. The longest day has a particular attraction, and this year in particular, unrest is stirring among the ranks. ~

Meanwhile, in Our World, everyone - the greedy businessmen, the young children, the mothers and fathers, the preppy teenagers, the hunters in the North, the famous singers, the smart techies - all are feeling uneasy. A Black Cloud is settling, and everyone is feeling a foreboding danger looming over Our World. ~ The Barrier is breaking. ~