Anonymous is currently studying in a University in the US. He loves music, comedy and the silence of a library at 3 am. He has many stories. This is one of them. His identity cannot be revealed for legal reasons because his university has a bad habit of suspending students who they believe may be a health risk, which he most certainly is not. Certain facts are changed.
I am writing this because many of my friends know me as a perception of a person that I am, rather than the person I believe myself to be. Whether I like it or not, death and my experience with it has formed an important part of who I am and how I live my life. As time goes by, and as I meet more people who become closer to me, I feel a growing psychological chasm between us. I feel dishonest for keeping such a major part of who I am, why I am, a secret. I want to be able to look a friend in the eye and allow them to understand my whole story, finally. This is who I am.
At the same time, I want to help people figure out how to move forward in life. Surviving suicide is incremental and I hope this may shed a bit of light on some of the first few steps.
I know that feeling though. You are slightly incredulous. What could his experience possibly be like? How real was it?
I suppose that is valid. I can only describe what it meant to me. Through this, I hope to give a small insight to what I believed was a suicidal mind. Nobody from the outside can really understand what suicide feels like, and those who do are generally in no position to elucidate.
We’ve frequently extolled the virtues of remembering. We hail those with perfect memory as heroes. Hell, we even have World Memory Championships. Sometimes we don’t remember the fact that memories are dangerous things.
You’ve probably asked people how their thought processes work. Mine works pretty badly; I reached today’s topic by thinking about how I or anyone else would or could move on from the death of a loved one. I decided to think about the gift of forgetting.
Afiq Azman is a freelance writer and aspiring filmmaker. He often travels by bus as it is, according to him, a place of solitude and soul searching.
I make films on an amateur level; I don’t have access to big budgets or expensive equipment. And it is quite a tough game.
However, that to me doesn’t qualify for an excuse to not make a film. Of course if I ever was to submit a film for a competition, it has a 10% chance of even making the shortlist.
In the day and age of cheaper DSLRs and the advent of Youtube, Viddsee and Vimeo, all great sources of films and videos made on a budget, it create an easier avenue for people like me to share their work online. Don’t expect a huge following at first cause remember, you don’t become a filmmaker because of showing off. You are one because you like to share stories and you want to impact audiences with your message.
It was on our tenth day, as we drove yet again to the desert, that our social expectations quickly wore thin, and our natural inclination for individualistic hedonism quickly took over. For me, of course, it was sooner than most; my attempts at socialization were after all, always only a farce. I had buried myself in an intriguing book by Doytevesky and Simon had emerged from his backpack with a Spanish-Dutch romance novel. I gazed outside, staring at yet another endless plain of bush forest, or was it grasslands, or temperate desert? It did not matter after all. I was more intrigued by the cloudy skies, the visage of its underbelly concealing the full range of its existence. The hidden behemoth that was the Australia cloud led me to the contemplations of the certainty of dimensional existences. To a God looking down, we must be very flat characters after all. Continue reading →
She descended her dark stage, illuminated by a singular spotlight and floating on the silent praise on her performance that represented a part of her, only permitted to come alive, to dance, to sorrow and to die with an audience; untouched by reality, she immortalized herself on that scene full of glitter and puff, impressing the crowd of shadows as her musicians serenaded her every action. She loves being herself – able to live and die multiple lives, and who can say they really understand a story unless they are within it themselves?
To get over freezing and almost dying in the Himalayas, I decided to head down to Australia. The land of kangaroos, camels (Turns out, Australia has the largest camel herd in the world.) and vast open deserts seem to be the best place to warm up. I decided to bring beachwear and tank tops. In the south of Australia. In July. Where an Australian winter can reach 5 degrees. I painfully learnt of the need to research local weather temperatures, before happily relearning that lesson in Taiwan, but that’s a story for another time.
After a month in the cities of Brisbane, Sydney and Melbourne, I was done exploring the pub crawls and the admittedly awesome speakeasies (hidden bars). I wanted an adventure dammit. And so I found myself on a roadtrip from Melbourne to Perth. It was the most amazingly meditative trip. This is how I did it.
Living out his imagination, thinking the worth of his life, and communicating his identity through writing, Koxeida struggles not for the sake of others, but for himself. He is a selfish amateur being.
Just some food for thought when I was thinking about the issue of cloning, and it reminded me of Leibniz’s theory on indiscernible.
Is it possible that there can be exactly 2 identical objects?
This is a new series where I explore posts that have unconventional or complex conclusions drawn from comparatively simpler life situations. Arguably, this is the entire premise of philosophy, but still.
I used to be like one of you uni-cyclical sleepers (People who sleep once a day)(I made that term up. It’s mine.) until I adopted the complex philosophy of ‘Screw it, I’m tired and going to bed, I don’t care what time it is’. This has resulted in me taking a series of short naps; waking up and sleeping at various times of the day. Common conversation topics with my hallmates include ‘Why the hell are you sleeping at 3pm?’ and ‘Why the hell have you just woken up at 12am?’.
I stay up in the library a lot, to the early mornings of the day.
Those who know me know I do not study very well so sometimes I do something different.
Our library have light sensors that are triggered by motion sensors. It is common to see a swath of corridors light up as a person comes in and out of the library. When one sits long enough, the motion sensors fail and the lights go out.
Sometimes, I play a slow piano serenade and sit still, long enough to see the lights go out one by one, as the darkness descends steadily towards me until it engulfs me completely.
It becomes so beautifully surreal. No longer buoyed with reality, my mind lifts me by a tether and I watch myself watch myself watch myself.