Alive, in my memory.

When i read my roommate's blog, one of the post provoked my thoughts on how different everyone is when the person they used to spend time with, are no longer there. Or, the person who often so contributes to leaving pieces of memories in that of the other, just go.  Because life goes on at the end of the day, and we keep moving eventho we resist, we are moved by time.

I used to find it weird why people would feel a sense of loss when their friend, or basically anyone they frequent with and cherish, had to be in other place or move away. Isn't enough just for that particular person to be alive in your memory? then if the person is alive in your memory, and everywhere u go, u think of that person, you have never lost that person after all. And, if that person felt the same, both of you never lost each other as well.

But what if, the significant other felt the opposite. Frankly, my point is, keeping in touch is overrated if that "Relationship" has to be tended like a pot of flower. Nor, im comparing my friendship to a pot of cactus. Its just more meaningful if one can still find and keep pieces of the other over time even without keeping in touch.

Isn't it more valuable, when two person are able to keep each other alive in their hearts and memories, even with distance and time ? Distance and inaction, perhaps is the greatest test of friendship.

Hi banana

Hey there bananas, how are you doing?

Madagascar 3 and the Felicity of Ignorance

ONE particular scene in the movie caught my curiosity, above all, perhaps more than any other.

After some period of time drifting and roaming around the globe, three movies to be exact, the group finally have their dream come true: get back to Central Park Zoo. It was an astounding moment, if you could imagine what they have gone through.

They were, initially, a pack of friends living, with content, in a Zoo, enjoying the attention and adoration of the New Yorkers. A series of unfortunate events brought them to Madagascar, Africa, the Mediterranean Sea, Monte Carlo, Rome and London, before they made it back to home, in the most painstakingly hilarious journey ever conceived. And there they are, standing outside the main gate of the Zoo, looking at the home they knew so well and longed to return. 

IT seems right there, that their journey of being homelessness would come to an end. Yet unbeknown to them their adventure has just come to a junction. Suddenly, looking from outside, from another perspective, their home didn't seem so comfortable anymore. The walls, the cages and the fences back then, that they knew from young, that served as a form of protection, a shield, are now a monstrous divider that keep them from, not only the outside world, but also each other.

"The rock seemed smaller," proclaimed Alex.

"The murals [of the zebras] didn't quite catch the spirit," said Marty.

"Has there always been a wall that separate us?" asked Gloria to her lover, Melman.

Home seems to be the same home they once abandoned; the zookeepers, who perhaps imagined they would come back one day, made sure everything is in place just as when they left. However after traversing around the globe, after experiencing extreme liberation of roaming free on African savannah, after sticking with another bunch of animals and fighting for their freedom against Cruella de Vil II, it seems silly to go back to a cage where everything they had would be lost.

THE felicity that they once enjoyed, before the escape, was gone. The felicity, that arises from ignorance and nothing else - ignorance of the world outside, ignorance of the true intention of the fences and ignorance of what they are really capable of - disappeared like a poof of smoke right in front of their eyes.

How many times are we in such a state? To think that everything we possess at the moment is enough, and it's satisfying; that if we lost one tiny bit of it, we would die of misery and deprival. And then we worked hard, we prayed hard, that one day our felicity would be returned to us, restored like a perfect mirror. In the end, though, could we still be as happy as before, after going through the distresses and torments?

The true cause of sadness is not the lack of happiness. But rather, it is exactly because one has enjoyed happiness; and happiness, like any other experiences, could not be un-experienced, or unlearned or un-enjoyed. Sadness is because one missed the feelings of being happy, again. 

The scruples of the felicity of ignorance are always difficult to ignore. 

If you could ever choose, would you pick to be content being within your cage, enjoying the Felicity of Ignorance, or would you rather have your horizons widened, though at the same time risk losing your knowledge that you are happy and thus realising that your home, is really nothing but an enclosed zoo for all to see?

Life's Hard

Life's hard
harder than we can imagine
The creator periodically give us test
We have to struggle
Some say it's like a piece of cake
Some confront their helpless to the hardness

We try hard, we work hard
by trying harder and harder
we become more excel
however,
when will all this tests and exams pass?
Seem like there's no ending
Endless life challenge goes on and on
Should you and I just let go?

There is a time
When people become too tired
They surrender
by giving out all their life token
ending their precious gifted life

Consequences
what you build up
wasted
what you left to other are just sadness memories

Scribbles #25

My heart is on the left side, maybe that's why it will never be right.

Scribbles #24

Sometimes it is easy to imagine that love is a pool of muddy swamp. 

It looks murky and sombre - the last place on earth we'd want to be near to.

But the thing is, we often got ourselves caught in the puddle, sinking and drowning;

you would scream and yell for help for all you could,

but admit it,

deep down, you hope to be wholly swallowed.

Because, after all, who wants to get up when they fell in love?

(Book Review) The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath

Details:

TITLE: The Bell Jar

AUTHOR: Sylvia Plath

GENRE: Semi-Autobiography

PUBLISHER: Faber Firsts

ISBN: 9780571245642

PAGES: 234

Review:

There is something mesmerisingly mystique about The Bell Jar, as the authoress committed suicide weeks after the publication in 1963. Why, you wondered, would she do that? The gruesome answer seems to be lurking deep within the pages; it is easy and tempting to believe that, if you could finish reading the book - and somehow penetrate deep into the mental realm of Sylvia Plath - you could understand the cause(s) of her suffering, and somewhat save her.

Appalling news on the death sentences of the Rosenbergs opens the novel, planting an uncomfortable seed that seems to insinuate that death is what the authoress has in mind as an endgame. The story, serving as a semi-autobiography, details the daily encounters of the protagonist, Esther Greenwood, who seems to be the alter ego of Plath in the semi-fictitious world. Between the encounters, though, are flashbacks from the past which seem to echo with the author's background. 

With what Esther is experiencing in the present, and her interval flashbacks, the novel appears to be a linear storyteller - until you catch one or two chilling sentences that are slipped in between the events. These sentences seem to be describing the events, or rather how Esther/Sylvia feels towards the events; but if you read between the lines, you would find them insights of a depressed person.

Esther/Sylvia first expressed her helplessness in the midst of a fast-paced city life, "I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo". The alcohol and sex, manifestations of dirty sins of the big city, seem to appall her, as she writes that she needs to cleanse herself and become pure again, "I said so myself, ... all that liquor and those sticky kisses I saw and the dirt that settled on my skin on the way back is turning into something pure. The longer I lay here in the clear hot water [in the tub] the purer I felt..."

As the story progressed, it is noticed that her depression is getting more serious as she feels emptier inside. At times her pessimism reveals itself between the lines, showing signs that she does not trust others anymore, "If you expect nothing from somebody you are never disappointed", or signs that she reckons pain is inevitable, "...the drug would make her forget how bad the pain had been, when all the time, in some secret part of her, that long, blind, doorless and windowless corridor of pain was waiting to open up and shut her in again".

It is indeed difficult to comprehend the differences between Sylvia and Esther as it goes on - you seem to be reading about the same person. In the final chapter, the novel ends when the protagonist walks into a room for an interview to determine if she could check-out from the mental hospital. If the scene is seen as an analogy, where the interview is a series of tests in real life, and the outcome is decided by the board of interviewers, who plays the role as the higher up power, it then leaves the readers hanging in midair - they must determine what would become of Esther/Sylvia. 

Discussion Question

Given the fact that Sylvia Plath ultimately killed herself weeks after the publication of the book, which could be interpreted as an outcome of the "interview" in the ending of the novel, do you think that Sylvia passed the interview test? It is easy to gravitate to the belief that she failed the test, and her depression ultimately claimed her; but could it also be as a form of emancipation from her depression?