- This is a work of fiction -
So there are a few people loitering around this place.
Like, do people actually stop and think, even for just a moment, that we're all living in a virtual world, where all the trees and all the birds and all the flowers and all the pools are just a fragment of someone's imagination, realized into photorealistic images?
The scenery, the background, the sounds of birds chirping, the sounds of flowers humming, the sounds of trees dying, the sounds of pools brainwashing, all are but products of a fucked up simulation.
But in the end, does it even matter? So what if we're not real? Our identities are real... right? At least, we're all being our true selves.
As much as I would like that to happen, that's not how this virtual world works.
In this world, we are whatever we imagine.
Say, I imagine myself as being the person over there, sitting on that bench and licking ice cream, I therefore am sitting and licking ice cream.
But is there a point to imagine yourself as being part of another self?
Is there a point to be someone else?
That's what I'm thinking, as I stroll along this cemented path. I see trees in front of me, bathing in pinkish, reddish, yellowish leaves, singing a song that celebrates the end of autumn, humming a tune that foreshadows the eventual wilting of its leaves.
Yet, those leaves will be reborn, rise again as tranquil gladiators of spring, ready to conquer another cycle of death and rebirth.
But what about us?
Could we possibly perceive anything in the immediate future? Could we possibly have more faith in ourselves? That we are going to make it through? That our leaves will fall and blossom once again? Could we possibly be more happy, be more satisfied, be more contented with our abilities, our ambitions, and all the little things around us?
I continue strolling. I come across a pavilion. A large, imposing wooden structure. A fine work of art, comprising one hundred wooden cuboids, split into fifty along my left and right, spanning fifty meters tall, curved slightly at the upper quarter such that the top ends of the cuboids are directly above the left and right edges of the path.
The people who are loitering around this place call the path the Aisle of Hatred. Rumor has it that those who walk on this aisle are subjected to immense hatred by all, and will subject immense hatred to all. Those that are capable of loving and be loved while on walking on this aisle are deemed artists, in that they have too many thoughts and too much creativity and too much wisdom and too many concerns.
Sometimes I wonder, am I an artist?
This aisle diverges into two separate paths after passing ten cuboids, with the middle of the two paths housing several... I would say, attractions, such as the Presentation Stage, where people take turns to present the best thing they've done in their lives, like that man over there, who has been presenting about corneal hysteresis for the last five hours. There's also the Pool of Brainwash, which is the most popular attraction, where people bathe and swim in before presenting on stage. I wonder why. I mean, why in the world do you need to brainwash yourself about the best thing you've done in your life?
Or maybe they're just trying to brainwash themselves that they are better than they really are.
Do I need to brainwash myself that I'm an artist?
Along the Aisle of Hatred, and even along the two diverged paths, people tend to stop on the sides and work hard to exhibit their sufferings. Why? Why be so proud of your sufferings? Why be so proud of what you've been through? Is there a point to compare the extent of your sufferings with that of others?
I don't get it.
What is this place?
Those that entered this pavilion had to walk through the Garden of True Selves, a place with magical energy, so magical that people are somehow able to be their true selves.
It's like... this pavilion is the antithesis of the garden; it overpowers the magical true-self energy, the wonderful true-self belief, the fantastical true-self nature...
What is a true self?
What is... my true self?
Say, I imagine myself as being the person over there, sitting on that bench and licking ice cream, I therefore am sitting and licking ice cream.
But is there a point to imagine yourself as being part of another self?
Is there a point to be someone else?
That's what I'm thinking, as I stroll along this cemented path. I see trees in front of me, bathing in pinkish, reddish, yellowish leaves, singing a song that celebrates the end of autumn, humming a tune that foreshadows the eventual wilting of its leaves.
Yet, those leaves will be reborn, rise again as tranquil gladiators of spring, ready to conquer another cycle of death and rebirth.
But what about us?
Could we possibly perceive anything in the immediate future? Could we possibly have more faith in ourselves? That we are going to make it through? That our leaves will fall and blossom once again? Could we possibly be more happy, be more satisfied, be more contented with our abilities, our ambitions, and all the little things around us?
I continue strolling. I come across a pavilion. A large, imposing wooden structure. A fine work of art, comprising one hundred wooden cuboids, split into fifty along my left and right, spanning fifty meters tall, curved slightly at the upper quarter such that the top ends of the cuboids are directly above the left and right edges of the path.
The people who are loitering around this place call the path the Aisle of Hatred. Rumor has it that those who walk on this aisle are subjected to immense hatred by all, and will subject immense hatred to all. Those that are capable of loving and be loved while on walking on this aisle are deemed artists, in that they have too many thoughts and too much creativity and too much wisdom and too many concerns.
Sometimes I wonder, am I an artist?
This aisle diverges into two separate paths after passing ten cuboids, with the middle of the two paths housing several... I would say, attractions, such as the Presentation Stage, where people take turns to present the best thing they've done in their lives, like that man over there, who has been presenting about corneal hysteresis for the last five hours. There's also the Pool of Brainwash, which is the most popular attraction, where people bathe and swim in before presenting on stage. I wonder why. I mean, why in the world do you need to brainwash yourself about the best thing you've done in your life?
Or maybe they're just trying to brainwash themselves that they are better than they really are.
Do I need to brainwash myself that I'm an artist?
Along the Aisle of Hatred, and even along the two diverged paths, people tend to stop on the sides and work hard to exhibit their sufferings. Why? Why be so proud of your sufferings? Why be so proud of what you've been through? Is there a point to compare the extent of your sufferings with that of others?
I don't get it.
What is this place?
Those that entered this pavilion had to walk through the Garden of True Selves, a place with magical energy, so magical that people are somehow able to be their true selves.
It's like... this pavilion is the antithesis of the garden; it overpowers the magical true-self energy, the wonderful true-self belief, the fantastical true-self nature...
What is a true self?
What is... my true self?
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