In Continuum.

My Faceless Fan


In efforts to save our world from ourselves, I have resorted to using the air-conditioning only when absolutely necessary. And by 'necessary', I mean in the case whereby my shirt is no longer has the ability to be taken off my body, because the amount of sweat accumulated between the skin on my back and the fabric simply does not allow it to happen. So, without the air-conditioning as my partner in the night, the fan in my room that has been with me for the longest time then becomes, my best friend in the deep humid nights.

Tell me how you seek your man
And tell me all your secret spells
Tell me how you learn
To tell by his voice that he fell

He watches over me like a nurse would over a patient. But there is only one patient to take care of, and the disease he is plagued with cannot be cured with any modern medicine available. Heartbreak, it is a disease of sorts, technically speaking. Our temperatures rise with the thought of our past, blood pressure would increase and the sleepless nights cause insomnia, which may lead to liver damage or kidney complications in the long run. That is what heartbreaks can do to you, and that is the sort of thing I am troubled with these days, and probably just that. However, there he is - loyal and faithful - standing next to me and spinning away into the night, without any questions asked or qualm to speak of despite all the spinning of the blades. In the comfort of my bedsheets, he watches and he spins, and he makes sure that I have the most comfortable sleep he can possibly provide. My fan, my friend.

When my sister and I shared a bedroom in the past, she used to prefer sleeping on the mattress on the floor rather than the bed itself. I'm not sure why, but perhaps she just prefers a different place for her head. Anyway, there was a time she became gravely ill, with her fever roaring to great heights and constantly breaking personaly temperature records by the hour. I remember the uproar in the family, the way my mother rushed in and out of the bathroom with buckets of water and towel to cool her heated head down. As the brother standing next to the scene at such a young age, there was a tickle in my heart as I watched my sister's face turn from red to white. She panted softly, and spoke little to me. And her conditions were stabilized only at midnight. After my parents went to sleep, I took care of my sister afterwards. Sitting there with my back against the cupboard and the extra towels in my hands, I took care of my sister then - changing the towels and making sure that the water is cooling to my hands. Like the fan that watches over me at night, I watched over my sister in the same way, so many years ago.

I know a ghost will walk through the wall
Yet I am just a man still learning how to fall

The construction downstairs is almost done, you can see from the back of the house where my mother hangs the laundry. At least the top of the construction is almost finished, and we are now left with whatever that needs to be done underground. That'd also mean a cleaning air for the residence around and a lower tendency for the floors to be covered in a thin layer of dust after cleaning for just three days. That has been the case even in my house - nineteen floors up - according to my mother. And the fan is not spared from the onslaught either, swallowing balls of dirt as it spins in the night constantly at a hundred miles per hour.

Exclaiming in horror, my mother started the process of removing the metal grills that act as the protective cover of the blades and ran it under the running water in the bathroom. As she started unscrewing the grills, the balls of dust came rolling off the fan, and she kept complaining about how little I cared for the fan and how I never bothered to clean it despite the dust-plagued metal parts. I stared at the scene in dismay, as she brought the fan apart under the merciless screwdriver, and the face of the fan finally came off with her gentle tug at the sides of the metal grill. Off came the blades too, and they laid on the floor in a pile, in pieces and broken. I still sat there and ignored my mother's complaints, looking at my friend in pieces was a hard thing to bear. For some reason, I saw not that person that looks out for me, but rather myself in a bunch of plastic and metal pile, coated in dust and worn out by time.

Try to re-imagine me
And I’ll re-invent myself
Still I remember scenes
Of when you looked at someone else

The water started running in the bathroom, the sound traveled down the hall like the waters falling at the back of the fish tank. I sat alone in my room, facing the faceless fan, as the sun peered in through the curtains and casted a shadow on the plastic body. A song was playing in the background, John Mayer's In Repair was playing with the words," I'm in repair/ I'm not together, but I'm getting there". It was as if the faceless fan was saying those things to me, telling me that he is OK and I needn't worry about anything. With his face plucked off and now looking like a leafless tree, I almost pitied the fan at that moment in time. Just standing there without the blades or face, with a metal pole sticking out from the middle and serving no use to the rest of the world even if the power switch is turned on. How useless it sudden becomes, under the hands of a woman armed with a screwdriver. All it takes is for a woman to break him down, and his life becomes useless and bare, faceless and ashamed.

But still, my faceless fan stood tall in the middle of my room, casting a silhouette against the sunlight that streamed in from the back. It's head was tilted a little upwards, the way a child would as he goes up to the stage to receive a prize. It was saying to me, the lyrics of the song that was playing in the back. Because he knew, that he was going to be fixed soon, and it was only a matter of time before it happens. Broken, yet hopeful. In pieces, yet wistful. I wished to be my faceless fan, my faceless friend. To be able to stand tall, even now.

I know a ghost can walk through the wall
Yet I am just a man still learning how to fall

So I took a picture of my faceless fan, the one that you see above. It must be a little strange and odd, how a plastic fan can ensue such a long entry like this one. But I guess if we look closely enough, everything in life becomes an inspiration, and every little detail becomes so much more beautiful than its surface value. It no longer becomes a boring furniture at home, or an electrical appliance. Everything can be something, and that something can then become your everything. At least that is how I see that picture I took, how it emerges out of the darkness with his face still detached, but still standing tall despite of the odds.

My mother came back with the blades and the grill, with water dropping from them and her hands. I placed the parts back myself, and clipped the lock shut at the bottom. Once again, with the pressing of the power button, the fan came on and it was back in business. The song in the background stopped, and "I'm Gonna Find Another You" was on afterwards. Hidden messages, subtle meanings of life. What coincidences life can bring you, how interesting to observe and notice such things. The fan whirled, and the sound of the blades cutting through the air could be heard from where I was. For a moment, I thought I heard it singing, singing a tuneless tune. But a tune it was, and it was a celebration of life - life renewed, all over again.

If you start doubting me
Then I start to doubt myself
And never look through me
Cause I’ll keep close to myself

I know a ghost can walk through the wall
Yet I am just a man still learning how to fall

It takes more than a fall to break a man, it takes more than death to take the life away. It takes a sense of dismay, and a sense of hopelessness. It takes two words to break a man into a million pieces: Give up. We are always against the odds, always against our will. But then there are certain things in life, we look upon it as ordinary things - only to realize at the end that they mean so much more. It is as if somebody was trying to tell me something, hinting to me that it is going to be OK. So what if that somebody came with a screwdriver and brought me apart? So what if she left me like that and never came back to fix me back again?

Somebody else will sooner or later, and all I have to do is to keep my plastic body upright and my head tilted high. With my innards still working, I'd be able to accomplish - anything. It's merely the process of learning how to fall. When when I do learn it, I am going to bounce back up, and start spinning all over again. Who cares if it doesn't come soon enough, it doesn't matter. Not, anymore.

I am what I am
And what I am is who I am
I know what I know
And all I know is that I fell

If only I could walk through the wall
Then maybe I would tell you who I was
Yet I am just a man still learning how to fall
Yet I am just a man still learning how to fall