Hot Snow

A Low Art by Margaret Atwood

Can you show me that trick again? 

The one I believed that was true. The one that you said that was true. The one that you made me believe. The one that I thought that was in reality. 

You showed me the world of wonder. The world that sparkled and shimmered just like in the stories you told me. The world where I can sore up high. The world that we could go up and hide, hide the things that we fear. Now I just knew another is already here.

My world crumbled. Ripped apart, it was that moment I saw what was really the truth. Broken, frustrated, and distraught. I kept crawling from the ruble that I fell from, from your world of magic. It was nothing but tragic.

Oh hello there, you’re alive. 

 You’re living in this perfect psychedelic habitable place called Earth. That is to us humans. But this planet could have been named by some alien out there and have it called “planet-stupidity” or whatever hieroglyphics they have learned to be literate on. They’ll start to discuss on how much life this planet could contain considering the presence of water, the main source of biological growth. Or so they say. But at least they’re starting to discover and learn more about us and how much potential our existence have for galactic colonization or what every sci-fi film dictates.

What about us?

We start to dwell upon our mistakes and start to worry like nothing else in this entire planet has felt the same. What you’re worrying about must be millions times worse than anyone else in this entire planet or anything they have ever imagined. They’ve definitely never had faced a personal crisis. I’m sure they’ve never felt lonely, been sued, and lost family members, spouses, or children. They probably haven’t tried being turned down on, loving someone who haven’t loved them back, or panicked at their career. Because, whatever you’re worrying about right now is definitely the biggest thing that has ever happened to anyone. Ever.

People are just so damn confusing.

They start to dictate things but mean the other way around. They do things they probably shouldn’t be doing in the first place. They start to mumble words as if they have meaning and if asked what they are feeling, all they say is “nothing”. The list can go on forever but a human lifespan wouldn’t suffice. But if there are two main things that I’ll have to say as I read an excerpt of a novel done by a person with autism, it couldn’t get any better.

People do a lot of talking without using any words.

Now before you start talking about how much they’ve spoken but haven’t actually done, I’ll get you started with an example. Suppose you’re a guy and you’re at this bar. A random cheeky girl suddenly gives you a glance and starts to curl her hair and she glances at you momentarily. How would you perceive that event? Now we can’t get off our horses and say she’s interested in you. No. She isn’t. She is. She probably does. Or actually she’s actually staring at the other muscly guy at the table behind. Don’t get too overconfident or you’ll blow your cool off. Without muttering a word, the girl’s act has influenced every decision you’re going to take at the moment being. Maybe even forever. If everyone says a picture holds a thousand words, I’d say a word unspoken holds a million billion meanings.

People talk with metaphors.

If you could register an account in Facebook or here in Tumblr, then you should already know what a metaphor is, having to suppose that you’ve read a ton of sarcasm or have read a lot of poetry if you’re into that. What about it? I mean it does add color to literature and widens the span of creativity within the work. But is the added color to your literature worth every single misunderstood interpretation of every person out there? The curtain is blue. Interpreters then say it represents the sorrow and gloom of the author. What if the author actually just means that the curtain is literally blue and there’s nothing more to it? Every bright color brought into the world will inevitably bring confusion to anyone who touches it.

Why should I care?

If there’s one thing I’ve come to realize in this work, is that to just be whoever you want to be. If you want to be a horse, then act like one. But if you decide to be a human being, then act with every drop of humility that is left upon you. And with every decision you take, keep in mind that soldiers that breached in Omaha Beach during the war knew that the moment they land, they’ll die in the next few minutes. Others have struggles too, remember that. Don’t let aliens name this planet “planet-stupidity”.

Remember, you are alive.

We are being too caught up to the idea of having a perfect body that we even despise food just to get the shape we want. We work so hard to achieve that we tend to forget that we’re destroying ourselves just by being enslaved by our selfish desires.

Sometime in my life, I wanted to be a runaway model. Like those in the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. But then I realized that I don’t want that. I need to eat and make my belly happy. I want to share my original piece about food, it’s not much but it’s all I have:

Someone with a sweet tooth

You make my day complete everyday You fill my needs like a sun’s ray No wonder everyone wants to take you away Please don’t go, and stay   My world is tasteless until you came And it feels like a fairytale I denied but you still remained So hear me as I say   I can’t describe the feeling Even my lips are not telling That you’re the one that I’m searching When my world is rumbling   I waited until the sun sets “Dinner time!” mom says Everyone now makes sense Because food is never the second best

 Based from an excerpt entitled, ‘The Good Body’ by Eve Ensler

As Japan finally opened its seas to foreign trades, one story about a dangerous mission of smuggling it’s finest silk took place. I find it funny on how the concept of being in love is being portrayed in the excerpt entitled ‘Silk’. The contact between the woman of Hara Kei and Herve Joncour without the use of words over a nice tea was over the top. Not to be exaggerated but in those stares they found something they might not forget, maybe it was love. It was not mentioned, unfortunatelyThe cup of tea was the only distraction Herve Joncour have to prevent himself to be drawn more of this lady. . As they went on the conversation about smuggling, Herve Joncour, our protagonist, just can’t stop stealing glances on the beautiful lady. The powerful man did not know what was going on between them, nor noticed anything. After a while, he conversation ended and the two men expected to see other again. As for the woman and Herve Joncour were as follows:

“The last thing he saw, before he left, was her eyes, staring into his, perfectly mute.”

What more can I say? Can they really be in love?

Based from an excerpt entitled ‘Silk’ by Alessandro Baricco

The stereotypical women in “A Low Art” be like:

The dilemma from the excerpt of “The Tesseract” 

by Alex Garland

I present this very simple picture collage of the two sides of the story. At the left half, presenting the Philippines wherein Manila Bay is located which is the central harbour of ships alongside with the famous magazine “Asiaweek”, there is a boy that I decided to color bronze to symbolize the stereotypical inferiority we are portrayed as Filipinos according to the story compared to the golden boy in the right half which represent the USA and its influence towards us, their modern western colonization through the western-branded food chains we are deceived to be very influential that gains there stereotypical superiority over us. 

In a middle of a trip towards home, a traveler looked outside his window, hoping to find something new. Then it suddenly began to snow, it became thicker and heavier until he can barely see what was outside. He would have focused his attention more on the snowflakes descending from the heavens but he was tired and fell asleep. In his dream, he was in a middle of an even wild blizzard. Rather than seeing it as a bad thing, he saw a promise. He thought it was leading him to happiness and purity. Since then, he never saw snow as something less than a blizzard. Many people view snow as a hazard. I personally like snow, I simply see it as a pretty combination of wild and pure. They may be no winter here in the Philippines but I’m still happy seeing snow in televisions and the internet. Whenever I see those white stuff waiting each turn to reach the ground, I feel special and unique, just like the protagonist in the story.

“... it snows only once in our dreams” 

Based from an excerpt entitled, ‘The Silence of Snow’ by Orphan Pamuk

Penelope in “A Low Art” be like:

Penelope, after experiencing a tragedy with the relationship with her partner, begins to hear about the rumors about her all around town. But as soon as the rumors began to spread from one house to the other, she realized that the women was spreading the wrong rumors about her. These stereotypical women started to scatter false information all through out town through story-telling. 

Will he ever love her with all his heart in one glance?

Chie, the main protagonist in the story, was a girl with a fighting spirit. She was subjected for an Omiai or commonly known as arranged marriage. They found a man, son of a restaurant owner, though her father was not in favor of the young man, they proceeded. Chie presented herself on a not-so-feminine outlook that made the matchmaker and the parents of both parties a little displeased. But it was because of the young man’s stare that Chie decided that she found her pair. The room was filled with endless chaos while the new couple shared a smile they would grow to know so well.

Romance is not about how cheesy the couple must be every single time, at least that’s what I believe it should be.

From an excerpt entitled ‘Strangeness of Beauty’ by Lydia Minatoya

Born into a world of beliefs

I entered the realm with much uncertainties.

Having denied by own family for my inconsistencies,

they cut down the twins at both of my pinky.

A little girl no less than to learn,

can’t do anything but  curl and mourn.

For the world taught her nothing but fear

and all she can do was dry her tear.

I list down the things I dread

and wipe down the tears I shed.

May my fears forever remain,

There’s no one else to blame.

But she will not stumble,

as she ignores the people’s mumble.

I will never be nothing, 

I will find My Pure Self-Being.

awake...