searching for my sun

Hmm.

Imagine a hypothetical situation.

You have a thousand people on an island. All of these people are immensely important - politicians, businessmen. All of them are, in one way or another, responsible for the wars that are happening around the world.

Warmongers, basically. Despicable people responsible for the deaths of hundreds, thousands, millions, even. People like bin Laden. No one will miss them. No one will mourn for them. They are 'evil'.

Or so you tell yourself.

In front of you, there's a button. Press the button, and the island will explode, and all those thousand people will be killed. No more wars.

Will you press the button?

If yes, will you do it if there are heavy consequences on you and you alone? You will be the scapegoat, the mastermind, the murderer. You will be hated and persecuted. Perhaps you'll live the rest of your life out in jail. Or perhaps you will be executed.

Will you still do it?

(Does the ends justify the means?

Will the wars even stop in the end, if one does this?)

Writing this in between working. xD Stolen from shahni.

Six Ships I Love

1. Tamaki/Kyouya [Ouran High School Host Club]
2. Niwa/Nakajima/Shichijo/Saionji [Gakuen Heaven]
3. Dino/Hibari [Katekyo Hitman Reborn]
4. Yamamoto/Hibari [Katekyo Hitman Reborn]
5. Mori/Kyouya [Ouran High School Host Club]
6. Phoenix/Kristoph [Ace Attorney]

Three Ships I Liked, But Don't Anymore

7. Treize Khushrenada/Chang Wufei [Gundam Wing]
8. Sephiroth/Vincent Valentine [Final Fantasy VII]
9. Byakuya/Hisana [Bleach]

Three Ships I Don't Like

10. Kyouya/Haruhi [Ouran High School Host Club]
11. Hibari/Tsuna [Katekyo Hitman Reborn]
12. Gokudera/Tsuna [Katekyo Hitman Reborn]

Two Ships I Am Curious About, But Don't Actually Ship

13. Colonello/Reborn/Lal Mirch [Katekyo Hitman Reborn]
14. Kristoph/Dahlia [Ace Attorney]

( 20 questions, all behind the cut~! )

writing a semi-column on this, so using my journal to get out my thoughts. No, not friendslocking it. With proper capitalizations this time.

I'm sort of feeling the irony of how the media is playing up the fact that Obama is black. True, it's a huge deal, a huge step forward for the sake of eradicating racism. But the fact remains that discrimination remains a huge problem. Just because Obama won, or that Hilary got her candidacy doesn't means that sexism and racism are entirely gone in America, much less the rest of the world. The very fact that Prop 8 exists means that homophobia, or at least discrimination against homosexuals, is still there.

I'm not American, and I'm not white. Even if I have 'white' blood, that's really inconsequential because I live in an Asian country, so all that white privilege stuff is just reading material for me. But I find that it's sort of funny, in a way, the way people (BBC, I'm looking at you) have this tendency to see Obama's win as resulting from the fact that he's black. That people voted for him because he's black.

Isn't that racist still, on both sides of the coin? It's still segregation, marginalization. Voting for Obama because he's black makes one really no better than another person who votes for McCain because he's white. Because in the end, it's the same syndrome: "I'm voting for him because he looks more like me than the other guy." And that is what actually causes racism - that segregation between 'self' and 'other'. When people think of other groups as 'the other', and think of themselves as 'us' and other races or genders or sexuality as 'them', then that's where all the problems come rushing in, isn't it?

Because people in the end still fear what is unknown. And what people fear, they tend to hate, they tend to discriminate. They want to push 'the other' away, box them up, control them so this 'other' that they don't understand won't attack them. I find this incredibly funny, because it's really an extreme caveman-like behavior. Aren't we supposed to be civilised now? People are just that - people. Why judge others and think of them as 'other' because of the colour of their skin, or their bodies, or who they want to love? Why judge others according to what they cannot control?

No one chooses the skin colour they are born with. No one chooses their gender. No one chooses their sexuality. It's all decided by our genes, really. So why do you discriminate against someone for something that they didn't even ask for in the first place? Is it fair? It's never fair. Just imagine - someone discriminates against you, calls you dirty, calls you sick, calls you names and generally make you feel like absolutely worthless rubbish because of your eye colour. Because of the shape of your hands. Because you have an appendix.

It's the same thing.

I'm not saying I'm the most open-minded person in the world, because I'm not. Because I don't judge people on what they can't change. I have friends of different ethnicities, sexuality, and genders, and I honestly don't care. If I judge anyone by anything at all, it's on their ignorance, or that they discriminate. All of these are changeable, and the only reason why I judge them is because these are things they can so easily change, yet they don't. People who are ignorant, who are discriminatory - they hurt other people with their careless words and actions. Which is why I dislike them.

But I don't try to deny them their rights. I don't try to say - hey, just because you are discriminatory, I'm not going to let you have this scholarship grant or this university place, or I'm going to feel resentful against you because you got the promotion I wanted to have. Because that's unfair for you, and hypocritical of me.

I live in a country where racial discrimination is practically nonexistent, and where women might just be the stronger sex. But there are still heavy cases of homophobia. Mention a gay person in this country and people will make inappropriate jokes and laugh at them. Mention that you're gay, or bisexual, and they'll cringe away from you. It's a terribly sad state of affairs, when I see this, because what's the use of just getting rid of racism and sexism when you don't get rid of discrimination as a whole? Two steps forward, one step back.

I believe, honestly, that in the end we are just people. Why does all of this matter still? All that differs is, at the very, very most, one allele. All of us belong to one species, don't we? Just because I'm Asian doesn't make me more stupid, or more cunning, or more sneaky than the average Caucasian. Being Asian isn't all that I am - it's only part of it. The same with being a woman.

So why do we like to magnify that one aspect so much and make a big hoo-haa out of it? Why judge an entire group of people just because they are different from you in that one (or two, or three) aspect? Why even judge people based on something that a person can't ever hope to change, and what that person never asked for? Why do you even fear the unknown when there are so many people who are so different from you - lookswise and personality-wise both - everywhere around you? People with different faces, clothes, ways of speech... all of that.

We really are all the same kind. So please, accept this. Move on beyond it, and see what sort of person Barack Obama is, or what sort of person that man who lives across the road and who belongs to a minority is.

Broaden your mind a little, that's all I ask.

just a few things i'm chewing on and throwing out to be chewed on, i guess. each of them merits an entire essay (except for the last one) so i'm not elaborating unless people want me to. -chews lip-

standard disclaimers: MY OPINIONS, NOT THE TRUTH. feel free to argue with me. i have 'argumentation in olympics' as one of my interests, ffs.

so:

1. hibari isn't a free spirit
2. he realizes this, at least in tyl
3. hibari isn't emotionally damaged
4. yamamoto isn't oblivious
5. chrome in tyl is the zen mistress
6. kyouya is supposed to head the ohtori police as third son but he wants to be more
7. tamaki isn't an airhead
8. nor is he naive
9. reborn is ohtori kyouya, twenty years later

GO GO GO

ironic as it might seem, i don't like fics that are pretty. pretty, but empty, like a crystal vase sitting by the window. you look at it once in a while, and it's gorgeous in the light and captures rainbows in the diamond-shaped facets, but...

it gets boring, after a while.

when i use metaphors, i try to use them in-character, and with reason. my imagery tries to paint a picture with good reason. i'm trying to make a point here, with every word i write, and every metaphor and simile and description contributes to that point. that's why writing is, to me. it's to communicate - to tell a story, to weave something gorgeous in the minds of the reader. i try to make everything like a constant video, like you are watching the world through the eyes of the characters and it's appropriately tinted. i don't know whether i succeed, but i try.

what i really dislike, honestly, are descriptions and metaphors and imagery for the sake of it. they are pretty, they help the reader visualise but-

there isn't a point. there isn't a true story to tell. there isn't characterisation. replace these two characters with anyone else and the fic works perfectly fine, or even better, in some cases. the metaphors used aren't what the character themselves might use. it's all a sort of mess of pretty language and it's really such a pity. because, really, these fics are no different from those millions of beautiful, realistic landscape paintings (things like this.)

it serves no purpose. it's like a crystal vase, all ornamental and nice to read once in a while but eventually the magic fades, and it just becomes something your eyes slide past each time you walk by it. it's really very sad when this happens, because-

all these authors, they could have done so much better. these authors - they are the ones who can do it. they can create images, draw links, characterise. it's just that-

they're doing it all so disjointedly, and in the end, it's all a waste. there's no purpose, no meaning, and it's just so flimsy in the end. they could have done more; written something more memorable, something that truly strikes you with a truth that touches your heart, or even an image that haunts you even when you're surrounded by mundanity, or something about the character that changes entirely how you view him.

because that's what art is.

change. revolution. even if it's something miniscule. it's what i try to do with every piece of fic i write - create art.

because that's what language is.

eta; wow. so many responses, and so fast? -takes note of the timing. or is it the subject matter? hmm.-

when i close my eyes i see the world in vivid colours. i know, i know, it does not make sense. perhaps i am a born impressionist, for i see the leaves colour in golds and silvers like fairytales, and when i fall back into my bed i see the world like a surrealist painting, all blurred colours and distortion and yet so beautiful that it takes my breath away. light splinters, breaks into a thousand million rainbows and awash the walls with colours, but then-
i open my eyes

there's no song for a loner who walks his own road, because such a loner needs no song. the song he sings is in his own heart, and when he reaches out a hand it is not for help for companionship, it is simply an action; a gesture. perhaps he reaches out for the apple in the tree, or a pomegranate seed. do not chain him down just because he holds out a hand for you to hold; not because his hand is so warm that it sends shivers down your spine, and when you look into his well-deep eyes you fall and fall and can't wake up. do not chain down a lone wanderer, for when you try to, he stops being the man you love. you did not fall in love with a man who can be chained down - you fell in love with a free spirit, a falcon soaring the skies and when you collared the falcon- what then, do you love it for, once its freedom is chained?

let me go, let me free, let me try to dream and keep hold of my dreams in this world.

there's no colours in the wind unless there are leaves caught in it, blowing and fighting against the turbulence. there is no colours in water either, but water and wind has the ability to capture light, capture us and it is nothing like what i have ever imagined. when i dip my fingers into water, they turn crooked and broken but there's no pain. the fishes nibbles at my fingertips and i wonder- what do they think of me? do they see me? can they see me? will i be remembered? i don't think so. these fishes- they live in a world different from us. they live in a world that is free and contains nothing but a great lake and sun and food. they have no worries.

sometimes i wish to be so free

chain me bind me blindfold me. block my ears and blind my eyes and stop my nose and gag my mouth so i will stop hoping and dreaming for the sky outside the steel-and-concrete cell you have trapped me in

i rarely post my thoughts, which is ironic because this is supposed to be a blog, after all. but i just realized that the entire first page of my journal is only fic, and this isn't meant to be a fiction blog, not entirely anyway. so here i go.

i usually walk through life oblivious and blind, too caught up in my own dreams and my own fantasies. i see only when i'm required to see - when i have a job and have to interview people. during these times, i see poetry in the ways they turn their heads; in the wave of a hand; in the flutter of an eyelash; in the curve of a lip. these subtleties speak more to me than words can ever do, and despite my love for words, i can never find a way to describe them adequately. it's a matter of angle, a matter of detail, but it's also a portrait, a freeze-frame caught in my mind that words can never describe entirely, for words paint a picture and the brush strokes and colours are different in everyone's minds.

i try, nonetheless. i am a dreamer, after all.

i find beauty in the strangest things. perhaps it can be said that beauty is usually found in nature - in sunsets, forests, beaches, seas. but i live in a concrete jungle - all i see are buildings, buildings, buildings. it's stifling, but i make do, for beauty hides its face behind veils of all shapes and sizes, and it's a challenge to discover it.

i find beauty in the clothes hung out to dry, fluttering like wings on coloured bamboo poles. bright coloured, dark coloured, stark white. they are like paintings amongst themselves, telling a story of the people who wears these clothes. look - one bamboo pole has clothes fit for small children, brightly coloured and miniscule enough to fit into a hand, and it tells me, ah, this house holds a family's warmth. look again - and another pole holds dark pants and slacks and blazers and high collared white shirts, and i think that the father is surely a salaryman.

the world tells us of little, insignificant things that form the corners of dreams. the story of the sky is told in the rain's patter patter, in the wind's howl, in the thunder's crackle. the world tells us so much and yet we are so caught up by the concrete jungle, in our miniscule lives that we pass by it, dismissing it even while we live in it. there is so much for us to learn, but we have moved out of the forests and given up the language of lore.

the curves of my fingers while beckoning tells a language of its own, one of want and longing and impatience. my smiles are numerous and each says something different, unspoken words that sometimes even i am oblivious of. i see myself mirrored in a friend's eyes, and i ache for i do not want her to be like me, for the path of a dreamer is a painful one. this cruel world we live in gives us no reprieve for dreams.

yet- i hope.

there's nothing more beautiful than the joining of two clouds against a bright blue sky. or should that be a laugh, or tears?

we speak in riddles and metaphors and i long for simplicity.