Faith in Humanity: Regained

Faith in Humanity: Lost

In Our Hands

 

I'm not an environmentalist. Really, I'm not. I crank up the heating when I get cold, take fifteen-minute showers, eat from non-recyclable containers, and don't let it mellow. But I do appreciate a good wakeup call now and again, just to remind myself how precious our little blue planet really is.

To live in an environmentally-friendly world would not mean going full-out organic vegan mode, or collecting rainwater for our bi-weekly showers. Cars would not go extinct and contact with other nations would not be lost; likewise, people would not become forest-dwellers, relying on nothing but the energy of the Sun God.

There are thousands of developing ideas from all over the world and from all sorts of different people feeling remorseful of the way the Earth is treated. Some are in effect already, such as harvest of solar power, sales of partially or fully electric cars, bans on plastic bags, and use of energy-saving light bulbs. The terrifying environmentalist advertisements bombarding the public today contain figures that are true, but conclusions that could not be any more false. It's not all doom and gloom, people! Humans need power and resources, and that is the price we pay for having the most evolved brain of all species on the planet. Now it is up to us to use those brains and differentiate between what is right and what is wrong, and take the appropriate measures to be active, conscious citizens of the world. For now, while we wait for truly brilliant environmentally-friendly ideas to emerge, the least we can do is switch off the lights when not needed. It really is the easiest thing we will do all day.

A Weighty Question

A Year in Quotations: 46/365

Opinion: The Perks of Being a Wallflower

There is only so far you can scroll on Tumblr before you come across an artfully sun-bleached photo with a quote by Stephen Chbosky slapped across its face. The Perks of Being a Wallflower has become somewhat of an unofficial badge of hipsterism. And yesterday, I discovered that I really wasn't into the new generation style.
I understand why this book is so important to a large of teenagers and young adults. Depression, anxiety, and the drama of growing up are all presented through the eyes of a socially awkward but secretly brilliant 15-year old boy. Many teens today feel lost and abandoned, with no one understanding them or willing to make things better. Charlie, the main character, embodies those people and we are given a view into his life, where he starts at a new school without friends, mixes with the cool kids, tries drugs and smokes for a while, falls in what he calls love, and discovers new truths about life in the meantime. The entire book is composed of letters to "Dear friend", with the date being August 1991 to August 1992. I could have been fooled into thinking that Charlie was 12 years old, based on his blunt and simple writing style. But this adds to the hipster nature of the novel.
I felt there was an overdose of drugs, abuse, sexual molestation, suicide, mental health issues, abortion, and any other experience typically linked to teenagers. This was all addressed within a few pages, and was, quite frankly, overwhelming. I don't know if there really was so much going on in 1992, or if Charlie just lived in a shitty neighborhood. In addition, Charlie came across as mentally or emotionally handicapped, considering his inability to place a name onto any emotion he had, besides "sad". He constantly broke down in tears and wasn't able to identify a rape while witnessing it. In addition, what 15-year old boy doesn't know what masturbation is?
The supporting characters are what made the book almost bearable for me. The characterization was interesting, and I felt like these people were real, in contrast to Charlie, who really was a wallflower. I am looking forward to see how the individual quirks of Charlie's friends translate onto the screen.
What really stood out were the simple truths of the quotes on those sun-bleached photos when I came across them in the novel. Because you don't have to know the storyline to understand, and some of them are truly beautiful.
All in all, I wouldn't recommend this book to optimistic, happy-go-lucky people like myself, but it would be a treasure to those who are struggling with their teenage experience.

New Obsession: Nail Design

Wonderland

Hero.

Plug in your earphones. Close your eyes. And listen.

0100101101

Paint It

1. Felicity
2. The Phantom of the Opera
3. Sorry
4. Friends
5. On a Brisk Day
6. I Remember You
7. Nostalgia
8. With or Without You (duet with Trace Bundy)
9. Merry-Go-Round of Life
10. Gravity
11. Hot Chocolate
12. Monster
13. Fanoe (duet with Ulli Boegershausen)
14. Coming Home (duet with Ulli Boegershausen)

A new album from Sungha Jung will be here in just 6 days! Omaigosh. I've been waiting for this since December. The track list is magnificent, with half the songs being unknown to me. I really wish he would make an album consisting of only his covers, but I am glad he is releasing another one so soon.

Flights of Fancy

"How much further?"
"I don't know; here, hold the map."
We pause at an intersection extending into a plaza, and shielding my eyes from the steady drizzle, I locate a faded stone block on the building across from us. The darkness of evening and the rain makes it hard to see, but I can just make out Via Nazionale on the sign. Did we pass the shop already? I take the crumpled map into my hands and try to trace our route. After a few fruitless moments, I point down a tall alley to our right. Should be somewhere over there.
The sound of our splashing feet bounces off the building walls, and I get the sense that we are the only people in Florence. I shiver further into my jacket.
"Maybe somewhere around here... Ah, I think this is it."
Squeezed in between dark orange three-story apartment buildings is a minute shop with a shabby sign above the doorframe, reading "Alice Masks". The light from inside spills onto the glistening pavement, creating a golden carpet, beckoning us inside.
Throwing off my wet hood, I push on the heavy glass door and try to gather my wits as a thousand hollow eye sockets glare at me from all directions. Some laugh a menacing chortle, others roar courageously, and still others draw a blank. The masks cover every inch of the walls, and the sneaky ones have crept onto the ceiling. In my amazement, I am startled by a fat rat bounding toward my feet, and stumble half a step backwards. Oh, no, it's a dog. A tiny Yorkshire Terrier wobbles past me, its short feet tripping over each other, the collar bell jingling cheerfully. At once, I hear girlish cooing behind me, sigh, and take my gaze around the room.
Trying to keep my jaw from hanging open proves to be the biggest challenge, next to choosing which mask is the most beautiful. String and flute music softly embracing me, I feel like I've just stepped into the shop of a master mask-maker in a village market of a video game. Anything you can name, any mythical creature or animal, any human creation, you can find in the tiny shop. White rabbits stare blankly at me with their black eye holes and puffy cheeks; bird men look ahead with each feather elegantly poised on their faces; the Gods of Sun and Moon watch my every move. Each exquisitely crafted and painted, these are evidently the work of a true artist. At the back of the shop, an elderly man sits at a cluttered desk, painting tiny flowers onto the cheek of a beautiful girl's mask.
"Ex-excuse me..", I mumble, feeling inferior next to such a master.
He doesn't look up.
"... Sir, d-did you make all these?"
He nods and continues his work, seemingly admiring the miniature lilac petals.
In awe, I cautiously walk through the shop, moving up and down the narrow aisle so many times that I'm sure my feet have worn a groove in the wooden floor. My friend pays no attention to the beauty surrounding her, just to the yappy hairball at her feet. Which of these fantastic creations do I pick? Maybe the black leather one at the entrance, a half mask with cold, chiseled features. Or perhaps the white rabbit mask, which seems to follow me everywhere. A bright jester with purple and yellow hat segments and gold details in the seams. A V for Vendetta mask stands out in the midst of others, a friendly-looking piece. How about the fierce, rough-scaled dragon head, would that look good on my wall? My gaze feeling the surface of the walls, I spot one that is really breathtaking. A woman's slender face with thin, tilted eye slits and small lips hangs above his workstation, another desk with crumpled newspapers, cracked paint brushes of various sizes, and cans of paint. She is a warm light green colour, with elegant branches and leaves on her head, with the occasional golden-brown pine cone. The gracious female spirit of the forest.
I drift over to it, mesmerized, and turn the tiny price tag over in my hand. The amazed expression now slightly stony on my face, I drift back to my spot.
After a few more minutes of desperate decision-making, I carefully take a mask down from the wall. It is the black and white Vendetta, with pink blush on the cheeks and a splash of colour on the lips. I cautiously proceed to the old man, and stand right in front of him holding it, while he finishes a detail on his current work. He glances at me briefly and continues painting.
"You know there are some on sale behind you that are exactly like that.", he says, watching his paint brush.
I've looked at those masks before, and they are €15 cheaper due to unevenness of the eyes or a small mistake on the painted work.
"I know, but I want this one.", I tell him, smiling.
He puts down his mask and tools, and takes Vendetta from me. To my great surprise, he kindly lowers the price to that of the sale masks. He flips it over onto its face and gets out a marker. Is he.. Is he signing it?..
"For you?", he enquires, really looking at me for the first time.
I nod happily.

He signs it, "To Julia; Con Affetto". My trip to Italy is now complete.

on the same page

Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts.

Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

ha. ha. *cough*