The Big 3 Bias, and why it works both ways

“And frankly, the Big 3 are too busy sabotaging half their own groups to even bother looking at others, if we’re being realistic”
The most honest statement I have probably read until now..lol
and the youtube comment is just so funny. Goes to see how many newbie ignorant dumbasses have joined the party.

underskored

With the sudden explosion of BTS’ international popularity, a new phenomenon has been quoted over and over, where it wasn’t really mentioned before. This being “idols from the Big 3 get success handed to them; idols from small companies have to work hard to be successful”.

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Why are International Kpop Fans so Desperate for Western Validation?

THANK YOU.
I seriously needed this. Someone to be rational and logical and offer constructive criticism instead of being utterly delusional.
I mean with this whole BTS in BBMAs thing going on, it feels as if there this has gone beyond entertainment and crossed to the territory of politics and that honestly scares me.
Thanks for saying stuff that I am pretty sure some people won’t like but needed to be said.

underskored

So back in 2013, in my first year of being a kpop fan, I saw 2 events which put kpop on display internationally, outside its very small niche.

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Fireflies

The cemetery has always been beautiful to Elena. Every day, on her way to school, she would pass by the wrought iron fence and look at least once towards the large cedar groves surrounding the property. The fence may act as a barrier for the intruders, but the intimate way that the grove possessively wraps around the nooks and crannies of the calm and serene land seems to send the message loud and clear: Mine. Elena has often found this charming, as it reminds her of those handsome heroes in her romance novels who would be so protective and caring about the girl they love.

Idiot, she thought to herself. Naive, stupid thoughts. Thoughts that were nothing but silly musings of a 16 year old girl who believed in fairy tales, romance novels and a white knight in shining armors. It is not stupid to think that they exist. It’s just hopeless to think that they can actually protect you from everything- every pain, every hurt, every regret and guilt and things that could have been and never will be. Some pain, some hurt, some regret and guilt cannot be protected from, no matter how much you want to. She learned that the hard way.

 

She learned that the day her parents died.

 

(Flashback)

One year ago, Wickery Bridge, Mystic Falls.

 

“Ellie, this is ridiculous. You knew that you were not allowed to go to the bonfire and still you thought you could lie to your mom, sneak out, and also in the process get yourself into a dangerous situation?”, Byron calls from the driver’s  seat, his voice straining under the pressure to keep it steady and level.

“Come on, dad! Don’t be so melodramatic.Ash and Robin were just being pigheaded hot-tempered boys. There were nothing even remotely dangerous going on” Nothing that my dad needs to know anyway, she mentally added in her head.

“Oh really? So the police cars and the firetruck was there to just witness the spectacle of two drunk high school teenagers getting into a fistfight? Is that what you are telling me?” Byron’s eyes flashed Elena’s in the rearview mirror and it showed that he is not buying it, any of it.

“I don’t know what do you want to tell me dad. I am sorry I lied and snuck out but that situation was nothing of the sort as you are imagining”, she turned her head towards the side window and sighed heavily.

“Ellie -”,Byron started.

“It’s okay, Byron. Let her be. If that’s what she says happened then we should very well believe that she is saying the truth. Afterall, there is no reason to lie, is there Ellie? She added the last part in a pleasant but stern voice. Her blue eyes unaccusatory but probing. Elena can never muster the courage to look into her mother’s eyes and lie. Maybe it’s because she is her mother, or maybe it’s those deep cerulean blue eyes that seems to be determined to pry away secrets.

Ellie looked away after muttering a muffled no.

The skies have clouded and seems as if a storm is coming, Elena noticed. She can swear that  the moon was still visible in the sky when she left the bonfire and got into the car.. She leaned her head towards the side window and felt herself drifting off thinking of what an utter disaster the night has been. Ash could be so unbelievably stupid sometimes, she thought to herself. And then felt stupid for thinking that. If there is one thing Ash Tyler is good at, it is being stupid, thus a moot point, and moreover it’s not her problem anymore. With that thought, she determinedly closed her eyes, but forced to open them after a minute as a loud ringing noise suddenly burst through her eardrums.

 

Its her phone ringtone.

 

She frantically started searching her bags and frowned in surprise when she came up empty. “Hello?” Elena’s horrified eyes met her mothers over the rearview mirror as she heard her mother answer her phone.

“No, Ash, she can’t come to the phone right now. In fact, it will be a subsequent amount of time before you can talk to her again. Give your mother my love. Goodnight.” She then shut the phone off with a flip.
“Seriously mom? It’s not enough for you and dad to humiliate me in front of my friends and now you are violating my privacy too? What is wrong with you? “ She almost yelled the last part. She knows she is being unnecessarily angry but she can’t help herself. “Don’t talk to your mother that way”, Byron chided. “Look dad, I appreciate you trying to be a good father all of a sudden after the disappearing act you pulled five years ago, but really, I am not a child anymore and you two can not dictate my every action and certainly cannot violate my privacy whenever you feel like it”, Elena retorted in a mean harsh tone. Her dad turned around to look at her in the back seat, eyes blazing with fury. “Now look here, young lady,-”, he started.

“BYRON, watch out!!”

Her mother shrill scream is the last thing Elena heard before she was jerked back forcefully, only to be slammed by the seat belt still holding her. The terrifying screeching noise of the tire, was all she could hear as the car skidded through the road and suddenly rammed through the delicate wooden fence of the bridge, and started to fall as she screamed. All of that took place under less than a minute. As the car got engulfed by the water, all she could see was her mother’s bashed skull with the water turning red from the blood. So much red. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe anymore as her vision faded, as she desperately fought to keep her eyes open, as she tried to scream out at the top of her water clogged lungs.

 

(End of flashback)

 

The edge of the stream seemed somehow different to Elena today, although she can’t pinpoint the difference exactly. Maybe it’s the new batch of wildflowers that grew beside the bend or the little red paper plane stuck in a bush of peonies. The tiny details doesn’t escape her usually of what changed about Wickery Bridge since she visits..well almost every day. This, and the cemetery are her go-to places, when the memories would be too much, when the nightmares would be too grueling. Her twin sister, katherine would join her, and they both would stare at the stream below with a silent understanding.

It’s been one year and still the nightmares have not gone away. At the beginning, it was excruciating. She couldn’t sleep without heavy medications or her nightmares would prove to be too hard to handle or tolerate. The presence of katherine was of little comfort as she couldn’t offer to be more than an identical reflection of sadness. Aunt Jenna, her mother’s sister,  would do her best to take care of the both of them but it’s apparent that her patience is wearing thin and she clearly is not enjoying this newly found parenting role.

 

Jenna is not going to be with them much longer, Elena thought, if today is any indication. Today marks the one year anniversary of that fateful incident happened. One very long year. How time passes by, Elena will be graduating this year and she still has no idea what she is going to do or where she wants to go. Her parents death and her uncle’s influence has more or less managed to tide her over, so that she can graduate, but not enough for a good college to accept her. She didn’t want to continue school anyway, and at one time, she even thought of running away from the small town that never fails to remind her the epic mess her life has become now.

 

“Penny for your thoughts?”, the sudden voice made elena gasp and made her drop the rock she was holding. She clutched her right hand to her chest and brusquely said, “Katherine! Jesus, you scared me. What are you doing here?”. Katherine frowned, “You didn’t pick up your phone. Jenna got worried. It’s late”. Suddenly elena realised that it is getting dark. She can hear the buzzing sound of the crickets now. “Sorry. I forgot to bring my phone. Lost track of time”, she added mildly. Katherine sighed and looked at the stream, the water has lost that lovely ripple and is now sporting murky shadows as a result of the eerie twilight.

 

“Do you think they are watching us now?”, she suddenly asked. The sudden question made rendered elena at a loss of words. “I-I don’t know. Maybe”, she tucked her hair behind her ear and looked at the same direction. “ I hated dad for leaving us. Mom too when she just welcomed him back. I left for russia and didn’t feel as if coming back was worth it. I was happy there and that made me even hate this place more”. Elena shifted uncomfortably in her feet, and found herself  again at a loss of what to say. This is a very sensitive matter that none of them talks about much. That was a tough time. Her mother crying, her dad trying to adjust and be strong at the same time for their sake. Elena didn’t like her father coming back, and also wanted to leave but she didn’t have the luxury of katherine’s extensive connections or friends in unlikely places. She hated her for leaving her there, taking the brunt of her parents’ sudden overprotectiveness and paranoia, which didn’t subside for one moment. My sister is dead, that is what Elena would tell everyone who would ask about her sister.

 

Elena looked at her sister now- the doe eyes, the full lips, an exact replica of her own. The only family she has been left with.

“It was not easy for us. But dad tried and if you would have just bothered to give a chance, maybe we would not be in this situation now”, Elena said in a bitter tone. Katherine glanced at her and sighed, “maybe. Or maybe we would have all died. I don’t know, and we would never know what could have been. But what we know is the now. The present that we are leaving in. And I don’t think we would be doing a big favor to mom, dad, jenna or us if we continue to live in the past”. Confused, Elena asked, “What are you saying? You mean-do you want to- ?”. “I mean, we two are all we have been left of each other and I would hate to spend it as if I have lost you too with mom and dad. I want my family back. I want you, my sister, to be back. I am so, so, so sorry for leaving you Ellie. I truly am. Please believe me ” She really means it, Elena thought, as she stared at Katherine’s earnest eyes. She swallowed a lump and looked at the stream again. The shadows have lengthened and the wind has gotten strong too as it is whipping her bangs on her face.

 

“Kat, I don’t know if I will ever be able to forgive you for leaving me. Families do not do that each other. It was a selfish thing to do and you should know that”. Katherine looked away and turned her head down. “But, we all make mistakes. And I am sick and tired of living in the past. I need some time and space but yeah, I do want to move on, with you, the only family I am left with”, Elena added. Katherine offered a tentatively gentle smile and for the first time in one year, Elena felt as if something heavy in her chest has been lifted.

 

The fireflies has started coming out. Each tiny little pinpricks of light creating a beautiful spectacle spreading promises of warmth, light and hope as if it will never be dark again.

 

Much ado about nothing

Well, first and foremost, the problem youth faces in this country is the blistering oblivion and disregard they possesses in order to realize the metaphorical bear trap that they are stuck in. Like Sissyphus in the Greek myth, they are rolling a stone repeatedly without even understanding why they are doing that in the first place. This is partly due to the rusty education system and the cultural conundrum that has intermittently engulfed the untold potential of the youth in Bangladesh- male and female alike.

I have often had conversations with many people who are interested into something beyond the cycle of study-work-marriage deal but often their ideas, dreams and hopes are cruelly crushed by the hopes and dreams of others. Most of the young Bangladeshis either has to choose between pursuing their dreams somewhere else or sacrificing their dreams for the sake of maintaining this vicious cycle of monotonous ideology.

Yes, it is extremely important for a country to grow and the youth to be an active part in that but it is also important to recognize human potential which is meant to do more than just survive. In the course of surviving, youth here has forgotten how to live. In the lust for good jobs and grades, they have forgotten what the real purpose of education is in life- to learn. This inability to comprehend the idea of learning has slowly reduced them in a state of utter indifference and a narrow minded zealots. This is why even after a LGBT rights activist publisher and numerous bloggers are hacked to death, the only responses are fragmented virtual protests. The education system has turned into an institutionalized manufacturing plant that mostly strives to produce perfect products rather than beings who would be encouraged to utilize their minds.

Change has to come from within oneself and that change might not happen in one day or one hundred days but it has to happen and I think it is imperative for youth to take a stand in order to bring about that change.

Dark side of the moon

 

“My name is Shamshi and my major is PPE”. This is what I say when people ask about my major, people including my batch mates in AUW, who then say, “PPE? Then why don’t we see you in any of the politics or economics classes?” I say in, not so many words, that I had some electives free so I used them to take classes that I genuinely liked and not force-fed by the curriculum. Then they say, “Oh. I see” in a resigned voice and continue doing whatever they were doing. Blame it to my flamboyant imagination or my pessimistic intuitive capabilities but I sense a shred of “holier-than-thou” attitude in there which my brain translates to me as “She thinks you are weird, wasting your electives like that but anyway you know what you are doing and you believe in it which is what matters”. And yes, this semester when I took “Women in world history” and “Sociology and family life in Asia”, it did not feel like an encouraging prospect to many people but I continued believing nonetheless.

One reason for taking them was to know something that will help me make sense of a system where I was tired of thinking and acting out and the one which I did not believe in or made any sense. Like many others that I know, I could not be happy with what I got, knowing that what I am getting is not right. I wanted knowledge to be something that I can critically think on and reflect properly, something other than completing the critical thinking section of the GMAT or GRE. I read a lot of YA novels where sometimes the protagonist is a teenager who says things like, “How does learning to calculate the angles of a triangle will help me when my entire life is falling apart?” or “Seriously, this is pointless. I fail to see how learning to dissect a frog on Biology is going to help me on asking out Chloe sanders for prom”. I always regarded that as fictional melodramatics, which is what it is most of the time, but this time when I was self-justifying my choice for taking courses which apparently people do not find very desirable, I found myself uttering the same thing, “Economics is very fine and dandy but does it explains why men in some societies hate women? Does it explain why even with high economic growth and huge technological advancement women are subjected to sexism in almost every part of their life? This does not exactly reflect back to the real life, my life. This is something that we have to learn to pass exams and get jobs but not real knowledge that you can reflect back on your life”. It was kind of disarming to find something that is so immaculately in front of me. It’s like an electric shock when you suddenly realize with a jolt that you have to eat your own words when something happens that changes your entire view of life.

And I would definitely say that my desire for gaining some knowledge that I can actually relate with and provides some answers with the system that I was so frustrated with was sure very pleasing. I learned that no amount of economic growth or technological advancement can actually contribute in changing people’s mentality as to how they view a particular gender. It is not going to prevent an innocent pregnant woman in Sudan or a grad-student in Saudi Arabia to get whiplashes and pay a huge fee while the assaulter will get away without a scratch. It is not going to prevent my best friend from making tragic statements like “I wish I could be a guy. They get it so easy”, when she will not be allowed to go somewhere at night but a boy definitely can. And she is not the only one with this ballad of lament. Even I once wished that being a guy would solve all problems since they can ride a bus which is filled to the extreme by getting squished in the crowd or when they are not called every single hour by their mother as to where they are regardless of their age. But I now know better, I know that Bangladesh’s transportation system is faulty and this kind of traveling is dangerous and just because men can do it doesn’t mean that they should.  I know that the unfair familial treatment reserved for women is a part of the system which we have taken so much for granted.  I now know that if women want something that they should get it by themselves because no one else is going to help them with that.

Like I did, when I stumbled on my 8^th grade Biology book with the chapter named “The Reproductive system”. Despite my initial 101 from one of my “mature” classmates I was still on denial that something “horrible” like this can actually happen. But I couldn’t deny it any more when I saw it in printed letters and I thought “Well, whatever. This is just pure terrible and I am never going to take a part in this gruesomeness.” I do not know how it was for other people since people do not feel comfortable in talking about it but I could sense that they do not feel excited about it. I was pretty much in the dark about something as important as this which cemented the belief in my head that perhaps it is truly a horrible thing since nobody seems to be enthusiastic about discussing it. It is not something that is accepted nicely in the society that I live I, neither is the media that my culture and the cultures similar to it approves of. That means that it is something harmful for women as women are the ones who are main targets of sex symbolization. It is tragic but it took me yet until now to understand that there is difference between sexual objectification and sexual desire. I now understand that sex and sexual pleasure s a normal thing and regardless of many cultures frowning upon them, a women does not immediately becomes a scarlet women for wanting to talk about their sexual pleasures comfortably and neither does those women become prudes who do not feel the same way. I understand now that there are no black and white but different shades of grey and I feel pity for these young souls who still do not understand it because they do not have that knowledge from their experiences or institutions like I do.

And this lack of knowledge is particularly harmful to people who needs it the most. This lack of knowledge is probably the reason why 2-year old girl child gets raped in a remote corner in Bangladesh. Yes, sexual violence is not only specific to Bangladesh and yes, there are regions where women are treated far, far worse but my question is: shall we judge every incident by the same rulebook? I mean, some people are obviously ignorant but some people are ignorant by choice. What about them? I remember a quote in Batman which said that, there are monsters who do what they do in the promise of a reward but there are monsters who do what they do just for the fun of it. Substituting it in the context of South Asian culture, there would always be people who will act as they do because they get genuine pleasure but there would also be individuals who would probably be taught by environment, culture, system, society that this is the norm. There was video in youtube about bullying that emphasized on the fact that boys also suffers a lot in high school due to peer pressure but mostly due to the fact that their fathers tell them to be a “man” and “not be a pussy”. If they have some sort of femininity in them, they are “homosexuals” or “faggots” and so in order to be a man they do extreme things which psychiatrists says garners negative consequences and alters an individual forever which sometimes leads him towards suicide. The video lead me to think, ”Huh! So is that the reason why women do not get empowered? Get their proper respect? Is it because men always trying to own up to his status of “men”? Is it because our thinking is rooted in the belief that strong muscles and facial hair only can make a “man”? Just like women are being bombarded by high expectations from their families to marry and have children, doesn’t a man also get bombarded with expectations to keep “their” women in line?” The video only showed the conditions of teenage boys in America where there is something actually called “sex education” and the culture that is open-minded and is not bound heavily everywhere by constricting religious conservatism, yet women are exploited in one way or another. Imagining this kind of situation in Asia where most of the culture is bound either by strict religion is unable to express how they feel and suppress themselves by some way. Although they get exposed to Western notions assuming that it is perfect but which in reality is not, emphasizes the ideas of sex symbolization then the ideas of normalization in sexuality. They could not turn to the adults because honestly the adults would love to ignore that their children are actually “growing up” and cover it up with a lame excuse that “their parents never explained it to them”. They choose to remain oblivious to the fact that their children are actually growing into adults and explain to them anything except telling them to be cautious of the opposite gender as if they are something harmful. This is not the case of every family in Bangladesh due to intersectionality of class and economic status but more or less the bigger picture with them is “Clean in the streets but dirty in the sheets”. This double standard of parents actually makes children more curious since they know that something is changing but they do not know actually what is which makes the idea forbidden and since patriarchal society allows men to be more adventurous than women, men seems to take it upon themselves to know the knowledge and apply it in their own twisted way or the way they have been taught.

Isabelle Allende, a Chilean writer and acclaimed feminist, said in an interview that every men has some characteristics that we term as “feminine” inside them as well as every women has some characteristics that we term as “masculine” inside them for which we can’t exactly make some paperback definition of what  masculinity and femininity is. We have to let them thrive and not always try to bind them in the norm which can be pretty twisted at terms. When people talk to me, most of the time I get this feedback that I am too “western” which previously used to appease me but nowadays I just get ticked by people’s persisting efforts to connect me with a stereotype and wonder if it is that necessary to be bound in a stereotype? To say you are “Bangladeshi:” when you hate most of the cultural norms? Is it better to just pretend then that you belong in the norm and continue maintaining double standards? And are those double standards going to help women empowerment? Frankly, the answer is no. Sex is a big part of human life. Pretending it does not exist and keeping “children” out of the loop does not help. The pleasures of the forbidden are hard to resist and intentionally or unintentionally that forbidden path taken might be too dark.

 

The beauty of nothing

 

I love this language -English, I mean. More than any languages I have ever encountered or learned; more than my native tongue. To me it is my first love, my savior, my siren song. I know how it sounds like. Ramblings of a madwoman who may have finally succumbed to the sorry state of her mind. But no, I assure you, it’s not. The way I fell in love with English is not a simple story of “liking” a language. It’s like growing up beside someone and knowing them as long as you can remember, but never paying any particular attention, not sparing a second glance, almost as you have taken it for granted. But, suddenly, one day, ONE DAY, the veil is lifted from your eyes and you see it as if you are seeing them for the very first time, as how a blind person sees sunrise for the first time, as to how a deaf person listens to the first notes of music, as a cripple uses their limbs for the first time. You FEEL the change in you, the subtle shift, the dizzy feeling. For one moment, the world starts rotating for you the other way and you feel as if finally, you have clarity of thought and you know what you want and what you have to do. What once made sense starts to feel like nonsense. What once you disregarded as nothing, you suddenly feel as if that is most important thing in life.

The shift defines you like how a caterpillar defines its endurance via metamorphosis. It is hard to understand how a mere language can shower you with the feeling of invincibility, exuberance and power at the same time. There is no rational explanation for that because “rational” pertains to logic, it relies on whether something is possible or not, how something “makes sense” or not. It cannot explain the wild, the darkness, the passion that  cannot be explained in words. It  cannot beckon to the shadow that lingers into your heart and beseech you. It cannot exhume the eternal flame within. The love that burns…

But it is the love that’s lost which  burns the most. To feel what it means to love and then lose that love because you are unworthy to keep it is the most agonizing of all. To feel guilty and undeserved and worthless of love by the thing you love the most induces the pain of loss as you could never imagine. You want so desperately to cling to the shred of hope of turning everything around, to once again be the unrivaled Queen of Hearts and Roses. BUT deep down, you must know that the line between love and hatred has been blurred. And you cannot separate the two. You cannot explain the evasiveness, fill the vacuum, arrange the shattered fragments and piece them together. It’s like the petals of roses. The soft beautiful satin smooth parts that you cannot attach to the rose no matter how much you try to.

I wonder whether the rose feels that pain though, losing its petals and unable to stop it from happening and equally unable to pick the pieces back together. If the rose also screams of the loss and try to rebel against the inevitable. Whether the rose feels it is unworthy and undeserving because it is no longer beautiful without the invaluable petals adorning it. Or whether the loss has rendered it mute of any feelings or emotions. For it is fortunate to feel nothing, to ignore this virtual state of limbo. To forget the pain of sheer loss.

It is the loss that kill you, consumes you and eats you from inside nd you will do anything, ANYTHING to feel alive again. To feel that burning passion sear through your soul, your mind, your consciousness. It is like to be free and see the sun for the first time and all the beauty in the world, but just for a moment, and then you are thrust back to darkness, where nothing exists, save for the  lingering feeling of the euphoria you just experienced and how you would do anything to go back at it.

 

On Murthal

The Woman Inc.

by Meha Khanduri

This article nearly never got written because as I start to write on the issue I start seeing red. When India was raptly watching students of a prestigious university go through a long drama of whether slogan shouting students had committed sedition or not…rampaging mobs were burning, looting, and ransacking the cities of Haryana, right next door to the capital Delhi. Nobody was really outraged, no resignations were called for, no charges of sedition were made and after nearly two days of looting and burning worth 34000 crores, the government cordially accepted the demands of the rampaging mobs and the burning and looting came to an end.  An amicable solution all around..except for criminality and couple of thousand crores of national property but …..this is India!

Four days later some ghost stories started floating around. The whispers said that not only Haryana’s cities had been burnt and…

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Missing

 

The train whooshed past Zed with a gust of wind and a shrill whistle, ruffling his messed up wild hair even more. With a sigh, he put the bubble tea beside him, took his dark rimmed glasses off and started wiping them in his shirt. Need to change the frame soon, he remarked to himself. There is already a pair that he had his eyes on, the last time he went shopping, but they were too expensive and his girlfriend said it looks ugly on him so he is not sure whether to take them or not. His fashion sense have improved after he got into a relationship with Jia, which is quite expected as her fashion designer eyes would always look for the slightest altercation and mismatch. He doesn’t mind though, he likes the pampering, although his friends would complaint about her imposing attitude sometimes, especially, when she would make them pay for the meal instead of Zed who could always be assuaged to pay the bill. It doesn’t also hurt that she is very smart, funny and have an amazing physique.

It would be nice to have her now though, he thought to himself and impatiently began to pace. He got bored after a while, and started to observe the scattered and fragmented crowd in the almost vacant station. It is 9:00 pm but not many people are lurking around. There are the occasional street peddlers, some homeless, and a dog wandering around.  Upon close observation though, he saw that the dog is actually fleeting around a person who is playing with him, asking it to bring back things just like a trained dog, occasionally throwing food here and there. There is of course nothing surprising there since the dog in the train station is rather friendly and docile and it cozies up to different passengers at times for food. No, it is not the dog at all, but the person with the dog in fact. He can see the close-cropped pixie like hairstyle from the back, which gave him the impression of a woman but the gait, posture and gestures suggested otherwise. He or she was wearing an oversized pullover, baggy pants, a snapback and a pair of worn out sneakers – attires used by both male and female. Curious, he started towards that direction and was halfway through when the person looked up and stared at him through a pair of mocha colored eyes.

Surprise isn’t exactly the feeling that passed through Zed when he looked at her. It was an assortment of different emotions as he took some time processing at the various piercings and heavy Goth eye makeup she was dawning. “Hi”, she said in a prickly yet polite voice. He replied her hello and then started petting the dog, who is now quite confused at the new company. She stared him for a couple of moments and then went back on attending the dog. “Nice night, huh?” he tried his awkward attempt at small talk. No response. He waited for some time hoping for a response and still nothing. Disappointed, he pursed his lips and about to move away when, “I have ten of them” she responded with that prickled tone. Seeing Zed’s surprised expression she added, “Isn’t that what you really wanted to ask me? The number of piercings I have?” Bewildered, Zed tried to refuse the allegation but she just waved her hand and said that it’s fine and not to worry about it. They struck up a conversation where he found out that they have the same destination. Upon asking the reason for her going there, she said, “Oh, you know, just going to attend a wedding”, in a nonchalant manner.

“Oh, really? Whose?”

“Just a friend”. “You two are close?” he inquired further.  “Close enough”, she off-handedly remarked and began to observe her nails. Something about her expression and tone did not quite seem right to him. Internally, he berated himself for being so nosy but he couldn’t help himself from probing further. He began to ask about the “friend” who apparently is a “he”, have been friends with her for a long time, and has two names. Although she did not seem to be overly enthusiastic on talking, she didn’t come up short on any explanation either, explanations which seemed almost too perfect, like it has been practiced one too many times. In an odd way, she is interesting, remarked Zed to himself. Like the time when he asked her whether she currently has a boyfriend, she replied that she has, but when asked about the tattoo on her collar bone, she replied that she got it when she broke up with her ex, which acts as a reminder for her to swear of men forever. Zed, however, couldn’t accept the obvious explanation of her being a liar since there is no apparent reason for her to lie.

The train’s arrival interrupted their conversation as passengers got up to board the train. As Zed started to make his way towards the train, he noticed that she is not following. “Aren’t you coming?” he said exasperatedly. “You go ahead. I’ll be right behind”, she replied while furiously typing in her phone. With a non-committal shrug, Zed got in just as the last few passengers were trickling through the door. As he moved to let an old lady some space, his eyes caught a “MISSING” sign, on the seat right across him. The poster had the description of the girl, contact details and a picture which was blurred due to the result of someone’s spilled coffee. The picture seemed vaguely familiar to him but he couldn’t quite place where he saw that face. The mocha colored eyes of the girl seemed to tell him something but before he could realize what that is, an elderly guy sat atop it, utterly disregarding on what he is sitting on. Just as the train started to move, he looked outside and tried to find the girl but all he could see was how everything has started to seem further and further away like a kaleidoscope along with the silhouette of a grey pullover and a pair of sneakers.

 

 

 

Unknown

 

It was not an uncommon occurrence for Ciel to be stared at, whenever she visits a public place. The waiters and the café owner’s of “Take-a-sip”, were no different, as despite their efforts on being polite, can’t help but steal occasional glances and long stares at the petite short-haired girl, currently tinkering with her cell phone in exuberant annoyance. Cell reception is phenomenally bad up here, remarked Ciel to herself, as she hit resend for the umpteenth time for a brief text to Kris. Frustrated, she took another sip of the mocha latte and tried to get adjusted to the difference in taste. The taste is not completely bad, but she cannot quite accept the new taste as she is so habituated to how she would make it in her home or rather how he taught her to make it.

It’s unnerving, how; thinking of her ex-boyfriend would make her so sad and lonely sometimes while at other times she would feel nothing. This time, though, with the lack of distractions around her, his memory came out bright and clear. How one day Luhan was just there, laughing at her for messing up the recipe and making a fool out of herself while making pancakes, and suddenly, one day, he is just gone, leaving a large void, like nothing was there at the first place. For the first few months, she was numb to all kind of feelings – pain, bitterness, anger, betrayal. Everyone who is aware of Ciel’s personality, was concerned but not particularly surprised. And eventually the concern also faded when she went around her life in a normal fashion like nothing really major happened.

But maybe they were too quick on their speculation since they could not even imagine the mature, bold, strong, fierce Ciel would be found unconscious in her bedroom, with several empty vodka bottles strewn here and there, clutching a half empty bottle of sleeping pills issued only a day back. It didn’t hurt much though, thought Ciel, it was almost soothing and calming for her, a very dreary sort of calm.

Her string of thought was suddenly interrupted by sound of the small bell attached to the top of the café door.  A guy, late teen to early 20s maybe, wearing a blue snapback and a plaid shirt made his way through the shop to the seat adjacent to Ciel’s.  He didn’t seem to her the usual kind of customer that this small café in the far corner of a street usually gets. Although his clothes are simple, his gait and manners suggested different. His face is obscured by a face mask and sunglasses which he didn’t remove even after coming. She found it strange but didn’t pay much attention as she was contemplating to leave. One her way out, as she was passing by the stranger’s table, she can’t help but notice a strangely familiar thing. He was arranging all the utensils, salt and pepper shakers into a neat little chessboard formation in the checkered table cloth. It elicited a short laugh out of her all of a sudden, unbeknownst to her, the source of which is even unknown to herself.

It was while riding in the taxi, she suddenly realized what was so familiar about it, what brought that smile. The revelation was simple, but the impact was too much, that Ciel just sat there in the taxi even after it had long stopped in front of her house. For a moment she just wanted to ask the taxi driver to just drive and not to stop so that she would have more time to think, to understand and contemplate but unfortunately like everything else in her life, nothing waits for her or gives her a second chance.

Inner voice

Albert Camus, the French philosopher, had a unique approach on viewing the human life. He termed it as meaningless and utterly monotonous, comparing it to the punishment that Sissyphus was condemned to when he fell out off the Gods’ favor. Unlike Sissyphus though, we have a choice to deny or accept it. We can either accept that circle of misery or deny it either by stopping the cycle or ignoring it as if it never existed. The choices however come with a heavy price tag, a lofty consequence for each. Very much resembling a reality TV show where you answer a question and you get to win a reward if you are correct. Rewarded by either the agony of failure or the glory of triumph. Agony might not be desirable but nonetheless it is a reward, a token of the consequence that one has to forebear for their choices.

The choices that seems, oh-so-easy, but scours and ravages your mind like the way a wild animal tears on its prey. The choices that do not give you a chance to think, to recuperate, to embellish on your inner self but rather flays and burns you alive. Those choices, they make you understand the power of what you are worth to yourself and everyone else. They make you grasp the idea of what you could be and what you need to be. Choices are unforgiving, they do not give second chances, and neither do they offer you a way of redemption. They make you feel invincible one moment and the next; they make you feel pitiful and alone. They become ambiguous and nifty like the three Fates in Greek mythology as an intricate thread of consequences are woven and entangled while an individual bathes on ludicrous obliviousness.

Camus asked us to make a choice that would allow us to accept our life as it is and stop imagining the silver lining while there is none. He says the truth. I accept that truth but it makes me mad not because life doesn’t have an inherent meaning but I desire for it to have a meaning. I desire to make choices that will not deceive and trick me, that will not make me miserable and worthless. I do not want to dwell and stare at the abyss and contemplate my turn to be tumbling down to it. I do not want to be the Alice through the rabbit-hole pursuing a rabbit in a coat with a stopwatch and the Queen of hearts saying, “Off with your head!” There is in fact, a lot of things I do desire, neither of which makes me happy but haunts me with choices.

Freedom is life’s greatest gift and curse…