Codesmith

Life, Or Something Like It
2006-11-27 13:22:25 (UTC)

Bath Tub

It's 1127, Monday. 747am. Cloudy. It's a rather nice day out.

The other day I was having a conversation with an
acquaintance of mine. We were discussing the uniqueness of
people's cultural background along with their individual
experiences. It seemed he was trying hard to understand why
I did not really embrace my background or any of my
experiences. I tried to explain that it was because I had
tried to distance myself from such things as I found it
philosophically, possibly, entangling. Because, to adhere to
one or adopt a certain set of ideas or thoughts which are
associated with a particular physical identity or
definition, things which were out of one's hands, could be
possibly ... binding. If that made sense.

Not to say that I was right. But, it was just my point of
view that I was trying to help express or explain. I don't
think I was terribly successful in explaining my position.

Although, the thought sort of stuck with me. Why do I try to
distance myself? I think the stock answers are always either
because I had unendearing experiences with my family growing
up. Or, because, I find it philosophically entangling and
inhibiting of a more ... neutral perspective.

As such, I began to wonder just how many other things that
I've gotten to see and experience that others would probably
find interesting. Whereas, I would find ... bland.

I could not really think of any off-hand, till this morning.
In the shower.

Being in the shower, I had began to wonder when the last
time the thing was cleaned. Probably not for a month or so.
If longer. I started thinking about just how unsanitary it
would be to fill the thing with water and keep such water
on-hand for daily use; If such an activity was called for, I
mean.

Then it occurred to me that such a thing had happened
before. When I was a child, and when the typhoons were
rather strong (or the infrastructure of my residence rather
... unimpressive) to the point which usually forced my
mother to fill the batht tub with water, along with all
other such containers in an effort to store water for an
undetermined amount of time until when the water in our area
would be restored.

It then occurred to me that not many people around these
areas, probably had to do such a thing in their past.

Another thing, the nights were we ate food out of cans or
used a gas stove to prepare food. I never thought such
things were ... out of the ordinary then, as they were more
or less a fact of life. A fact of life once a year, I mean.
I never saw such things as a discomfort or bad in any way. I
mean, other than the fact I was annoyed my television show
would be missed on lack of power.

Sometimes, in fact, I actually thought the opposite. How
nice it was to be without the enslaving commodity of
electrical luxury. How nice it was to not have to
entertainment which was reliant upon electricity. How the
nights were so quiet, peaceful.

The candle lights at night were rather nice. To stare within
their depths, their focus of chemical reaction, was to
witness something ... potentially philosophically
enlightening. Potentially being the key word.

Oh, and plus those times out at night, in the dark, hanging
out with the pastor's daughter from church; Alone to our
devices and just finding comfort within each other's
presence away from the "crowd." Fun times, indeed.

Although with all that said, when the power was restored to
our area I would never go back to the darkness. I would
never switch the lights out and just pretend that the world
was a better place without electricity. For all that I just
wrote and reminisced, ... I never went back when I could
have just as easily done so.

Without going into a long explanation as to why, the
synopsis would be that ... to experience a typhoon and be
without power ... Well, that was just life. The typhoon was
something that came once a year, and removed things whether
you liked it or not. Running water, electricity, an annoying
neighbor, or perhaps even their further annoying Christmas
decorations left out for the past year. Just kidding about
the last two.

But, when the metereological phenomenon happened to this
small island, it was something ... liberating. Something I
can only draw parallel or similar to Kafka's book,
"Metomorphosis." I mean it's not like those people from that
book wanted their dad to turn into a bug ... but, you know,
what can you do?

.. But anyway, I just thought I would archive the bath tub
with water thing. Just so that I don't possibly lose
something "unique" because of my perspective that uniqueness
is a hinderance to the pursuit of an all-encompassing and
omniscent-style perspective.

On a random note, I wonder if such stories would impress
Megs. Hm, let's see. I grew up during a time where once a
year we had to live in rather bleak conditions.

I am not sure if such anecdotes would be conducive to
endearing her towards me, or aid in the process of winning
her heart.




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