The Piano

There was a grand piano at an abandoned old building near the place where he lived. An old Steinway -- slightly out of tune but playable nonetheless. He would go there sometimes -- the doors were all locked but there are other openings. He would play songs. Simple songs, or tunes that he made up, or melodies that he figured out after repeated listening.
He liked how the sound echoed throughout the empty building; how it bounced off the walls and amplified the original sound in slightly out-of-phase manner. Because it indicated the emptiness. He liked the emptiness, the absence of people -- just the piano and he, together. It didn't matter that the dance of the melodies in the air, the beauty of it was never seen by others. If a tree falls in the woods with nobody around, does it make a sound? No. To others the piano and he didn't exist. He liked it. The idea of isolation, the separation, the privacy of his very own world.
The piano was a faithful companion. Every musician knows that an instrument can reflect the musician. He felt that way, too. He was naked when he played; his soul, his emotions, his thoughts are laid bare -- they are dancing in the air, out from his fingertips to the keys to the hammer to the vibrating strings then choreographed in the air, performing complicated dance, bobbing up and down, bouncing off the walls, filling the empty space. Narcissus saw his reflection on the lake, the lake saw its reflection in Narcissus' eyes. The piano was as vast as the lake, it is large enough to accommodate the most detailed of reflections. The piano, too, feeds on its pianist. The lake can see its own beauty from Narcissus' eyes, the hollow piano consumed the overwhelming being of the pianist, filling up its hollowness and transformed it into choreographed movements of melodies gliding in the air.
The piano knows him well. When he was sad, when he was overjoyed, when he was aggravated. The numerous and complex ingredients of emotion were there in the air. The room was a vat, a cauldron and inside the cacophonic potion is bubbling, frothing. Troubles of the heart sometimes surfaced, or were they bubbles of happiness? Stirring up, stirring up, the ingredients reshuffled like a pack of cards. One could pick up the subtlest emotion here, although with all the cards flying you need the luck of a poker player.
When he was running out of songs and energy, the noise died down. The dance ended without encore, the potion is ready. Then the mirror of the soul was closed, ready to be reopened.

If there was ever anything excluded from Aristotelian "Everything in moderation", that would be temperature of my morning coffee.

Metaphors in Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children

Family history, of course, has its proper dietary laws. One is supposed to swallow and digest only the permitted parts of it, the halal portions of the past, drained of their redness, their blood. Unfortunately thus makes the stories less juicy; so I am about to become the first and only member of my family to flout the laws of halal. Letting no blood escape from the body of the tale, I arrive at the unspeakable part; and, undaunted, press on.
pp.71-72

All games have morals; and the game of Snakes and Ladders captures, as no other activity can hope to do, the eternal truth that for every ladder you climb, a snake is waiting just around the corner; and for every snake, a ladder will compensate...implicit in the game is the unchanging twoness of things, the duality of up against down, good against evil; to solid rationality of ladders balances the occult sinuosities of the serpent...it is a also possible to slither down a ladder and climb to triumph on the venom of a snake.
pp.179-180

It won't do any justice to judge a book by its cover; nor does it do any better to judge a book by its metaphors alone. However my purpose here is not to judge, but to remark on the extraordinary complexity these metaphors display.
Let me begin with a disclaimer: by metaphors I mean metaphors and company; analogy, parable, metonymy, synaecdoche -- all those that compare, parrallelise. Such is the power of good literary authorship, in this case Rushdie's, that the technique refuses to be pigeon-holed into a category. I can only safely say it is a comparison. However it is not a simple one- or two-way comparison; it is beyond that.
Take a look at the two bulky quotes above. They do not employ the same complexity. The complexities arise from different aspects of a metaphor. Let's try to unravel them.
The first parallel: "family history" and food in the context of Islamic "dietary laws".
The ultimate purpose of comparing a thing to another is to invoke aspects not immediately apparent, but are obvious in juxtaposition.
The simplest, and most commonly encountered, effect is to make concrete. Suppose you have an abstract concept -- compare it to a physical body, then suddenly the abstractness disappears, the concept becomes possible to be sensed. In essence, rather than having the concept high in the clouds, a make-concrete metaphor transforms it to be a part of empirical experience. In literary works, it is not uncommon to see Death and Nature, initials of both capitalised. Why? The only category of nouns whose initials are capitalised even when they do not begin a sentence is the proper nouns. People's names, cities', countries'. There are physical entities behind those names; the names are just labels, for convenience of reference. Likewise, if you are talking about Death and Nature, you are not talking about bodiless concepts. Rather it suggests that there are physical entities who embody those names. Usually the more anthropomorphic the 'bodies' are, the metaphors are even more powerful. Imagine an Angel of Death or Mother Nature, for example.
The first quote: there is no difference here. Family history is quite abstract while food is concrete. To swallow the food is to understand the history. To complicate matter, Rushdie inserts the halal law here so that the food can only be consumed in certain manners conforming to the law. Certain parts are not supposed to be swallowed, to be understood: the "redness", the "blood". Following this, the halal law on the metaphorical plane must also have a parallel on the reality plane: the taboo of uncovering family's shameful, painful past. It is no easy matter to formulate an allegory, an extended metaphor like this, in which several aspects of body A are parallelised to several those of body B. It is of course much easier to just compare an aspect of body A to another in body B. Then move on, another aspect of body A to another in body C, and so on. Of course the impact will be diminished because the metaphors become disjointed instead of interlinked. Consistency and coherence give more than the sum of the separate metaphors. This coherent collection of metaphors is termed an allegory. Depending on the author, how far a metaphor can be extended varies -- but the extent is his imagination alone.
Second quote: I will skip the bring explanation as it is quite clear that ups and downs in life can be compared to snakes and ladders. The extraordinary thing that is impossible to capture by quotes is that this metaphor will be invoked several more times. Not only as mere metaphors but there are episodes involving real snakes and ladders. For example, Saleem was cured by snake venom when he was about to die of his illness -- "climbing up the snake". In this way the metaphor transcends the separation between metaphorical and literal planes. Rushdie switches between the two with ease.
There are other good examples in this book, but let me choose one that befits the title of the best. It is becoming so clear as you progress through the pages that the book itself is one helluva big allegory. The birth of Saleem at midnight of Independence ties him with India the nation. Saleem, the protagonist, himself parallels India.
If a book can be so astounding by one aspect alone, imagine about the others. It is really no wonder that it won a Booker Prize (1981), then Booker of Bookers Prize (1993), and most recently Best of the Bookers (2008). A standard text in university syllabus, it is really a highly recommended read.

Thousand Masks

I live in a castle of a thousand masks
where there are guests swarming all the time
cruising the halls and corridors
in-out-in-out
I greet them one by one
each time donning a different mask
yes, a different one. Each time
.based on what you ask?
on how I am related to the person in question
a dinner-mate kind--
a casual-hi kind--
a sipping-tea-with-silence kind--
an I-want-to embrace-you kind--
an I-want-to-punch-your-annoying-face kind--
all sorts of people
likewise all sorts of masks
real simple

The masks?
Oh there's a serious one
there's a joker one
there's an emo one
a sulking one, a smiling one, an innocent one
well there's one covering only part of my face
like the-phantom-of-the-opera kind?
There's even one that's near transparent

But no matter how transparent
no matter how similar the mask to my real face
(some masks are like mirrors,
unfortunately many are distorted ones,
the kind that makes you look fatter than you actually are --
like that)
So yeah
A mask's a mask
there's always a
gap, barrier, filter, shield, screen
something standing in between
you can never see what I truly am

I live in a castle of a thousand masks
We all do.

The Curious Case of Infinity

I remember in high school when the teacher didn't allow us to write '1/0=...' . I protested. Isn't the answer infinity? No, there is no answer, you cannot even put the equal sign there, because it is undefined.
OK, that's an exaggerated version, but looking back in retrospect, it is now easy to see why. Calculus provides the answer. '1/0' is undefined, but the limit of 1/x as x goes to 0 is indeed, infinity. Conversely, the limit of 1/x as x goes to infinity is zero. I felt cheated, but it is brilliant cheating nonetheless.
What is this 'infinity ' anyway? Well, the younger and less wise me thought that it was intuitive that if some number is divided endlessly, in the end it must be zero, and conversely so. That magic denominator is infinity.
As things go by, it is clearer (or less so) that zero and infinity are problems.
Why zero you ask? "I understand that infinity is pushing the limit of human mind, but why zero?" Ah, if you consider that the earliest numeral system did not include zero, isn't that proof that zero is so elusive a concept? Let's see. The Greeks even rejected the idea of nothingness and adopt 'zero' thanks to the adoption of Arabic numeral system. The Arabs got it from the Indians. So the Arabs got nothing from the Indians (If you are not laughing, then you miss the joke, sad case). Well, enough of that, 'zero' is another story. For now let's consider infinity.
Let's do a warm-up: what's infinity minus infinity?
If you answered 'zero' with a great deal of suspicion, yes, you are correct, the answer is not that straightforward. Let me try to retell Dave Hilbert's Paradox of the Grand Hotel without sounding boring:

Suppose that there is this famous Grand Hotel. Why is it famous? Because it has infinite number of rooms, aha! On weekend you want to see this hotel for yourself. You go to the receptionist to check in but unfortunately the rooms are all full. The manager came out and tell you not to worry. He told you he would move the guest in Room 1 to Room 2, the guest in Room 2 to Room 3, and so forth. You got to stay in Room 1.
Satisfied with the hotel's excellent service, the following weekend you brought an infinite number of friends to the hotel. Again, the hotel was full. But the manager was unfazed. He moved the guest in Room 1 to Room 2, the guest in Room 2 to Room 4, the guest in Room 3 to Room 6 and so forth. Since there is infinite number of even-numbered rooms, all the guests are accounted for. The manager then put you and your retinue in the infinite number of odd-numbered rooms. Everyone is happy.
Room service is still excellent though. You know, they've got infinite number of employees.

This illustrates how normal mathematical operations don't usually work when infinity is involved. Have yourself a set of infinite integers. Take away the infinite set of odd numbers and you are left with the infinite set of even numbers. Infinity minus infinity can be infinity.
Very curious, isn't it?

Mathematical Tragedy

As lines, so love's oblique, may well
Themselves in every angle greet :
But ours, so truly parallel,
Though infinite, can never meet
-- Andrew Marvell in Definition of Love

Oh my, that's a clever one. I never see Euclidean fifth postulate in such romantic (albeit tragical) way.

a strange feeling

fingers touching ivory keys
white, white, white
a few blacks
here and there
interplay of speed, pressure, precision

fingers are like puppets on strings
they dance
bending to the puppeteer's will
the intricate steps
left, right, front, back
a little bit faster
a little more pressure
now release the crescendo
slow down to adagio

you cannot hear all these communication
but you can hear the melodies
they are right there
the heart of the puppeteer
his will, his energy, his emotions
his everything

but
sometimes the puppeteer is distracted
his mind is blank for a split-second
but (again)
the puppets never miss a single step
in fact, they are steps
that the puppeteer
has been dreaming of
to perfect the harmony
the steps fit the gap
completing the flow

it's
a strange feeling
it's as if the puppets move on their own
tugging the strings connected to their limbs and joints
"here, here. and here."
it's as if they understand
the beauty of their dance

then the show is over
but the images of the dance
are etched in his mind
the strange feeling
stays

Orbitals

Bimolecular Nucleophilic Substitution

Hybridisation

Strains

Broken

It was another rainy day. Sluggishly I climbed the stairs. I could hear the couple in the second storey fighting again. Lately it had not been only verbal but with a layering cacophony – dull thud, the sound of glass crashing to the floor -- like a song with a bad arrangement, like an orchestra missing all its cues. The landlady had left a note again in front of my door. You haven't paid for this month's rent.
I shed my drenched clothes and took a hot shower. A tune was playing in the next room. What A Wonderful World. At that moment the world did seem wonderful. The spray of hot water against the skin was wonderful. In that cramped shower cubicle I often crouched – the feeling of curling up, of making oneself smaller is relieving. I'm so small against the world -- Sometimes we need to accept that to move on, to make changes, to become big. Paradoxical as it may be, there I was, feeling every droplet splash against my skin, rivulets down the ridges, trying to find its way down. I stayed still. How I wished for the time to stay still as well – Does time even exist?
By the time I awoke from the philosophical discourse, the rain had stopped, the tune had died down, the night is still. I walked back to my room in a daze. The room was in similar confused state with my mind – a mess: unmade bed, clothes and books strewn all over and a broken PC on the desk, sitting there like an usurped king refused to give up his throne. There’s a literary term for it I remember. Macrocosm and microcosm? Big world and small world. Like when King Lear was out in the storm, a storm was raging in his heart, too – But in this case while my room was like a shipwreck, my mind was more like the aftermath of a tsunami.
Earlier that morning I was on my way to college. The train was very cramped, as usual; an old lady was catching her breath, coming in just in time before the doors closed – no one was giving her a seat. Probably someone did offer her but she declined it. Probably the young man sitting in front of her has knee injury. Probably her stop is near, so she does not need to sit. Probably, probably. Even though I was not sitting myself, I felt embarrassed and conjuring up those excuses in my mind offered distraction.
Sitting on my bed, I pondered about why I felt embarrassed earlier. After all, it was not me. After all, I could not do anything. Whom I felt embarrassed for? The word ‘humanity’ passed through my mind but I quickly dismissed it. Embarrassed for humanity? Probably. But blaming humanity on the whole doesn’t help much. Sounds very noble, lamenting for humanity, but then what? Probably felt guilty as part of the younger generation? That’s still too abstract. Then I realized that I was feeling for myself. For not being able to lash out at the people sitting to give their seats to the poor breathless lady. For being ignorant. For not even offering kind words to her.
Embarrassing. It was kind of that also when I considered calling my parents for help. I was in financial pit. I had barely enough to pay rent and college fee. I imagined the faces of my parents. The blank and cold space between them on bed was more than that. Emotionally, the chasm was already impossible to shut. I couldn’t stand the sight – my father drowning in beers and my mother in her tears. I was relieved I had to go to college, a perfect excuse to get away from it all. I didn’t really want to chime in again, creating more problems for my parents as if there aren’t already any.
Earlier that day after the morning classes, I went to search for work but to no avail. It was sweltering hot – no wonder it rained in the evening, the heat was the precursor. I tried to get a friend to take a look at my PC. “Your baby is dead. Give it up, buy a new one,” he said, after just a peek inside the CPU. He didn’t even switch it on. Well, I knew it wouldn’t switch on anyway but how he knew I just couldn’t figure.
In the afternoon, the rain started to pour. I was waiting for a bus. There in the bus stop I saw a girl around my age. She was leaning to the advertisement board at the bus stop. I didn’t pay much attention, except for her slightly awkward standing position. The bus came. The seats were all occupied. At the front was a young woman in business suit. Behind her was an elderly lady. Then I noticed the girl from earlier. She boarded the same bus. She was walking very slowly, knees bent, grabbing support along the way. The old lady quickly stood up and gestured her to sit. It all seemed to happen in a flash. I was still stunned even when the girl uttered a weak thank-you to the old lady. I felt different feelings from that morning. Maybe I no longer felt embarrassed for humanity? Sure I still felt funny about the businesswoman who was nearer to the girl but failed to stand up, but I felt that there was kindness, there was warmth left in humanity. Perhaps somehow my parents would go back together, stitching up their broken relationship. Perhaps somehow I would go back to my room finding a new PC sent from a stranger. But that’s not very likely, I guess.

Free

I sluggishly got out of the bed and went to the kitchen. My head was still hurting. The alcohol from the previous night was a little over the top, but then, it had always been that way. After quenching my parched throat, my body failed to move again. No it was more like the sense of balance is turned off and there was I, in constant vertigo. I was addicted to this intoxication, the feeling of being liberated from having to be conscious about moving – about doing, about being. Only during this moment I don't care about who I am, who I was, who I will be. Time didn't exist, neither did space; do I myself exist? Around this point of philosophical discourse, usually, the body would send the signals – the signals that re-establish the boundaries of reality, the freedom was just an illusion. The unbearable migraine, the pangs of hunger, the extreme thirst.
Of course, I also enjoyed the release of the alter-ego when the alcohol kicked in. When self-restraints are sent flying out of the window; when the inner, truer self breaks free. People always tell me how astonished they are when they witness what a drastic turn my personality takes when flooded by alcohol. I'm sure the sight of the timid man who always keeps to his own cubicle spouting vulgarities to strangers is really shocking. When asked which is my true personality, I honestly don't know. On one hand, abiding to the common code of civil conducts is fine, but sometimes there are things or people that try your patience. In a sense, it is indeed freedom, since the things are manifestation of what cannot be said or conducted within boundaries of self-control.
But I didn't think of these things when I was slithering on the cold marble floor, clutching my head as the throbs of pains struck like a thousand needles – the price to pay for transient liberation. My hand reached out to the kitchen top. The glass fell and made a crashing sound; individual droplets scattering in all directions in slow motion. The sight of my wife at the door, shaking her head, already desensitised by the sight, thinking that there was I again, wallowing in self-created, illusionary freedom. But to me the freedom was real, as real as all these things. Why would you need to break free from being free?

Physics Lecture

I had this lecture sometime ago and I spotted two interesting things.
1) The lecturer was explaining about science and how it is about the cycle of hypothesis, theory and experiment. That was all fine and well, but then the example he gave really made me straighten up in my seat. You see, he was giving an example about hypothesis:
"So, let's say we have hypothesis about speed; that it is distance over time. We test it, and the experiment agrees, so we have a theory that speed is distance over time."
The fatal mistake here is that speed is a concept that we devised to substantiate the notion of rate of change of distance. Speed is by definition distance over time; it is self-contained truth that is indisputable.
To be fair, the lecturer has that 'things that I regret almost as soon as I said it' look. He realised his fatal mistake but went on without rectifying it to avoid confusion.
2) The lecturer has this interesting quiz: "Is this true or false: an object with non-zero acceleration can never stop and stay stopped."
Again, the key lies with definition. Since the object's movement is already defined as non-stationary (non-zero acceleration), of course it can never stop, neither can it stay stopped. So is there a point of asking the question, unless it is epistemology class and/or the absurdity is intended?

Oh well.

person, persons, people, peoples

"I saw three person," said he, pointing at the picture.
My student was describing a picture. A cooking class.
"Three people, you mean," I interrupted.
"Oh yeah, three people," he corrected himself.
"Well should you have said 'three persons' it may not be so fatal an error," I mutterred.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
Oh well, we can use a little detour.
"There are such things as 'persons' and 'peoples'." I sipped my coffee.
His eyes grew wider and confusion was there, peeping from the corner, staring.
"But that doesn't makes sense," he protested.
Every English teacher is, of course, well-aware of such statements. After all, we used to wonder about that too -- How language doesn't make sense, but apparently we have come to accept it. Language is like a slithering snake. It is constantly moving. It is stubborn in having its own way. It cannot be contained by rigid rules.
So with the smile of the enlightened I replied, "It's like that."
"Let's start with 'peoples'. There is another meaning of 'people'. It is referring to the citizens in a nation collectively. A nation has a land and a people." And perhaps a corrupt government, too, I added inaudibly. Citizenry is a good synonym, but let's leave it at that.
"I see. But what about 'persons'?"
"Well, it is the plural form of 'person'," I smirked, anticipating the bewilderment that is now visible.
"'People'," I continued before he uttered a word. "is a collective term. It emphasises on the group as a whole. 'Persons' is not used very often. Well, it is a plural form, but here we emphasise on the individuality of each member of this group we are talking about."
I let out a pause for impact.
"A good example would be the Trinity," I continued. "We usually say Three Persons of Trinity. We want to emphasise that there are three entities we are talking about."
Of course, only one noun has this special case. Which other nouns have to be emphasised on their individuality? Which other nouns resist grouping as a whole and insist separateness? Which other nouns are so selfish, revolving around themselves? Anthropocentrism does invade every area of knowledge, sadly.
"Teacher, can I continue my description?"
I awoke from my mental discourse.
"Yes, please."

To You Under The Blanket

As you close your eyes and drift to slumber
our bodies conjoined together
naked skin emitting warmth
trapped in the locks of limbs
your head on my chest
Do you feel the rhythm --
of my heartbeat?
Do you feel my caress
leaving no parts
untouched?
Do you feel my tongue swirling
in your mouth
eager to savour every taste
of you?

Darkness lets me see you clearly
your shape
the silkiness your hair
every contour
the ridges, the valleys, the mountains
the stream of life running

You will stir
aware of the intrusions
yes, be conscious!
feel every sensation
jolts of impulse firing

You will retaliate
snuggling until
there is no distance between us
in the brief moment
two become one

You will
We will
Only if
If only
you are not
the hollow space under the blanket