Growing Up #8: Some infinities are bigger than other infinities

It’s John Green for you, from The Fault in Our Stars:

Some infinities are bigger than other infinities.

I recently rediscovered a math concept that between two numbers, lets say 2 and 3, there are infinite numbers between them (which becomes a headache when solving tricky standardized test problems!). But there are even more infinite numbers between 1 and 3. So maybe that’s what John Green meant, because literally how big are infinities?

We’re just like the numbers on the numbers scale. Some of us closer, some farther away. And yet no matter how close we are, there’s an infinite distant between us. Family. Friends. Colleagues.

We can never truly come to a full understand of someone else, no matter how close they may be. It can be frightening, but also liberating. We cannot control anybody else’s actions, we cannot think for anybody else – given the infinite distance between us.

Perhaps it’s easier to go on with adult life with this in mind that our understanding of people in our lives is limited. Sometimes there are no whys that can be answered. And this could make it easier to not take everything personally.

We can only act for ourselves and we might as well do it wisely.


Into week 8 of writing a column on growing up every Saturday (it’s cheat week as I wrote this on a Sunday). 

Yesterday

Yesterday
I was a complete piece,
no scratches,
no leaks.

But why have
these chemical reactions
left me with
a bruise
that keeps reopening.

Like a hungry animal
in the wild,
why I do keep
chasing the bait
that doesn’t exit?


Paul McCartney sings, “Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away.”

 

30 Minutes of Traveling: Lines

These lines make me nervous. I love lines otherwise, lines that run through pages, lines that unmask people, lines that make up stories, lines that can be spoken, lines with words on them. But this is a queue. And I’m not fond of lines that are made up of people. It makes me anxious, like I’m doing something wrong. 

What is worse is perhaps not the number of people in front, but rather the ones after me. They are not many, I’m almost at the end. It would be over, only when its over. We’re moving at the exact opposite of what might be the speed of light. Why are there so many people here? Why am I here in particular? I don’t seem to find the answers. My only source of entertainment here is to imagine, turn these people into characters. Turn myself into one. Nobody seems to know where this is heading. 

There’s a couple in front of me, one offering the other to stand in their place. Rather sweet. But I wonder do they know I’m here right at their back writing about them in words they would probably never recognize or come across. 

The sun is generous today, warm and stark. But the wind blows. Faces of confusion everywhere. Why is it that they do not know. What is it that I do not as well. People have stories of letters everywhere. I’ve been standing here for hours now. I’m small and petite so I can slip in between without getting my hands or legs stuck. 

After a few hours, the chaos becomes a part of me. I begin to enjoy it in a very odd way. The people become a little familiar. Maybe they are not strangers anymore. After all even families are strangers that decided to stick together for a long period of time. Lovers. Friends. The universe. All of them strangers who decided to stay a little longer. 

Perhaps this line too, a preplanned, preconceived act of destiny or of choice. Let’s find out, shall we?

Battles Inside, Battles Outside | Poetry

There’s a battle, an unknown
untold one. One that is
filled without the vision of
what meets the eye.
One that is considered unlikely
for the knight to fight.
One that dishonors souls,
because the knight should
have won.
And this is a tiny battle,
they tell her.

But battles are
all the same,
battles inside, battles outside,
they make you bleed
time and again,
some clear, some in color.

And sometimes one is
won when another is gone,
one is lost and still victorious.

Some ask to stay put,
because the time to wield
the sword is gone.
Remains there
just the shield,
with is pride,
false or real, hard to tell.

Battles everywhere.
Where shall we hide?
Or shall we fight?