In Continuum.

So, two things about somebody in school that refreshed my impression about her. One, she is killer on the violin, and also she is a fan of House. That person is Ana, and it is a pleasant surprised to me, and it was nice for her to talk about House with Joyce and I on the way home in Mahfudz's car. Anyway, so speaking of House, I have mentioned about learning a thing or two about what goes on in the hospital. Biopsy is one such thing that I have learned from the show, and it happens when you want to look at a part of the human body under the microscope to test for a certain disease. You take a giant syringe, plunge it into the body, and take a sample of that organ for testing later on. I am not sure if you can do it to every part of the body, but it seems like they have done it to every organ in the show so far. Heart, liver, stomach, spinal nerve, brain - everything. So I was thinking about a brain biopsy on me, and how it'd all look like under the microscope, if someone were to do that to me someday. Of course, I hate the hospital, I don't want to be anywhere near it. However, it'd be interesting to see a part of me magnified a few thousand times, and then see how it looks like on a microscopic level. I've always imagined, as a child, that my brain would look somewhat like the picture above, with tiny versions of myself running about. I was a child, so give me a break. Still, what'd happen if we actually do that? 

It is that endless fascination with whatever that we dig out of our bodies, you know? We've all picked our noses or dug into our ears, and whatever that comes out becomes so endlessly fascinating, that you cannot help but stare at it for a few seconds before depositing it away into the trash. Of course, if someone else were to do that in the public, you'd probably turn away or, take a video of it and post it on YouTube. Pretty much whatever that you allow yourself to do when you are alone, cannot be tolerated when someone else does it in the public. But we have all picked our noses and stared at the find for a few seconds, they are just fascinating. It's like how you blow your nose when you are sick, like me right now, and you cannot help but look at the contents of the tissue paper for a while and wonder where in the world these gooey horrors came from. Anyway, I am sure I am grossing some readers out at this point, so let's get on with the point about my brain biopsy. When I was first told of the idea of atoms when I was younger, I couldn't grasp the idea of us being made up of tiny little orbs, like everything else in this world. Then it became easier to imagine, when I pictured little versions of myself driving these orbs around my body like spaceships. 

I've always pictured little versions of myself running everywhere, and I have absolutely no idea why. I suppose I refused to believe that something as complicated as human beings can be the result of mere chemical reactions in our body. Which is why I pictured how my brain biopsy would look like under the microscope, and I have divided it into little rooms for the purpose of this blog entry. You know, for easier visualization. The first room would probably be filled with televisions, hung on the wall or stacked on top of one another. It is broadcasted twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, of unrealistic dreams and hopes that I might have in the day. One television might be showing me with a sniper rifle in my hands, standing on a jeep as it drives through the plains of Africa. I'd be working with the zookeepers at a safari, hunting down poachers of animals without questions. It is a real profession in Africa, and human lives can sometimes worth less than animal's, which I find to be perfectly natural. Strangely, morals and ethics go right out of the window when I take animals into consideration. If it takes killing a human to save animals, I probably would without hesitations. Anyway, this is the room with all my unrealistic dreams, where I visit every once in a while like a child. You can dream once in a while, even if it is about being an astronaut or to save the world. I suppose even I want to escape to a place where I could dream big, while knowing that it is a dream. Like watching the lives of celebrities on a television, there isn't any harm in hopelessly wishing at times, right. 

The second room would have wallpapers filled with scribbles, indecipherable words under clouds of black ink on the walls all around. This will be a room full of my worries, the place where I dump my worrisome thoughts and leave them there. There are things I am willing to face, things that I feel courageous about. You know, like a daunting week full of assignments and projects, there are some people who'd just give up sometimes. I am not afraid, or rather I do not see it as being something to be afraid of. But there are other things in my life, things that I just want to run away from at times. They come to mind every once in a while, be it the moments before you fall asleep or in front of the television. Always randomly, and without any warning, and it spoils your day even for a split second. So I write them off one by one, with some giant marker in my head. Or at least that is what I picture whenever I worry about something, I scribble on them and try to pretend that they are not there. It is my form of escapism, and I suppose not everybody has the courage to face every single issues in their lives. We all have our weaknesses, and sometimes they are better left unseen under a cloud of black ink. 

There will be a room dedicated to thinking about stupid people. I'd probably be blogging about these stupid people, because they are just stupid. I don't want people to think that by calling people "stupid", I am putting myself on a higher pedestal than others - I am not. You really don't have to be a lot greater or smarter than others to know that what they are doing is incredibly stupid. Partially, it is what you get from studying Sociology or COM231 in school, you tend to see the world in its most fundamental form, and as a result you feel disappointed with the species of mankind as a while. I can't help it, because that is the way it is. If I were an alien looking in on Earth, I'd probably feel really good about myself. Anyway, times in this room would be spent writing blog entries, debating with versions of myself on just how stupid human beings can get. I think this topic deserves a room to itself, because I find that I spend a lot of time pondering over issues like that. Why do rich and educated people believe in ridiculous cults? Why did that kid blow his fingers up with his homemade dynamite? Why are there people voting for McCain? Why do people believe in the things that they believe? I spend a lot of time on stupid people, and they are all a part of this room. 

The next room would probably be blank. You know, a white room with white walls and white ceiling, and of course a white floor. This will be the room where I zone out every once in a while, or when dreams get filtered into this room and get erased by morning. This room is magical, it is void of thoughts absolutely. You throw a thought into this room and it gets erased immediately, and that would explain why I have the tendency to forget where I've placed my cellphone, or the names of someone on my MSN contact list. It happens at times, because thoughts enter this room and they get wiped away clean. I suppose that also explains why I cannot remember certain dreams in the morning. Some escapes the room, while others are erased, or deleted. I suppose this room is like a giant black hole, only that it is white in color. You might ask, why don't I tear down the wallpapers in the room of worries and then toss it into this room? Well, worries work in a different dimension altogether. Given its unpredictability, they are bounced right out of this room and into other rooms, which is why my only option is to cover them up, for the time being. 

Next, we have the room of kites. I don't think about kites a lot, but I do think a lot. General things, random things like that other time when I told my friend about my distaste for the man that invented bendy straws. I just suddenly came up with that thought, and it was probably the most original thought that I have came up with, despite the fact that it is pointless and useless. This room is also the room where I get most of my ideas for blogs, like this blog entry specifically. I'd imagine these thoughts to be like kites floating around in the sky, though most of them are so high that they are in the clouds. I cannot see some of them, but for the rest I would pull them down with the string and then process it into blog entries. I'd grab some of them down, read the words on the kite, and then let them back up again to gather more ideas and inspirations. That is kind of how I see my so-called "inspirations" anyway. I don't really know where they come from, and I am just picking them off somehow from, well, somewhere. They are always there, but I just have to find a way to reach their strings. Of course, sometimes they kind of fly away and float out of my reach, which is also why I tend to forget some ideas, if I don't jot them down somewhere. So, the room of kites, I like that. 

The last room will be the present room. It isn't filled with boxed up presents, but rather whatever that is going on right now. Like, right now I am processing thoughts on what to type for this blog entry, and I am chatting with Neptina at the very same time. Everything that goes on right now, goes into this room to be processed. In the middle of the room, I imagine, would be me sitting there with a laptop on. That laptop would be plugged into every part of my body, controlling how I act and what I say. Of course, another mini-version of me would be monitoring the process in that room, with music in the background just to keep him entertained. Jeremy was in the basement parking lot the other day, and he wanted to meet Felicia and I in the atrium. Waiting for him took a while, which was why I sat down in the middle of the atrium to use the internet while Felicia took pictures of me. I suppose, I'd probably look somewhat like that in this room, just staring intently at a computer screen and trying to control it all. 

Anyway, here is a picture of me, being ridiculous. It'd be fun looking into my brain, though I think it is probably going to look like a really jumbled up tofu. That was what I thought about when my mother brought me to the supermarket when I was a child. We were in the meat section, I remember, and there were rows after rows of pig brain in display. I was rather disgusted with the pig brains, until my mother told me that human brains don't look a lot different from pig brains - just bigger. I suppose all that is beautiful in your head, all that is wonderful and pretty, comes down to this jumbled out piece of tofu in the end, encased in a thick skull that is covered in skin and hair. It is interesting to think sometimes, how normal we are if we were to be taken apart and studied. You know how it is when we die, you cut us open and we all look the same on the inside. We are no different, really, and it is just rather uneventful at times. You'd expect there to be musical notes bouncing out of a musician, or perhaps rolls of film from the stomach of a director. But in the end, we are all the same, yet unique in our own ways. Fascinating, isn't it? All of these, from a kite I found in the sky. Fancy that.