Analysis of a simple string @ Wednesday, Apr. 16, 2008 * 10:13 pm

It seems strangely apt that i would chose a wintry, starless tonite to post again. Well maybe it has something to do with being newly crowned a "twentyager". =D The sudden added burden of perceived maturity that comes with this magical age perhaps?

Sometimes while staring out the bedside window into the murkiness of the nightsky (usually on a wintry and starless one), I would question what exactly happened within me while my eyes gently closes as I fell into slumber, before opening those very eyes the next morning. Perhaps a part of me is dying every night i fall asleep, till one day the process is complete... I would never know. but anw death's not what id had in mind for this post tonite, I'll save that for the future. Its just...

Life can be described as a piece of thread metaphorically. When you come to think of it, a thread has a beginning, an end, and the intermittent material traces its journey from beginning to end.

What makes a thread different from a metal bar is its flexibility. You can, through simple manipulations, induce the thread to twist, turn, meander etc.. But to do so with a metal bar would require harder work.

However, the thread has a fixed length; your whims can only dictate the thread's unique journey traced through the space it occupies, much like how you can dictate your life's movement through time.

Unless you cut it prematurely, the thread will continue winding and weaving its way, but the length of the thread is determined by the thread wover, not the thread itself. Similarly I didnt choose when my life started, and unless i decide to end my life before it runs out, I wouldnt be able to choose when it ends.

A string rarely consists of a single microthread. It is a bundle of many thin threads, bounded tightly together with an adhesive thus forming a sturdy structure (my JC biology reminds me of collagen).

A life is made up of a multitude of events, incidents, happenings. Our emotions then serves as glue, holding all these bits and pieces to form what I might call a snapshot of one's life journey.

While you are moving along the thread, moving forward all the time, at times you might be tempted to move in the opposite direction. In life, this is perceived as memory.

However, much as I would like to alter the past in many ways (thereby changing these memories, erasing regret etc.), Life works in a strange manner. There is no undo button. Time dictates the only direction along the string of life is forward. Yes, I could go back along the string, retracing the steps along the way, reliving the past, reality dosent work this way. (Though recently some insanely clever astrophysict came up with an equally insane theory that time flows in both manners, but i digress)

At certain points of the string, some of the microthreads inevitably become frayed and break off. These are undoubtedly incidents of breakup, separation, loss. Just like such events constitute generally the low points in one's life, they too signify the weakest points in a string.

It is beginning to appear to me that I just love using the string as a metaphor for life =D, this isnt the first time i make some comment about FATE the seamstress weaving threads of life in and out of each other. And now i will return to it again.

A tailor creates a garment by combining many threads, each of different make, length, colour, purpose. Collectively they form a product. Similarly the lives who have intermingled with mine at various points in time would come together to create a picture. Each life would leave an indelible mark on the unfolding of my own thread.

Ending one's life is like prematurely stopping the spokes of a sewing machine, or putting down the paintbrush before the drawing is complete. It reeks of regret, despair, incompletion. Yet, the unfinished painting itself does not feel anything; the ended life feels no remorse for itself.

All thats left are tears, lamenting, mourning for the unfortunate ones who still retain the courage to continue down the unpredictable journey thats life.

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A chord, stronger or weaker, is snapped asunder in every parting, and Time's busy fingers are not practised in re splicing broken ties. Meet again you may; will it be in the same way? with the same sympathies? with the same sentiments? Will the souls, hurrying on in diverse paths, unite once more, as if the interval had been a dream? Rarely, rarely.

- Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton

Silence @ Tuesday, Apr. 01, 2008 * 8:52 pm

long time since i added anyting here, long time since i used those brain cells for anyting other than sustanence anw so here goes...

SILENCE IS DEAFENING...

not unlike the single, half-yellowed Leaf that drifts down a tree in a draught of wind.

In the midst of a raging thunderstorm, it paints its tumultuous descent with a grey shade of colour. It completes its transient journey all too soon, coming to its final resting place. At the foot of tree which was its world.

not unlike the Final Beat of a love ballad.

when the entralled listener is craving for it to last a miniscule longer. Coldly encased in the still air, it revels in its ability to evoke involuntary reverberations around a heart. Its power, yet is immaterial, and before long, alls left is a lonely heart drenched in an overpowering emptiness that once held hope and love.

not unlike the musty, half-disintegrated Pages of an Old Journal

that flip disinterestedly in the winter breeze. Not breaking its monotonous rhythm, the turning pages etches out fastidiously the life of its owner. The pages, though are finite, and before long the book slamms itself shut, closing out the final chapters of his life.

not unlike crying onself to sleep

a flood that is impossible to stem. silent droplets that cascades down scarlet red cheeks.
Fitful stifling of sounds, afraid that one's companion beside would awake.
A wave that washes ashore yesteryear's memories onto the barren beach of one's half-asleep mind
A Doubling of the pillow's role as a sponge, there to comfort one's emotions like how a sponge caresses one's skin.

Before long all turmoil, volatility, despair fades to a peaceful black. Its the transition that is most painful.

not unlike regaining consciousness the next day, with only a damp sponge, bloodshot eyes, runny nose as memory of yesterday night.

SILENCE SCREAMS...

kahn @ Friday, Jul. 13, 2007 * 11:01 am

Haha, guess who was here? No cg, the blog isn't dead, see here's an entry...

Hmm, time flies and it has been half a yr serving NS. Well kinda of boring here at work and happen to rmb tis blog. Every 1 busy with their own stuff (for guys its NS and as for the gals i guess u all shd be starting uni real soon-tis August i suppose).

A new chapter of life for everyone n an important stage of life!!! Oh, tmr is the awards presentaion ting, dunno how may of u all going? I doubt some of the guys would be going (cuz of NS). Well to those going, c u all tmr as for those who cant go, well till we meet again...

chEezy~ @ Sunday, Jun. 03, 2007 * 11:20 am

harlo!!!

wahhh this place is -dead-

anw. most of the uni postings are out alr.. keep us all updated on where and what you people are doing in uni!.. national servicemen included XD

cg's taking bioengin in nus! and she's looking for potential classmates [to no avail currently x.x] so help me keep a lookout! hahaha..

EDWARD LEE you better post sth. cus i wanted me to 'revive the page rmb. hRmph. haha..

chEezy @ Monday, Jan. 01, 2007 * 12:31 am

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE

although i doubt anyones visiting this space haha =x

hope u peeps a great year ahead! ^.^

im not archiving this anymore i guess C=