digging for that Treasure | ||||
welcome No one ever followed his genius til it misled him. Though the result were bodily weakness, yet perhaps no one can say that the consequences were to be regretted, for these were a life in conformity to higher principles. If the day and night are such that you greet them with joy, and life emits a fragrance like flowers and sweet-scented herbs, is more elastic, more starry, more immortal,--that is your success. All nature is your congratulation, and you have cause momentarily to bless yourself. The greatest gains and values are farthest from being appreciated. We easily come to doubt if they exist. We soon forget them. They are the highest reality....the true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched. --Henry David Thoreau |
profile There are two words to describe me: 'atheistic' and 'cynical'. Anything else, you'll have to find out by yourself. Don't like it, sue me. And that's the awful truth. |
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I love hong baos. Now, I've got a book fund. Awesome. First order of business, buy William Golding and Thoreau. After that, who knows? // Monday, January 26, 2009, 11:26 PM Ok, this is copyrighted, so don't steal my ideas, alright? Sorry Aricia, i decided to write another essay with the same topic as yours. Well, you can't stop inspiration when it comes to you. Plus I was really bored and I tend to write stories when that happens. Bear in mind I wrote this in like 2 hours. The long way Home It did not seem to end. The utter grandeur of it was just stunning—it took all my breath away. I stilled my beating heart and gulped in a tremendous lungful of fresh, minty air. It spiraled up towards the heavens, up and up and up… A gigantic golden corkscrew. It was a staircase, with so many steps in it it must have taken eternity to build. Yet the craftsmanship was superb! This was not your generic, mass produced kind of thing, it was hand-made. Each step crafted with careful precision, each engraving distinct and never repeated. It must have taken considerable toil to create such a masterpiece. Of course, when was Art ever easy? I took my first step. The gorgeous velvet carpet cushioned my footfall, so much that it was barely a whisper. The silence remained undisturbed. My hand grasped the smooth mahogany banisters, so glossy and shiny I could have seen my reflection in them, albeit distorted. Climbing upwards, I felt weightless, carefree. I could have floated away if my feet permitted me. However, I reserved myself to dutifully climbing up the endless numbers of steps, one after another, with a persistent methodical rhythm. Left. Right. Left. Right. Along the way, I encountered other people, also climbing upwards. Some were so old and frail I half expected them to disintegrate before my eyes, crumbling into a pile of flowery clothes, mint candies and large magnifying spectacles. None ever did, however, and most of them seemed to possess more energy in their liver-spotted legs than I did. My tanned, muscular legs did not fail me though, and I was grateful. There were, unfortunately, those whose legs seemed to convulse in jelly-like waves with each laboured step they took. They had the most pained expressions on their faces, one of a concoction of regret, exhaustion, and depression. They always stopped to look at me, their eyes telling a tale of jealousy, respect, and sometimes, contempt. They looked so unhappy in their tattered clothes and unshaven faces, as if they were trapped in their own weak bodies, in a tomb for all eternity. After climbing higher some more, I saw that most of these people had already given up. They lay in groups, huddled together for warmth, and slept in foetal shapes on the steps, utterly resigned to their fate. I wondered what would happen if someone were to accidentally push them down. Would they tumble downwards forever? Fall into a dark pit that awaited them in the bottom? Or perhaps they would just have to get up and climb their way upwards again. Whatever the case, I could tell they did not want to find out—they clutched onto the railings with vice-like strength. To them, being trapped forever in the staircase, no chance of going up, yet no desire to go down, was in itself, Hell. Then there were the people who seemed to leap up the stairs, bounding their way effortlessly upwards. Along my entire journey, I only met a handful of these people. They were so beautifully precious, so pure and clean and smiling. They grinned at everybody they passed, but theirs was not a grin of the high and mighty condescending upon the unfortunate—theirs was a grin of such euphoria it seemed to inspire you. At times, they seemed to fly, glide, and soar upwards with invisible wings. In fact, they looked so angelic I thought they deserved a pair of white feathery wings. Finally, there were the people like me, not so weak yet not so strong, but still able to manage. Yet while we were average, we were by no means plain. People from all walks of live contributed to our numbers. Some were so tall they did not seem to need stairs to reach the top, yet others were so small the height of a single step seemed to constitute half of their legs. Some were fair-skinned, others considerably darker. Some young, some older; some large, some skinny… The differences between us were so vast, but we all had one thing in common: we were all making our way up the stairway to Heaven. Then, out in the distance, I could make out a bright, dazzling shape looming into sight. A colossal gate stood at the end of the staircase. It was encrusted with a variety of precious jewels, from sapphires to rubies to emeralds. The prettiest, however, were the diamonds. They were so huge they seemed to be bigger than my entire face! They shimmered in the orange light, beckoning me closer and closer. In a trance-like mentality, I marched my way towards the Golden Gates, my heart so filled with content I never felt more alive. But then something very strange happened. The perfect illusion of it all dissipated like the morning mist in the afternoon. I noticed all the people that were not there, all the people that had not had the chance to climb the staircase yet, all the people that never made it up… This was not Home, this was a magnificent sanctuary of Salvation, of light and happiness, but this was not home. It was merely a reward for all our goodness in life, our compensation for all that we had done. It had no resemblance to life—it was not supposed to. It was not home. It did not possess the warmth brought on by family. It instilled no sense of protection (there is no need for protection in Heaven), and because of that, no sense of unity. Family is someone who cares for you, who worries about you, but with no need to fret about life, family ceases to exist. Home was back down the staircase, back down in Life. I stopped dead in my tracks, deliberated my decision, and finally made up my mind. With complete conviction, I turned around and faced the throngs of people that had only just made it up. They stared at me with curiosity. They did not understand what I was doing. Perhaps to some degree, neither did I. I took one last look at the gates, lifted an unusually heavy foot, and walked towards the staircase. People parted to give way to me. The immensely grand staircase extended downwards. With one single step, my long journey home began. Because the thing was, I chose Life. //, 11:18 PM You know how I was always bugging that I wasn't really participating in LD? Well, forget what I said. LD is really starting to pick up for me. And not just for debate. // Saturday, January 17, 2009, 1:07 PM Why is it I always seem to be short of money? And why is it there are always so many good books to buy? Every time I go to Borders, there is just so much I want to buy, and so much I can't afford. 1. Wally Lamb's new hardcover book = $35 2. Stephen King's new hardcover book = $35 3. Douglas Adams' Hitchhikers guide series = $17 each Selected Classics (Jack London, H.G. Wells, etc.) = $17-$20 each W. H. Auden Poems = $50 Right now, I have about $26 , excluding the really thoughtful present that Cleo gave me (a Borders gift card worth $11), I save $17 a week, so next week I shall have $43. I shall borrow $50 from my mom, thus bringing grand total to $104. This means I will be able to afford 3-4 books, depending on the price. I HAVE to get Wally Lamb's book, so with a little give and take, I should be able to maximize my spending money. Still, I'll be in debt for a long time. Probably a month. Chinese New Year couldn't come any sooner. I need that $180! If anyone wants to donate to my book fund, I just want to let them know it would be greatly appreciated. // Friday, January 2, 2009, 6:00 PM Its a new year. Awesome. // Thursday, January 1, 2009, 12:00 AM |