Farther/Further

Note: this post is meant for my student; pardon me for mentioning the obvious

'Farther' and 'further' are comparative terms -- how to choose which comparative form of 'far' to use?
First, it is very important to distinguish between literal and figurative meanings. Literal meaning refers to the dictionary definition, while figurative meaning refers to similar idea found in the literal meaning, but the meaning is applied somewhat differently. Let's have an example: 'box'. Dictionary meaning? In 3-D it usually refers to containers having six sides of rectangles or squares perpendicular to each other, or in 2-D, simply a square or a rectangle. Figurative use? 'Think out of the box'. Here we do not have a physical object or drawing of a 'box' as defined above. Here we are merely borrowing the idea: a box is usually rigid and containing/limiting something. Now apply this idea of rigidness and limitedness to the mind/thought: 'Think out of the box' simply means that one has to set no limit to imagination and be flexible; in other words, be creative. See how convenient it is to borrow meanings to apply in another situation? This technique is commonly called 'figures of speech', which we use heavily, consciously or otherwise, everyday. This makes language not only dynamic, but also interconnected.
Now let's see what are the literal and figurative meaning of 'far'?
Literally, 'farness' refers to the state of physical distance that is deemed great. Used figuratively, it can refer to other distances that are not physical, for instance, "How far is your revision?". In other words, it can refer to: extent, time, degree, stage, etc. You get the picture.
'Farther' is used when the farness is literal, while 'further' is used when the farness is figurative. That's all? Yes, that's all!
One final note though, be aware that 'further' is much more heavily used than 'farther'. Remember that figurative meaning borrows idea, so the meaning is more flexible and broader than literal meaning. Consequently, 'further' applies to broader set of situations due to its flexibility. For example, we always say 'further down the road'. You may ask: Isn't this clearly physical distance? Why isn't 'farther' used? Now, this is because the degree of 'down the road' can be either in distance or in time, or even both! So here we are not sure whether it is literal distance or otherwise, so more likely than not it is 'further'.
Nowadays, 'farther' is rarely used. From above, you have seen that even literal farness can be conveniently grouped under 'further'. Usually 'farther' is only used when you want to emphasise that the distance is literal distance.
So, when in doubt, use 'further'.

A World Without X

I have been reading novels of dystopian genre recently (unintentionally): Orwell's 1984 and Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale. A dystopia is the opposite of an utopia. So instead of fairy-tale paradise that society aspires to be in, novels of this genre take place in alternate world, in the future or otherwise, where things have taken turn for the worse.
Well, then suddenly it occurred to me: What exactly is a dystopia? How bad things should be to qualify as a dystopia? This train of thought came when I recalled about a short piece of work whose title I can't remember. The plot is very simple. But the setting is unforgettable -- it's a world where the sky is ash-gray and not blue and birds no longer exist.
For the two protagonists, who set on a journey without clear destination, there no longer exists the metaphor of flapping one's wings with the vast blue sky as one's backdrop. They don't have wings and even if they fly, it is suffocating to fly in dull gray sky, forever longing for the blue sky.
So now, what is dystopia? Without birds, can you still survive? Yes you can. It's not like humanity will die out or something. But you see, for these two characters, the absence of birds symbolises the absence of their own freedom. Free as a bird -- free as a what? A something that no longer exists.
So I'm concluding that everyone has his/her own version of dystopia. And one way to look at it is that a dystopia is lacking something. Something is absent; perchance a thing that we usually take for granted. In 1984, the language itself is eroded -- truths and thoughts are bent to the Party's will. In Handmaid's Tale, the ability to reproduce is reduced. But the thing is, to the people that are not the protagonists, these kinds of situation may not be dystopian. Winston realises how the Party is manipulating historical records and so conflict arises. Had he mastered doublethink (as he did at the end, unfortunately), then he would have accepted the situation as it is. Then there is no dystopia. Offred, one of few women still able to bear children, is exploited as a baby-making machine; she is barely treated as human being. Had she been the Commander or the Wife, she would be in a more favourable position. Then there is no dystopia. But there is no story to write about of course.
A world without something, of course, is an oversimplification of a dystopia. But isn't it an eye opener to know that taking something seemingly insignificant away can cause so much misery?

L is for Language

Death Note, anyone?
I'm not going to talk about death gods and their notebooks, but instead I going to talk about a name; that is, the name of the mysterious detective, L.
If you know a bit of the Japanese language, or an avid manga reader (like yours truly), then you may have known that the consonant L doesn't exist in Japanese. So how do the Japanese pronounce 'L'? That's easy: with 'R' sound instead.
You can quickly see some difficulties that the Japanese face when speaking English. Oh yes, firstly, they will tend to say 'Engrish'. Beside these, there are a wide range of possibilities for puns also.
Death Note contains some of the most amazing uses, or perhaps exploitations would be a better term, of this non-existence of 'L' consonant.
Firstly, the name of the protagonist is? Yamato Raito.
/raɪto/ is how most Japanese would pronounce both 'right' and 'light'. This is significant. One of the recurring themes is justice and fairness. Yamato Raito claimed that his act of killing people was justice; is he 'right'? Moreover, after his murder spree escalated to international level some people saw him as the 'light' that guides the world to be a better place, after the criminals are disposed of. Is he?
Now let's go back to our elusive detective, L. With that kind of elaborate consideration for a protagonist's name, don't you think the mangaka would choose a name with equally hefty significance? This one is pretty obvious, isn't it? 'L' is a consonant that doesn't exist. Isn't it the most appropriate name for a detective who always telecommunicates with changed voice without showing his face? Whose existence itself is doubted?
Considering all these, the most brilliant thing is of course later in the story Raito killed L and assumed L's role as world-renowned detective bent on capturing Kira. The self-righteous Light behind the mask of L, what more could you ask?

You Dancing in The Rain

That afternoon, the smell of rain hang in the air. It was like the damp smell of soil, as if already wet from anticipation. Soon enough it rained; drizzle at first, but quickly gaining momentum, racing down to the ground. The splatters were getting louder.
I peered through the narrow window while in front the continuous beads of water trickled down, forming a kind of screen. I was in a daze. The downpour never failed to amaze. Like sheets of some strange fabric being rolled down from the sky. Every droplet is different, but somehow they are connected, united in purpose.
Then you appeared. Running in the middle of the incessant watery air strike, arms flailing, head held up high. You were also in another kind of race. If the droplets' goal is the ground, what was yours? I wanted to ask you that. To capture as many droplets as possible? To savour the sensations of the pricks on and trickles of the droplets on your skin?
You tossed the beads of water up with your hands. In mysterious gestures, the beads danced, shone like pearls, bobbing up and down around you. No, you were the dancer, the beads merely followed along, as if enthralled by the beauty of your movement, defying gravity, coming under your bidding.
You suddenly stopped. Arms stretched out, head facing up the sky. You let the shower come upon you, trickling down your bodily nooks and crannies. Your eyes were closed, as if meditating, tracing the trail of water, the lingering sensation of the vestiges, quickly renewed, the coolness seeped again, soaking you with ever-continuing freshness.
Such performance, such grace. You started running again. Going out of view. The rain still struck with the same ferocity. Suddenly the wind was blowing gentler. The curtains of water were closing off. Curtain call.

To My Unborn Brother/Sister

Hi.
First of all, sorry that I've been oblivious to your existence for 20-odd years. You, you always exist in our parents' mind. Of course your existence is independent of my awareness of it. It's not like: "I am thought, therefore I am", isn't it? Still, somehow I feel the need to apologise. The opposite of love is not hate. The opposite of love is ignorance.
You who didn't have a face, you who might have only been a clump of cells beating with life and were never beyond,
You know, eyes are formed before the brain is. Then slowly the complex optic nerves grow, visual cortex and the rest of the brain follow. Did you have your eyes? Even when all you could see was darkness all around. Even when you didn't have the synapses and neural network to comprehend that darkness. No, you didn't have a chance to; you were fumbling in that darkness, only to be abruptly cast away in another kind of darkness: the abyss of non-existence.
Our parents told me that when mother was aware of my intrusion to the world, they had planned to wash me away. Well you can always see a baby as a threat or otherwise. But then I was a little beyond a clump of cells, too big to remove without risk. So here I am. But when I am pondering about you, my little brother/sister, the short period you spent on Earth, I am wistful about my own. I just live a little beyond, that's all. Eventually I will be cast away into that same darkness, the path you had treaded.
No, I am not angry with our parents. It is something they had to do, given the circumstances. And I beg of you, don't resent them for it. Parenting must be one of the most difficult jobs on Earth. You are supposed to be responsible to shape another human being's life -- not only morally or educationally like what teachers do, but in every literal sense, genetically, financially -- think about it. The word 'responsibility' is bloated, forced to take on every meaning available to it. It's big, it's heavy -- conjure the image of Atlas carrying the world on his shoulder. This burden is so great that one may be understood, if not forgiven, for choosing not to bear it.
Potential. That is what you were. Seed that didn't grow, even though it has the potential to. Potent, but not yet. Possible to be. The power is hidden, latent. Usually I would remark that there is no use talking about possibility of becoming something if in the end it doesn't become something. But here I am willing to dwell in the realm of the hypothetical for a while. In you, there are possibilities sprucing up like branches of an overgrown tree. It's not only in you, but in everyone else, in the surroundings. Imagine how complex this system is when everything comes into contact. Had you been around a little longer, you will tread your tree, choosing which branch to climb next, and the same with others. You may end up high up there, you may fall -- I don't know because I myself am still struggling making my way up. Now, when you ceased to be, well, the branches got cut off. There's no way up; there's no tree to climb; there's no you to climb.
As I said, even though you ceased to exist in this world, you live in our memories, you live in my writing, even if it merely a shadow of your existence. But don't forget that you came into contact with this world; with your own set of possibilities, rippling, affecting others, even until now.

Love.