I look down from the sky and see ants crawling nervously, from nowhere to somewhere and back again. Humans, intertwined, connected, disconnected and re-connected. Each of us is painting our own dot-to-dot drawing on the world’s canvas, randomly, in an unknown pattern. We lack overview to steer us in the direction of the next sequential number, desperately seeking shelter in the false security of an alleged ascending logic. For a line is not always straight. “No” is the answer to any unasked question. There’s only the risk of not getting a “yes”, eventually. I spread my butterfly wings and cause a storm at the other side of the globe.
Life turns with the ease of a whirling leave in the autumn winds. Its course is unpredictable, and we are merely rubber ducks floating in a whimsical ocean.
Happiness is as fragile as a paper plane. It turns around like a car full of adolescents on a jolly Saturday night. A song resounds inappropriately out of a smashed front window; invisible radio waves hang in the macabre darkness over the winding road. Raindrops dance in the head lights, as lively as those bodies were on the dance floor just now. A body is disposable, a thin wrapping paper of a chocolate at most. Full of sweetness, but still only a package when it matters. Or no longer matters at all.
Sadness is as despondent as the plastic carpet on the black canal water. It looks at you through the eyes of a hungry child on this early Manila morning. Half an hour ago, I did not even dare to brush my teeth using tap water in my 5 star hotel bathroom. And there she is, a ten-year old swimming in a puddle of dirt in search of a treasure amidst the mud. All water flows to the sea. I turn my eyes away, embarrassed as I feel like a viewer of a TV show; a 48-hour touch-and-go spectator of a world which is not mine; a chrysalis that will safely withdraw back into his lush green city-state cocoon soon.
Life turns with the ease of a whirling leave in the autumn winds. Its course is unpredictable, and we are merely rubber ducks floating in a whimsical ocean.
Happiness is as fragile as a paper plane. It turns around like a car full of adolescents on a jolly Saturday night. A song resounds inappropriately out of a smashed front window; invisible radio waves hang in the macabre darkness over the winding road. Raindrops dance in the head lights, as lively as those bodies were on the dance floor just now. A body is disposable, a thin wrapping paper of a chocolate at most. Full of sweetness, but still only a package when it matters. Or no longer matters at all.
Sadness is as despondent as the plastic carpet on the black canal water. It looks at you through the eyes of a hungry child on this early Manila morning. Half an hour ago, I did not even dare to brush my teeth using tap water in my 5 star hotel bathroom. And there she is, a ten-year old swimming in a puddle of dirt in search of a treasure amidst the mud. All water flows to the sea. I turn my eyes away, embarrassed as I feel like a viewer of a TV show; a 48-hour touch-and-go spectator of a world which is not mine; a chrysalis that will safely withdraw back into his lush green city-state cocoon soon.
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