China Chronicles: Karma

This post is labelled as having been published on the 26th of July, despite today's actual date being the 19th of August. The reason being that the silly Chinese Internet seems to regard my blog as a profanity, choosing to block it from the general public's screen. ~ While dismayed that I couldn't post this on the proper date of its conception, I deliver to you "China Chronicles: Karma" with as much legitimacy as I can provide. ~

I haven’t really been a great proponent of the karma doctrine until recently. ~ The universe operates with a certain balance – that’s evident in the basic laws of physics, which seem to apply conservation laws to just about anything, from energy-matter to momentum. ~ Yet humans are beings with a will of their own, so shouldn’t that disrupt the natural harmonious flow of the universe? We’ve messed enough with our planet that it should be apparent we don’t always obey the natural laws to a T. ~

This last year has made me rethink karma, though. ~ A few simple things came along that suddenly shed a new light on the smallest details; yet, these are the ones that make all the difference. ~ It all started when my friend complained about too much high school drama, lamenting that everything seemed to happen to her. ~ I remarked with a quirky smile that she would regret saying that later in the year, when she would surely be bored of the lack of drama in her life. ~ Teasingly, she poked me and quipped that it was only because I had not suffered through any drama myself. ~

Those words doomed me, I am certain. ~ Right before spring break, just as I was least expecting any sort of upheaval of events in my life, karma deemed it necessary to dump a bucket of drama right on my brain. ~ I can see it crystal clear in my mind: I had just finished delivering my English IB Oral Commentary and was finally breathing a sigh of relief, looking forward to a week of being able to relax at last. ~ Then, that very evening, it all began. Like bullet shots, little doses of drama were administered here and there, until I felt myself cracking like a smashed window pane. ~ Talking to my friend again some time later, she reminded me of our previous conversation together, and I could only smile wryly and fight the urge to facepalm. ~

Karma has hit those around me, as well. ~ My dad recently bought a beautiful new Canon camera that became his pride and joy. He studied the instructions manual like it was the Bible, and he played with it with a quiet pleasure that was evident through the care and precision of his picture-taking. ~ Over and over again, he warned me to be careful when I used it, and to take care that I always had the protective wristband on so that I wouldn’t drop it. ~ Annoyed by his endless pestering, I shrugged off his advice, knowing that no harm would come to the camera in my hands. ~

Here is where the "China Chronicles" portion of this post really comes into play. ~ I visited Beijing for an entire week in July. ~ Before leaving, my dad entrusted me with his camera, holding it lovingly and advising me once again to not drop it. ~ I sighed in exasperation and promised that I would bring it back to him in one piece. ~

As predicted, the camera was still fine by the time I had traveled to Tianjin and my dad’s airplane had landed. ~ Tired of taking pictures (because in truth, I much prefer seeing things with my own eyes than through a camera lens), I gladly relinquished the prized possession to my dad. ~ This is where the karma really kicked in. ~ The day after my dad had arrived, it was burning hot outside. ~ In China, no one sane travels without a water bottle or some spare change to purchase some refreshing drink in the sweltering heat. ~ Thus it was that barely a day after the joyful camera-to-man reunion, my dad raised the camera while attempting to hold a water bottle, all in one hand. ~ I watched, ready to have my picture taken, as in seemingly slow motion, my dad’s hand slipped and the camera plummeted to the ground in one direction, while the water bottle fell in the other. ~ For an insane moment, I felt myself lunging for the water bottle first, not wishing to believe that any harm could have come to the camera – not now. ~ My dad had no such qualms. With a look of dread, he bent down to retrieve his love, heart evidently in his throat. ~ He tried opening it, but discovered with horror that the screen had cracked and the camera was speckled with little dents here and there. ~ His sadness and anger were palpable. ~ 

Despite my genuine regret and sympathy for my dad’s unfortunate turn of events, some little, mean corner deep inside of me could not help reveling in the justness of karma’s delivery. ~ Later on, when the wound no longer stung so bitterly, but had rather subsided to a dull ache, my dad admitted in a rueful tone that this seemed to be karma’s work. ~ For the rest of the trip, we made do with lower-quality cameras and cell phones, so that every blurry picture taken seemed to be some more salt sprinkled on my dad’s injury. ~ Oddly enough, knowing that karma played a role in our camera’s demise lightened the loss for me, in part because my dad seemed to feel bad enough for the both of us, but also because I reserved myself the right to whisper “I informed you thusly” to myself every once in awhile. ~

In the end, karma makes you realize that no one is infallible, and that everyone tries to hide away their weaker and darker side in order to impress. That in itself is a sign of innate vulnerability. ~ Karma evens out the suffering, but also the joy in the world, if only by that little bit. ~ No, I’m not naïve enough to believe there is equality anywhere. But karma can at least soothe our fierce burning welts with a little aloe and help make the pain of injustice a tiny bit more bearable, if only in our minds. ~

On Writing

I realize I've drafted many a post concerning this subject, but that just goes to show it's one of my favourite. ~ The source of inspiration this time was from a day spent concocting, spilling out and sealing off a long letter of reminiscence, celebration and farewell to my dear friend, CZ, who reaches adulthood much the same time as myself. As well, it's yearbook signing season, which naturally prompts one such as myself to reflect on why we have the tradition at all - namely, writing down things at the end of life stages and events. ~ For instance, when I attended Shad Valley (a lovely summer program), we had a monthbook. ~ People keep journals all the time, and our society nowadays has a puzzling need to document every single moment of its mundane life (Facebook statuses and Tweets, anyone?). ~ And naturally, what last day of high school would be complete without groups of students gathered around in circles in various areas of the school, congregating around a pile of books and pens? ~
So. Why do we write? ~ Some answers are obvious and come to mind right away. ~ To remember. That's why we take notes in class, draft grocery lists, and use day planners or Blackberries. ~ We rely less and less on our true memories. After all, the human mind is fallible, isn't it? Why bother when it's so much easier to have it remembered for us? ~
A more sentimental reason, as well. ~ We seek to leave behind a piece of ourselves - an imprint on a person, on society, on the world. ~ We all want to remember, but we also want to be remembered. ~ One thing that drives most of us to do something great with our lives is the fear of dying without having changed our little - or big, for some - corner of the world. ~ I recall a dream - nightmare, really - where I was truly certain I was going to die. The pain didn't scare me. What truly made me break out in sweat and wake up feeling sick was the fact that I realized my life still holds so much potential. ~ So much to do, so much undone as of yet. ~ Writing can help assuage some of that fear. It leaves behind something that's tangible. ~ Really, us humans are creatures of touch and sight, deep down. In a way, writing down our memories, dreams and goals is a way of being productive. There's an end result to our labours - evidence that we had these thoughts, formed them into words, and transformed them into an art form, into a different medium. ~ That's what I'm doing right now, isn't it? ~ It's partly why I blog in general. More to come on that once I finally roll around to updating the "About Me" page. ~
On emotional sentimentality... I've realized that we can write what we'd never say, or wouldn't ever be likely to say. ~ Talking is face-to-face: scary in today's society. But writing: that's different. There's a barrier, ofttimes a welcome one, that separates the giver from the receiver and allows words to come pouring forth that were previously stopped by the dam of self-consciousness. ~
Yet in another sense, writing takes bravery. ~ That precise immortalization we seek also locks our writing in, makes it last as our legacy. ~ That can be scary. ~ Though the written word can be destroyed, that's becoming harder and harder today with today's technology. ~ What we write, then, becomes what we'll be seen as in the future. We put more thought and effort into it than we do to our speech, because it's so easy to scrutinize, especially by the masses. ~
In the end, we are able to convey these last memories and thoughts in writing, despite any such fear, because finality pushes people to extremes. ~ Tying it back to yearbook signing, I'll say that I signed many a page focusing on the better moments, perhaps at the detriment of the full truth. ~ That's where the bravery comes in, I suppose. ~ Writing unembellished, frank words is so difficult when a light dusting of sugarcoating is almost effortless to apply. ~ We've have BS-ing skills pounded into us. ~ Maybe yearbook-signing time should be a chance to peel away the varnish and lay out the wood beneath, rotten as it may be. ~ It's all up to where you take your pen. ~
After this lengthy and somewhat rambling post, let me end off by saying that I've published this only because it's the last day - last hour, really - before I step truly and fully into adulthood, and that as with all good beginning and endings, I feel that familiar urge to write tugging once again at my fingertips. ~ For all the reasons I've mentioned and half dissected above, and to put a closure on affairs, I click the button. ~ Writing it down may not make it true, but seeing it on the screen or on paper is so much more real than when it's just in the mind. ~ Goodbye, childhood and teenage me. It was a good time we spent together. I know you'll be with me in this blog and in all else I've written since I first picked up that crayon to spell out my name. ~


Thanks to MT for the thoughts, comments and inspiration. ~ It's lovely to have such sharp-minded, well-spoken and smiling friends. ~

Why Physics Intimidates Me

A cute little post I found lying around in my saved posts, dating from early February. ~ The post being shown here in its mostly unedited state - just a stream of conscience that flowed from my itching fingertips - I must apologize for the poor quality of writing. ~
Admittedly, my views have changed somewhat after surviving my first-ever semester of "legit" (excuse the slang) physics, though not all too greatly, surprisingly. ~ I admit that the opinions expressed in this post are skewed somewhat by the fact that my previous physics knowledge can be condensed into one week in Science 10 pre-IB and two months in Chemistry 20 IB, under teachers who were most comfortable in the science of chemistry (obviously), yet even after having taken physics under what I consider to be an excellent teacher, for Physics 30, I can readily reassert the fact that physics should still be left to mathematical minds than my own. ~

All of the smartest people - those who are geniuses and are recognized to have off-the-chart IQs - are physicists. ~ Albert Einstein, Isaac Newton, Galileo Galilei, even the fictional Dr. Sheldon Cooper. ~ These are men society has long regarded as being the smartest of them all, so to speak. ~ The "best and brightest" of mankind. ~

Physics is also closely interrelated to mathematics - another area that intimidates me. ~ Not the basic 1+1, mind you - no; I'm talking about the abstract, "imaginative" mathematics. ~ Think of what men such as Leonhard Euler, Rene Descartes Carl Friedrich Gauss, and Gottfried Liebnitz have thought up, tested and proven - feats that I hadn't even considered, let alone would have been able to approach. ~ Also, reflect on the fact that many high school and university students have much trouble just learning these concepts - not even deducing or developing then, but merely understanding them. ~ This hints at the magnitude of these men's intelligence, creativity and imaginativeness. ~

This is evidently a biased opinion, but I believe that it takes much less intelligence to write proficiently than to develop algorithms or dream up new theories. ~ That's not saying that anyone can produce brilliant pieces of writing - that would be completely undermining the works of such men as William Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe, to mention just two - but I do believe that writing is a tool in everyone's box of skills that is at least present, if not sharpened. On the contrary, one does not always find the math drill or the physics saw so conveniently handy as the writing screwdriver often is. ~ In fact, these physicists and mathematicians all eventually need to draft and publish papers on their findings, and that implies having at least a solid enough knowledge of the literary arts to be able to clearly communicate their ideas. ~

(Here, I went off and had a discussion with GL, who is a whiz at physics and math, which prompted the little post-blurb found below. ~ Ah, the joys of argumentation and debating.)

Presumption: almost all of the topics worth dealing with have been addressed deeply and extensively by literature already. ~ The millions of books written on practically any and all subjects imaginable provide proof to this claim. ~ Of course, there exists future topics that will spring up depending on evolution of the earth and of the human species. Yet even these can be tied back to aspects that have already been examined. ~ Take the example of environmental concern - a subject that may seem novel to our era. ~ However, First Nations have always sensed a deep connection to nature that to them is inviolable. Does protecting the environment, with its shiny new gloss of modernism applied on, seem so new after all? ~ The point that I'm trying to get at with all of this is that writing can hardly be called novel or original anymore - at least not fully. ~ Yet mathematics and physics still continue to expand and grow into m-theory, dark matter and entropy. All this makes me feel as though literature is much more dusty and old in comparison. ~

And there you have it. Perhaps at a later date I shall write up a new and improved version of this post, or merely continue the self-debate. ~ Just a writer's whim, perhaps? ~

Bonus (or just an amusing factoid, for those who care): My physics teacher wrote up little blurbs on each of us students and showed them to us on the last day of classes. Imagine my amusement when he popped down to me:

Answer: Biology.

Question: What was [Resa's] favourite part of physics class?

Yes, just a little bias.~

Qualities

After this nearly three-month long hiatus, I've finally picked up blogging again! It feels delightful to pound out my stream of thoughts through my keyboard and onto the computer screen, listening to music and enjoying a post-exam de-stressing session. ~ But my post today is quite filled with tirades and an usually critical tone - perhaps these past few weeks of essay-writing have made me a bit too emphatic? Regardless, please read this with a fresh eye and an open spirit. ~

For some reason or another, I've had to ask people to write compliments about me quite frequently in the recent months, whether it was for reference letters, or for a simple activity. Through this unofficial surveying of ideas, I've begun to notice a trend - a saddening and bizarre trend, in fact. ~
Essentially, what other people think of as qualities, often have associated negative connotations in my mind. I've drafted up a quick list below to explain what I mean, each followed by a friendly suggested improvement. ~

Hardworking
This is a classic. A typically positive word, it can be associated to dedication, determination and detail. Yet while the latter three words paint the picture of a devoted individual, "hardworking" has always just screamed mulish, slow-witted and even a little bit daft to me. I suppose it's because I've always thought those who are smart enough, end up finding shortcuts. And yes, I know that there are no shortcuts to anywhere worth going in life. But if there's an easier option, why force yourself to follow a fruitless path of misery? No, indeed. Hardworking is just a bit too boring for me - after all, half of it is comprised of the word "working."
Instead, use disciplined. While this might seem like an even more boring word to some, in my mind, it evokes the great images of kung fu masters, who have enough self-control not to be distracted by pain or tiredness.

Smart
Ah, the ever-clever term. Should be a good thing, no? After all, we know that the pen is mightier than the sword. (Notice how I used a cliché there? That's a subtle jab at how cliché the use of the word "smart" as a compliment has become.) Who wouldn't want an employee with the brains to solve problems, or the intelligence needed to keep up with a higher-level discussion on politics?
Yet, this word is so very terribly generic, and perhaps worse, unspecific. What type of smart? Book-smart, street-smart, EQ-smart? Because all of these are very distinct things, and each with a very different connotation. Book-smart screams nerd, whereas street-smart or EQ-smart draws up a portrait of a bad-boy wearing shades and cruising down the street in his shiny red car, smiling a cocky smile and nodding with condescension at the book-smart boy with the glasses and the untucked shirt clutching his books and staring in undisguised awe at the passing image of glory. Far-fetched? Perhaps, but not as much as I'd like to think.
Instead, use bright or witty. The first has a touch of precocity within it, whereas the second hints at a subtle, perhaps sarcastic, humour. And we all do love that sarcasm.

Interesting
This one is perhaps the worst of the bunch. "Interesting." It's the default word - the word we fall back on when nothing else will fit. In essence, it's an untailored, ill-fitting garment thrown upon a person; it'll do, but not well. Besides, how many times have we ourselves said, "that's very... interesting," with a slight touch of uptalk at the end of the phrase, when grasping for a nice compliment when some poor friend tells a lame story or makes an ill-suited remark?
Instead, use fascinating. It shows that you're more than interested - in fact, you're captivated; your attention has been grasped. In addition, just saying the word itself is delicious - it forces you to open your mouth in an "ah" shape, whereas you can get by with mumbling an "interesting" if need be.

I hope you're beginning to understand at least a bit the point that I'm trying to get across. Naturally, I don't expect you to suddenly associate these terms with negativity - indeed, you shouldn't, because most of society doesn't, and I'm an exception. But the next time you give a compliment or help someone out with their resume, take a step back and question yourself - just how much do we rely on these tired, washed-up old words of "quality"? ~

The Wars, Part Twelve

Last part! ~ Start at Part One to "get the full experience." ~

So, this... is the end. ~ A very optimistic and hope-filled ending, no? ~ "Unwritten." Introduced to most of us through that delightful Pantene commercial ages ago, this song by the lovely Natasha Bedingfield has always enchanted me with its upbeat tempo and joy-filled sounds. ~ Here, I've used it to bring light back into the playlist, and instill in the listener and reader a sense of a better future out there, if only one will persevere. ~ Hopefully, this won't take away from the rest of the content, and that rather, the contrast here highlights the fact that despite all of war's toils and troubles, there can still be light at the end of the tunnel, even though the trip through that tunnel might be painfully twisted and hazardous. ~

To break this influence and to rebuild a connection with society, individuals must find a new purpose to replace that of fighting in a war in order to diminish the focus on war within their mind.

Unwritten, by Natasha Bedingfield:

[Verse 1]
I am unwritten,
Can't read my mind
I'm undefined
I'm just beginning
The pen's in my hand
Ending unplanned

[Chorus 1]
Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words
That you could not find
Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions

[Chorus 2]
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten, yeah

Oh, oh

[Verse 3]
I break tradition
Sometimes my tries
Are outside the lines, oh yeah yeah
We've been conditioned
To not make mistakes
But I can't live that way oh, oh

[Chorus 1]

[Chorus 2, repeat]

[Chorus 1, gospel style]

[Chorus 2, repeat]

The rest is still unwritten (repeat)

Lyrical Content

In Unwritten, several months have passed since the individual has returned home from the war. He has continually attempted to readapt to civilian life, combating alienation and the pull of violence, and has finally begun to come to terms with the suffering he has endured in the war by immersing himself in a newfound passion: writing. He describes himself as an “unwritten” book, using this metaphor to convey the sense that he is attempting to start his life anew. This echoes the lyrics “Time still turns the pages of the book it’s burned,” from the song “So Far Away,” during which the individual suffered from emotional pain due to facing the many deaths caused by the war. Now, the individual attempts to use “the pen […] in his hand” to write out his experiences on the “blank page before [him],” in order to “release [his] inhibitions” – namely, the pent-up anger, depression and sadness caused by his war experience. He admits that sometimes “[he] break[s] tradition” and that “[his] tries / Are outside the lines,” yet because of his grueling experiences, he “can’t live” without “mak[ing] mistakes,” for it is only ignoring society’s conventions and putting words to his pain-filled memories of war that he can make peace with himself. Because the individual became “undefined” as he lost his identity in the war, he now desires to open himself up to the light and “let the sun illuminate the words / That [he can] not find,” thereby stepping out of the darkness that the war has imposed upon him.

Auditory Elements

The melody has an optimistic quality to it that reflects the lyrics’ hopeful nature. The pop style evokes a lighter mood and joyful, celebratory tone that contrasts with the previous songs chosen.

In Chorus 2, more voices join the singer, conveying the sense that the individual is no longer alone, and that he is receiving support from society at last thanks to his new-found passion of writing about his experiences. Throughout Chorus 2, the individual gains the sense that he should appreciate being alive and “live [his] life with arms wide open,” because peace was worth fighting for only if those who remain take advantage of it.

The last rendition of Chorus 1 is sung in gospel-like style, furthering the idea that a large group is supporting and even encouraging the individual’s attempts at writing in order to express his emotions and thereby release them, leading him to find joy in the world once more.

The Wars, Part Eleven

Start with Part One. ~

Another lovely rock song! ~ "The hits just keep on coming!" ~

Though it shouldn't be a surprise any longer, I do not know this band either. ~ (Really. Although I do pride myself on having a varied taste in music, rock has always been one of my "fringe" likes; that is, I capture random songs into my musical net and play them exclusively for awhile before moving on.) ~ "Going Down in Flames" immediately caught my attention as I was song-hunting, because the title itself evokes the imagery of burning and descending into despair - perfect for describing the wars. ~ Take hope, however, knowing that this is the last "depressing" song on my list. ~ La pluie après le beau temps, indeed. ~

Furthermore, the inexorable pull of violence and war will begin to manifest itself in individuals.

Going Down in Flames, by Three Doors Down:

Don't tell me what to think, 'cause I don't care this time
Don't tell me what to believe, 'cause you won't be there
Catch me when I fall
But you'll need me when I'm not here at all
Miss me when I'm gone again

I'm goin' down in flames
I'm fallin' into this again
I'm goin' down in flames
I'm fallin' into this again

Don't tell me how life is, 'cause I don't really wanna know
Don't tell me how this game ends, 'cause we'll just see how it goes.
Catch me when I fall
Or you'll need me when I'm not here at all
Miss me when I'm gone again.

I'm goin' down in flames
I'm fallin' into this again
I'm goin' down in flames
I'm fallin' into this again
Now all the way down here I'm falling all the way
All the way down here I'm falling again now.
I'm falling down, I'm falling down, I'm falling down

I'm goin' down in flames
I'm fallin' into this again
I'm goin' down in flames
I'm fallin' into this again

Now all the way down here I'm falling all the way
All the way down here I'm falling again now.
I'm falling down

Literary Content

In “Going Down in Flames,” the individual describes how despite his many attempts, even in loneliness, to adapt once more to civilian life, he feels the pull of violence and of war, which opposes him to the feelings he has for his lover. The flames in the song represent the all-consuming need to kill and to succumb to the pressures of his memories of war. His repetition of “goin’ down in flames” and “fallin’ into this again” conveys this terror of war, which he fears he can never escape.
Furthermore, he knows that his lover “won't be there [to] / Catch [him] when [he] fall[s],” which highlights his sense of independence, a result of having learnt to rely on no one but himself during the war. He expresses resentment as a result, asserting that if he ever goes off to war again, she’ll miss him and need him, yet she can offer no comfort and refuge for him in return.

Auditory Elements

Because this is a rock song, the accompaniment is composed of a constant beat along with a heavy electric guitar and bass. These set up a desperate and dread-filled tone which matches the lyrics. The steady beat also sets up a driving rhythm that pushes the song forward and contributes to the inevitability of the individual’s succumbing to “the flames.” Finally, in the last three stanzas, the words begin to overlap and interject randomly, repeating the same lyrics over and over again. This creates a confusing and uncertain mood which parallels the emotions felt by the individual during the war and which he is suffering through once more.

The Wars, Part Ten

You may begin at Part One. ~

Voilà: another Green Day song. ~ This one I have known for a long time - in fact, it could be called one of my "fall-back" songs; that is, the type of song I listen to when I'm either in a nostalgic mood, or tired of the series of songs I have on rotate at the current time. ~ As a result, I even know all the lyrics by heart. ~ Quite a feat for someone who never exclusively listens to music, but rather chooses to play "bgm" (AKA, "background music"). ~ FYI, I also have a strange affinity for discovering the extended forms of acronyms, in case you haven't caught it. ~ I wonder who else didn't know that "app" = application and "Interpol" = international police? ~

Completely derailing. ~ Enjoy "Boulevard of Broken Dreams," and may your own dreams be whole and satisfactory. ~

As a result, they will feel alienated from society.

Boulevard of Broken Dreams, by Green Day:

I walk a lonely road
The only one that I have ever known
Don't know where it goes
But it's home to me and I walk alone

I walk this empty street
On the boulevard of broken dreams
Where the city sleeps
And I'm the only one and I walk alone

I walk alone
I walk alone

I walk alone
I walk a...

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
'Till then I walk alone

Ah-ah Ah-ah Ah-ah Aaah-ah
Ah-ah Ah-ah Ah-ah

I'm walking down the line
That divides me somewhere in my mind
On the border line of the edge
And where I walk alone

Read between the lines
What's f***** up and everything's all right
Check my vital signs to know I'm still alive
And I walk alone

I walk alone
I walk alone

I walk alone
I walk a...

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
'Till then I walk alone

Ah-Ah Ah-Ah Ah-Ah Aaah-Ah
Ah-Ah Ah-Ah

I walk alone
I walk a...

I walk this empty street
On the boulevard of broken dreams
Where the city sleeps
And I'm the only one and I walk a...

My shadow's only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
'Till then I walk alone

Literary Content

In “Boulevard of Broken Dreams,” the individual expresses his alienation through the metaphor of walking down “a lonely road.” He wishes “someone out there will find [him],” yet because he is so different from the rest of society, he is condemned to “walk alone” while “the city sleeps,” another metaphor which indicates his disconnection from society. Furthermore, he feels lost and “[doesn’t] know where [the road] goes.” This “boulevard of broken dreams” represents his shattered vision of war and of humanity; having killed men and seen other men being killed, his former childhood dreams of the glory of war have been forever broken. His shattered internal state is further highlighted through the metaphor of the “line / that divides [him] somewhere in [his] mind.” This line divides not only his new, war-torn self from his formerly innocent and lust-for-violence self, but also divides him from society, driving him to “the edge” of madness. His only way to ascertain that he is “still alive” is to “check [his] vital signs,” which is an action reminiscent of what, as a soldier, he would have done in war; this further illustrates how the individual is still in a battle mindset. However, he yearns to finally escape the horrors of war, wishing that “someone out there will find [him]” and relieve him of his lonely misery.

Auditory Elements

The song begins with a bass riff entrance that resonates and vibrates, conveying the auditory imagery of slow, plodding steps taken by the lonely individual. This establishes a dragging, depressed mood.

Also, the reference to “[the individual’s] shadow” represents the ever-present influence of war and of his memories of fighting. The fact that the previous line, “I walk a…,” is interrupted by “my shadow,” suggests that even in loneliness, he is not free from the horrors of war.

Finally, the heavy bass solo at the end, from 3:44 to 4:17, completes the piece in a dark and despondent mood as the individual continues to persist in loneliness.