Dear Roh: Letter #10
Week 08
(This letter is part of an epistolary series Speaking Our Souls and is a response to Letter #9. If you wish to start from the beginning, you can look at the list here)
I don’t even know where to begin.
There is so much to unpack in your last letter that I may have read it more than a few times over last week (especially after reading about the artist). Perhaps this led me to procrastinate replying back. Maybe I should come up with a better excuse.*
There are a few statements that stood out in your letter which I wish to talk to you about.
I am intrigued by you saying that fiction is harder and a “mess” compared to reality. I am not sure of this though I would agree that fiction always needs to have a presence of purpose i.e. there is an authorial intention which drives the plot and holds the strings to characters’ actions. But reality, with its subjugation to subjectivity, has no structural end point – something you as the one who is experiencing it can just choose to get out as and when you please – atleast not without changing your relationship with the “narrative” towards the said reality.
Perhaps death or our imagination of it makes us romantise fiction over reality. Speaking of which, I should tell you about a recent experience and revelation I (think I) had.
So, right after the groaning and crying of Mother Nature became quite noticeable, the turbulence on the flight I was recently traveling on was getting too close for comfort. As trained, stewardess were dashing across the aisle, crouching close to the ground while scolding loitering passengers to get back to their seats. Despite the constant reassurance from the pilot about it being nothing but a bit of an inconvenience, a few more violent shakes were enough to start a cacophony of screams and turn a few of us religious. But unlike the woman seated next to me closing her eyes and clutching the armrest as if her life was hanging by it, I was a bit too mesmerised by what was outside the window to be fazed by any morbid thought (at least initially).
Between the mist, there was a sea of cloud foams below us as if frozen in time against the engulfing horizon. Finally the inevitable thought occurred to me – what if this is it?
I was waiting for my life to flash before me but the thing that I remember feeling was how abrupt and absurd the moment was. It didn’t feel poetic enough as life sometimes builds itself to be.
Maybe the turbulence wasn’t violent enough or maybe I have been watching too many movies to expect moments like these to be dramatic. But it was enough to be reminded: Death, when it comes, is not always a finale to the series but rather like the battery dying of the device while in the middle of viewing. It cares neither of life’s purpose nor for its potential.
I am reminded of a quote by Jason Silva:
If, as Epicurus claimed, where death is, we are not, and when we are, death is not, then perhaps we can only subjectively experience those winnowing branches of reality that aren’t being continuously wiped out by bubbles of vacuum decay. In other words, the universe might be ending every second; we’re just blissfully unaware.
Perhaps this is the wake up call for me to see and use life as a gift. If I forget it, there is always another flight to take.
This brings me to the other thing you mentioned about justice. You asked if social justice is an achievable goal. To even dwell on this any further, I had to fight my natural disposition that humans are inherently compassionate beings and we just need to rise up to the situation – which should somewhat give you my answer. But having said that, I will be a fool not acknowledge that historically circumstances have not always allowed such sentiments to thrive, propelling our primal instincts and darkest qualities to take action.
Here’s the thing though – while it’s always been our weaknesses or flaws that remind us that we are human, we express our humanity only when we overcome them. Hence we seek and aspire to those who try. So, yes it’s understandable to selfishly lookout for oneself** but that is neither what we really really crave for nor something we should consider settling for.
I should end with the quote by Robin Givhan about what is a model***
The very definition of model is someone who has a unique characteristic that is aspirational or is the most extreme intriguing representation of something larger than themselves. It’s not necessarily something that’s reproducible. They are unique. The whole purpose of a great model is creating these image that are unattainable but I think that is part of what makes fantasies so enticing.
That’s all from me. I suppose I wanted to write more but I will leave that for next time. What do you think of all this?
Looking forward for you to volley back. As always, while I wait, I will be broadcasting EDM remix of our letters to outer space to confuse and repel any invading aliens.
Yours immortally,
Anupriy
*Ok. The truth is the featherless raven I tied this letter to had decided to take a detour and stop at an alley way for a juicy rat as snack when she saw a plane fly. It was then she realised she could be so much more. She returned and threw this letter back at me while ranting something about “overworking” herself and “that self-care is something that can’t be given but has to be taken”. I manage to convince her to do this just this once while she is on her notice period. From what I gathered, now living without the fear of getting fired or obligation, she took her own sweet time reaching you.
**There are enough arguments within moral philosophy to justify that it’s not for you. Choose whichever one help you sleep at night.
***To be honest, her definition was contextualised to fashion realm but I think with a few changes it can generalised to articulate a deeper observation.
