Rust & Dust

It’s 2 a.m

4:30 a.m


Couldn’t sleep. Wide awake, could hear her own brain buzzing out loud in numbing head-throbbing bits.

It’s been days. It’s the light, it’s the noise, it’s about everything in the room and nothing in the room. It’s the brain, the buzzing, the non-stop thinking chains, one thing tangled with another on a continuous stream. For the first time, this thinking habit starts to take its toll. It’s frustrating. The brain needs a sleep, it needs to be shut down, out from the external lights, no matter how little.

Out of temperament. Under the weather. Over-thinking. Mind chattering. Rewinding of a mental tape of what occurred today, the day before, the continuity of ‘me’ that started in the past and ends up God know where in the fictional future.

Anyway, this is normal, it’s just part of everything that a human has to experience, at some point. So let’s start looking at something bigger and non-egocentric.

Game of life. Begins.

First, it was a cry. If you don’t cry for the first few minutes of exposure to earth, you die. Oxygen is your lung’s best ally. Oxygen is the thing that keeps the flow going, and will one day determines you expiry date, perhaps.

Everyday, you wake up. Nobody actually volunteered to be ‘alive’ in the first place. It’s just decided beyond your own participation. It is not a matter of “Do you want to exist?”, you just do, out of love, out of accident, or out of mishap. Whatever the cause, you just do.

Your shady unreliable memories hardly tell anything concrete about anything of your past. It’s just a blur. You remember of sentiments, how everything ‘felt’ like. Rather interestingly, it largely affects your own shape, your personality, your drive.

Come to now. ‘Here’ is an ambiguous concept. Right at this moment, your cells are dying and renewing themselves, splitting, dividing, cloning over and over based on a programmed database condensed to tiny biological memory drive. The being that is you is hardly any of your cell, nor any on the hormone list, nor any of your organ, yet, if one cell, or whatever component of you, rebels against your own interest, you would be defined by rather interesting human-made descriptions: cancer, disorder, ‘troubled’, sick, illness, disability, and the likes. Every single dimension of ‘you’ is replaced by a single word.

Along the game, you experience the external fabrics of your surrounding. Every single interaction and imprint a person, a pet, an event makes will leave you more or less like you, but still you. Internally, continuous awareness of your own being is nicely shut down every night, brain refreshed, and awoken every morning, to find yourself still in your own package: arms – checked, legs – still mine, brain – not sure, but still on the neck. Externally, the skin and the muscles and this biological structure remains, neatly composed.

Rule of life. Enter.

(1) Whatever a human does, he or she feels perfectly justified for doing it, at that specific space-time.

(2) There is no delete or refresh button. No rewind, no fast forward.

(3) Circumstances change. Change is the order.

Because of (1), (2) and (3), a thinking being is most definitely destined to engage in behaviors that would definitely, at some point in another space-time, make that thinking being wish he or she did differently. And because of (2), the thinking being is forced with 2 options: either deny your past and pretend whatever it was did not happen, or accept it and move on.

Because of (3) and (1), paradox and internal conflict happens.

(4) Behaviors are more often dictated by immediate perception of circumstances rather than future expectation of events.

Hungry, grab a Snicker. Thirsty, Coke. No don’t drink that stuff,  at this moment the crazy typer is using it to clean the blade off rust. Sleepy, go to sleep, unless you can’t.

If the (4) rule is reversed, several implications follow:

  • People would not (insert whatever crazy community-harming behavior here)


After cleaning the dust, she sat down and reflected. The dusts seem heavier than usual, the room, though cleaned for this specific moment, is only waiting for a new layer of dust to cover itself head to toe. Certainly.





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