6/12/2007
Ten minutes before closing time

Eventually it all comes back to the araby.

And so does the meaning of the story. Another teacher, another spin, another surprisingly relevant literature lesson. What you want would not be what they seemed to be once you get there. And probably that's why we all just pretend to be happy.

There's this air of mystery in everything that's new. You probably know about the one who opened up a box, saw an iPod, and played with it until he knew everything and it just becomes part of a routine? Well, I actually made that up, but I think you get the point. It's us getting bored easily, especially when all has been discovered and we want something else to spark our imaginations. I think that makes us a little bit more coherent in a way. Sparks power us.

So much for the discontent. I finish one thing, only to start another, despite vowing to end all the craziness. How many times have I done that? And yes, everybody knows I'm tired of all the looking at an otherwise non-existent silver lining, but I still manage to peek one more time. It's always exciting out there. To be honest that's the one thing that fuels the imagination. And sure, we also need to rest, which is why we need to break away from it all after a long time in the battlefield.

All to know the mystery behind the new. All to find out that it isn't how you saw it before. And yet you want more.

Well, I couldn't help it. Sparks power us. It's the one thing that we're attracted to, on an otherwise drab night sky. Fireflies just do their thing and yet we all smile and wonder how they do a light show without paying a hefty sum. And that goes with everything else. We try to crack the secrets to everything, from religion to paintings to female mindsets, but eventually they all ruin the fun. And if everything's ruined, they just end up ruining our very essence.

I haven't seen fireflies for a long time. I did see a batch fly on our garden when I was very young. Eventually I'd know how they made their bodies light up, and the next thing I know, I haven't seen even just one again.

I haven't figured out why, after all this time, I still look for someone. It's been a different case each time - preppy, wide-eyed, up there, also up there, glassed - and yet, even if I crack it open and I lose everything I've thought of, I'm still at it.

Eventually, in an instant, everything is back to normal.

Even if you're surprised at how fast the spark died down, you're still at it.

But the fun thing is, you'll never know when you'll see another one of those sparks. And who knows, that might be it. You might end up being a little more content, eventually - sure, we're built as searchers looking for faint signs of life, but eventually we have to smile at something. So maybe that's why mysteries sell off bookshelves. We never get to solve it, and we get one more try at cracking it. And we never do. But we're entertained.

For once, I was looking at a silver lining, at how harmless silence could be, and how hurtful keeping it has been.

And your responses...

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