07 March 2007 - Untitled

It seems so late. My eyes are tired and dry. My nose is itchy. And I've been here in this chair, mostly thinking. It's 10:36 p.m. Numbers I'm used to. Numbers. They're funny things. They fit together so well around everything we all find important. The day a couple married they began to burn a candle. A candle that would be lit every year on that day, those numbers that began the rest of their life. When a child came into the world, friends were born also. Those friends take that baby into the world--to drink, to love, to party, to celebrate the birth. Numbers. They're important. So much so that we are disappointed when they aren't what we expect. Today I played in a basketball game. I explained my thinking later on to a friend. He didn't understand and perhaps thinks I'm a lunatic. But it's okay. It doesn't matter. None of it does. And I'll tell you why--through numbers.

I didn't play much. And so I thought of this. There's 8 minutes each quarter. Which is 32 minutes total because there are 4 quarters. But, due to fouls, foul shots, the time to set these kinds of things up--the average basketball game always lasts more than 32 minutes. There's two opposing teams: one blue and one yellow. For me I chose sides for what they represented. Yellow was that of fate and blue was of my essence for I was blue. If blue wins I said, then I could be what I choose. Through my own free-will I could go into this world and dictate what happens to my life. Those that I love, I could make love me in return. I could run across the sea, I could swim underwater discovering small kingdoms where there aren't woes like those on land. Under the water, between the molecules of sodium, hydrogen, oxygen, and all the elements that make this world run like the flames in a candle: or the time on a clock in a gym in a small city, of which the coordinates I can't recall. Here there is no violence. There is no hunger. There is nothing of hurt that is experienced on dry land. Those that fall in love stay in love. Those that try to fight always end up losing, but then find themselves in bliss--for they realize their mistake. Competition doesn't exist here. And through numbers, perhaps someday I could find how many fathoms it takes to reach this place I dreamt.

As the numbers ticked away on the clock in the gym--I must admit I was somewhat excited. But I realized more and more what fate is. It's tall kids. I didn't get to play that much and it irked me how I couldn't have my hands on that ball. Perhaps I could shoot the winning shot! That ball is me, it must go in my hoop, I must score all the points and win this game--or my essence is of insignificance. I found as each quarter passed heartache for what I could not control. And those in the game, scrambling, running back and forth with huffs and puffs from their lungs--I saw in their eyes my fears, my hurt, and my ambition. It came down to a certain numerical value. I wasn't sure of it's meaning. I can't even remember the exact score. It was somewhere along the lines of 32 to 32. Like that of the total minutes allowed--32 minutes that trickled by slowly yet drenched in excitement. The running and yelling raised in me some kind of new feeling. The blows from the whistle--the squeaking of shoes on an old gym floor awakened me from some kind of sleep. I've always been uninterested in sports. But this moment, in the late afternoon on an extremley cold day--I found with inside the doors of this gym--what life is.

Well it came down to this: blue versus yellow--my ambition and drive in life fighting off the uncontrollable factors of fate. Factors. It came down to mathmatics you could say. 32 to 32. 32 minutes in the game. 32 seconds or 1.875 of a minute. It all related somehow. I couldn't put it together though. I still can't. The winning shot came and people jumped up. I heard "Ohhhh...Yeah!" I heard excitement for something I can't truly comprehend. But I learned something in this game. No matter how hard I try to do something; I must never disrespect fate. Because it doesn't matter in the end how ambitious we are. The things we try to do that are good, may in the end hurt all of those we love the most. I have hurt myself. I have hurt others. But the yellow team won. Fate won. My essence and my ego were shattered. It wasn't because I thought I could win the game-but simply because I picked the wrong team to win. But they were my team. They were me. They were the best for what I desired. The win. The understanding of intellectual things that I could finally come to realize. They represented all my life thus far; and they lost. It doesn't matter. And I realize how silly and insignificant this all seems. But it's important to some. I would like to think it's important to me. But I'll forget my metaphors and I'll forget my pain. Just like people forget how to love, just like people forget certain dates, just like how those that I love will forget me--and someday my essence will cease to exist. It will cease to be. What a game.