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. ~