Dihydrogen monoxide...

Everyday I wake up and stumble my way in the cold darkness that fills a winter morning. My first objective is to become warm and so I make my way to the panel that controls the central heating. I then stumble my way to the water-closet and urinate. Upon completion of the necessary human task, I sanitise my hands and return to my primary objective. Turning in the small room that the sanitisation of hands takes place, I notice in a small brown rectangular prism in the corner. The interior is tiled and hollow, and the exterior is frosted and in a 70's shade of brown. It's just big enough to fit perhaps two people. Though granted I have only ever seen one person in it at a time.

Abandoning my shivering physical form, curiosity takes hold. I carefully open a door leading into the tiled chamber, taking in the grey hose, the colourful plastic bottles, and the perfumed odour of the air. Placed one above the other were two knobs, one with a blue sticker, one with red. Very similar to those found on the sanitation sink. Curious I twisted the red-stickered knob. A gush of freezing water raced out of a tap-like device connected to the aforementioned hose. It splashed onto the base of the prism, rebounding off the tiled floor and haphazardly wetting me. I was freezing, and began to reach for the knob to turn it off. But suddenly the water became warmer, as if by magic. I began to enjoy the gentle caress of the warmed particles on my skin. Then, just as suddenly as it became warm, the water became deadly hot. Reacting by instinct I twist the other knob, and the amount of water gushing out the tap like device increased violently. I was soaked, but the water had now become pleasantly warm.

I was overcome, at this point, by a feeling. It was a strange feeling that I don't often have - but the warmth of the water was so inviting. I wanted to strip off my pyjamas, and throw myself into the vicious flow of water coming from the tap. So I did. Naked, I flung myself through the gap in the sliding frosted side of the prism, ever so desperate for the pounding embrace of the warm water on my now goose-pimpled skin. I slid the frosted glass closed.

Steam rose from the cascade of water, thickening the air with its warm vapour. I became completely relaxed and comfortable in the noisy pelting of water - it was like a cleansing dance in tropical rain. My mind began to wander from the brown-lit cubical and into the vast expanses of the fields in my mind. They traveled from my latest work in biology, to the cute girl in maths, to the current affairs of the world. Decisions were made, solutions were found and problems seemed lesser as I lathered myself with the exotic aromas from the colourful bottles. Nothing was too sacred to think about in the secluded confines of the watery box.

As I floated through the depths of my mind the water began to age my skin. A series of wrinkles, which I poetically began to examine on my hand. A landscape of ridges....a pock-marked plain...a frenzied....

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN THERE? YOU HAVE BEEN IN THERE FOREVER! WHAT'S TAKING YOU SO LONG?!"

The spell was shattered by the harsh tones of my mother's raised voice. Thoughts gushed out of my ears like water that was flowing around me. Just like that I was merely standing beneath an outlet of warm dihydrogen monoxide molecules, in the confines of an ugly brown room, staring at bottles of chemicals and the deflated suds of once proud shampoo. I twisted off the taps, the pleasant rattling of water on water replaced by the lonely drip of the metal drain.

Christopher.

"Everyone who's ever taken a shower has an idea."

Nolan Bushnell

Growing old(er)

I like writing. Many, if not all of you, will know this. Writing is, perhaps, my favourite past time, though of late it has seemed almost chore-ish. I put this down to being in a writing class at school, and being expected to meet many creative deadlines to produce a final portfolio for assessment. This is both a stimulating and stifling environment, one that I both thrive and drown in. This, however, is not what I wish to bore you all with this evening. What I wish to bore you with is one of the pieces that I completed for the previously mentioned final portfolio.

The piece in question is one that I am particularly proud of - even though I forgot that I wrote it and re-discovered it on my hard-drive a couple of weeks before the submission was due.

Now, I'm not going to post the whole thing (though it is available upon request), but the piece follows an old man exploring parallels between a human's aging and a footpath's aging. It concludes with the following lines:

New life through the gaps of broken memories – the details he was missing. The details that seem so insignificant with time, but so significant with youth.

The final sentence is what I will be focusing on.

Speaking as a teenager - I think many teenagers dramatise their lives (relative to adults). And I think this is perfectly acceptable. I'm young, I'm not going to pretend otherwise. Though I have been around for eighteen years these days, there is still so much for me to discover - other cultures, natural wonders, Australian adult life, human interactions...

Everything is exciting. Everything is new. Everything is significant.

The girl that gave you a smile on the bus.
The boy that hugged you for just that second longer.
The whisper of breeze on a silent summer night.
The claustrophobia of a heavy fog.
The rhythmic tick of a cooling engine after your first road trip.
The sense of anticipation during a plane's safety announcement.

The details that seem so significant with youth.

I think as one experiences these things more and more often as they grown older, they begin to attach much less meaning to them.

She was just being friendly.
He was just being comforting.
I really want to be in bed.
Damn. This is going to make me late for work.
Finally, I can stretch my legs.
God, I'm so sick of this, can't we just get there already.

The details that seem so insignificant with time.

I'm afraid I must admit that many experiences which once meant so much to me, I have begun to just take for granted, I'm not going to be specific (I'm sure many of you can think of some). In some ways, I think this is a good thing. I don't stress every little thing. I am beginning to appreciate the differences between taking something at face value, and analysing beneath the surface - and when to apply each of these measures to ensure the best outcome.

But on the same token, I also think its a bad thing. Life is much less exciting if you think you already know everything. The latter of the examples were bland, hurried, and careless. The former of the examples were anticipatory, romantic, and genuine.

I know which I prefer.

In my humble internet blogging opinion - a lone voice in a sea of opinionated writers - there is a mindset that should be achieved in regards to my current rambling. Life is not all romantic and genuine - the human condition doesn't allow for that, and I accept that. But if life isn't romantic and genuine in some senses - it becomes bland, monotonous, and careless.

Accept those moments that seem romantic and genuine at face value.

Those moments that don't seem entirely genuine or romantic have the potential to be. See past the face value, analyse beneath the surface, and discover a hidden story.

One can always take for granted the footpath that runs along their nature strip - that harms no one.

But that path has a story, just below the surface, just as each and everyone one of us has a past just below the surface.


Christopher.

"Starting today - I'm not gonna worry about tomorrow..."

Starting Today - Natalie Imbruglia