It starts as a plump pristine bud.
You have heard of such temptation. Some call it love, others dismiss it as frivolity.
The way its pink fades into white on the bud is unmistakably seductive.
Yet you undeniably sense the sensual attractions.
The size of the bud promises a spectacular bloom.
You see visions of happiness and feel spurs of romance.
The lotus bud sits quietly in the water, proudly ignoring the garnered attention.
You find yourself coaxing her into opening up; out of curiosity.
Over a few days, the petals yawn and stretch outwards.
Your attention is reciprocated. The temptation is real and the brakes stopped working long ago.
The bud unravels from its top, undressing itself petal by petal, revealing a dreamlike white resting within.
The more you learn about her, the stronger the attraction.
The outer petals start to wilt as the fragrance escapes. Although the bloom is imminent, one should not peel or pry at the petals to encourage it. Such impatience would only taint the blossom.
This is the best part of the love which you remember. The only thing you will carry with you years after you've stopped talking to each other.
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Monday, January 09, 2006
Friendship
Frienship is an oddity.
It used to excite, but superficially. Any keenness elicited came from novelty.
Enthusiasm bled away from the novelty, leaving am empty apologetic memory.
Used to be friends; marred by a misunderstanding. Now, we hardly talk, fearful of mentioning the tainted past.
Used to tell each other everything; separated by time and distance. Now we have only shallow conversations, uncertain of what is relevant.
Some friendships remind us of volatile bonds. How long do good things last?
Some incessantly deride our willingness to trust. "Oh, you hurt yourself? Told you so."
Some make us shudder like the essay you wrote in high school which you obviously tried too hard to impress.
I think half of my present thinks about the past.
Seriously Andrew, how can you like this writing? It depresses so much.
It used to excite, but superficially. Any keenness elicited came from novelty.
Enthusiasm bled away from the novelty, leaving am empty apologetic memory.
Used to be friends; marred by a misunderstanding. Now, we hardly talk, fearful of mentioning the tainted past.
Used to tell each other everything; separated by time and distance. Now we have only shallow conversations, uncertain of what is relevant.
Some friendships remind us of volatile bonds. How long do good things last?
Some incessantly deride our willingness to trust. "Oh, you hurt yourself? Told you so."
Some make us shudder like the essay you wrote in high school which you obviously tried too hard to impress.
I think half of my present thinks about the past.
Seriously Andrew, how can you like this writing? It depresses so much.
Friday, January 06, 2006
Pick your Hand
We don't get to pick our cards before we are born.
I like to think that we do after birth.
With the card facing down, of course, just like this picture. We learn the choices we make when we turn and assemble the cards.
How do we pick then? We assign superfluous meanings to the back of cards. Lazy? Get the Dealer to pick. Of course, the card game that is life, has an exception: you never know how many decks there are.
A single card does not make a good hand. Alternatively, it can break a good one when you are a perfectionist.
In Blackjack; Greed.
Dog. Bone. Reflection.
Should we resign to the odds?
We sometimes get tired of playing and instead share our deck with another. Compare. Share?
When everyone gets into a pair, the odds of the game suddenly change.
The strength of the cooperation depends on honesty and willingness to share cards. Will you show me your real hand? How should we split the earnings?
It was fun while we thought about the possible hands. And then there is the drama of getting your own cards back.
Secretly trading cards with a third party? Adultery? Depending on the rules you have with your "rightful" partner, they might never know.
What if they find out? Anger replies: why did you violate our trust to better your cards? What is different about the trust between spouses and partners in poker?
I wonder if I'll ever show my cards to another player again. I doubt I can deal with the hassle. At least for now.
I like to think that we do after birth.
With the card facing down, of course, just like this picture. We learn the choices we make when we turn and assemble the cards.
How do we pick then? We assign superfluous meanings to the back of cards. Lazy? Get the Dealer to pick. Of course, the card game that is life, has an exception: you never know how many decks there are.
A single card does not make a good hand. Alternatively, it can break a good one when you are a perfectionist.
In Blackjack; Greed.
Dog. Bone. Reflection.
Should we resign to the odds?
We sometimes get tired of playing and instead share our deck with another. Compare. Share?
When everyone gets into a pair, the odds of the game suddenly change.
The strength of the cooperation depends on honesty and willingness to share cards. Will you show me your real hand? How should we split the earnings?
It was fun while we thought about the possible hands. And then there is the drama of getting your own cards back.
Secretly trading cards with a third party? Adultery? Depending on the rules you have with your "rightful" partner, they might never know.
What if they find out? Anger replies: why did you violate our trust to better your cards? What is different about the trust between spouses and partners in poker?
I wonder if I'll ever show my cards to another player again. I doubt I can deal with the hassle. At least for now.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Old man and the river
Once in a while, I wonder another person might be thinking.
From his or her perspective, guessing their life story and relating it to their facial expression and behavior, coalescing into a single thought at the moment.
Naturally, such an exercise is doomed to be incorrect, but more often than not, it betrays the apprehensions and anticipations that I hold.
Perhaps this old gentleman is reflecting on the extent his country has changed in his lifetime. The clash of the old and new, popular and obsolete is omnipresent.
Of course, the only thought that crossed my mind when I took this picture was how to avoid being noticed. Tendays thereafter, I realize that I too share this awkwardness.
Home, is but a memory we hold and not the place we seek.
From his or her perspective, guessing their life story and relating it to their facial expression and behavior, coalescing into a single thought at the moment.
Naturally, such an exercise is doomed to be incorrect, but more often than not, it betrays the apprehensions and anticipations that I hold.
Perhaps this old gentleman is reflecting on the extent his country has changed in his lifetime. The clash of the old and new, popular and obsolete is omnipresent.
Of course, the only thought that crossed my mind when I took this picture was how to avoid being noticed. Tendays thereafter, I realize that I too share this awkwardness.
Home, is but a memory we hold and not the place we seek.
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