In the plane
It's cold here and I'm cursing myself for my sinus. The plane is all quiet...with others snoozing while I'm sneezing. A kid from a tropical country through and through. Can't even stand air con. Tell me how I'll survive Canada heh.
Thinking about my sp0044 narrative, and suddenly feeling that all the character profiling I did so that I could get the outstanding features of each character in the shortest anecdote possible, seemed just like a story I'd read about in another land. Maybe I never had a family. It's all just a bad dream. I'm a self-made man who sprouted from a test tube, with horrific memories input through a brain-in-a-vat manner.
That whole thought must constitute an epistemological flaw. Methinks.
There's something abt planes which are fascinating. Charging forth through the sky, with a bunch of other strangers sharing the same fate. There should be something poetic in this. In the sky, all our problems seem so small and mundane. It's simply about navigating through the clouds and landing safely. I recall being interested in the youth flying club but prioritising canoeing over it. Oh well.
I wonder what others think about flight. I just imagine parallels. Just imagine. Our innards are swirling with stuff, but neatly packaged in our bodies. Individuals from all sorts of backgrounds, but packed airtight in a plane. A plane circling the sky, but bound by the atmosphere. An earth circling the sun, but bound in its path of revolution. It goes on and on. Messy and neat. Two sides of the coin.
I've lived through a mess, and been obsessed over making sense of things around me. Correcting ppl's structure, neatening stuff in an ocd way... Oh well.
Maybe what the ntu counsellor said was right. Sometimes things are too ridiculous to make sense of. So we just gotta live with it.
Well then. On this journey ahead, I shall try not to make sense of things too much and live in the moment.
The only thing I can expect is the unexpected.
It's cold here and I'm cursing myself for my sinus. The plane is all quiet...with others snoozing while I'm sneezing. A kid from a tropical country through and through. Can't even stand air con. Tell me how I'll survive Canada heh.
Thinking about my sp0044 narrative, and suddenly feeling that all the character profiling I did so that I could get the outstanding features of each character in the shortest anecdote possible, seemed just like a story I'd read about in another land. Maybe I never had a family. It's all just a bad dream. I'm a self-made man who sprouted from a test tube, with horrific memories input through a brain-in-a-vat manner.
That whole thought must constitute an epistemological flaw. Methinks.
There's something abt planes which are fascinating. Charging forth through the sky, with a bunch of other strangers sharing the same fate. There should be something poetic in this. In the sky, all our problems seem so small and mundane. It's simply about navigating through the clouds and landing safely. I recall being interested in the youth flying club but prioritising canoeing over it. Oh well.
I wonder what others think about flight. I just imagine parallels. Just imagine. Our innards are swirling with stuff, but neatly packaged in our bodies. Individuals from all sorts of backgrounds, but packed airtight in a plane. A plane circling the sky, but bound by the atmosphere. An earth circling the sun, but bound in its path of revolution. It goes on and on. Messy and neat. Two sides of the coin.
I've lived through a mess, and been obsessed over making sense of things around me. Correcting ppl's structure, neatening stuff in an ocd way... Oh well.
Maybe what the ntu counsellor said was right. Sometimes things are too ridiculous to make sense of. So we just gotta live with it.
Well then. On this journey ahead, I shall try not to make sense of things too much and live in the moment.
The only thing I can expect is the unexpected.
-idealist
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