I always associate some childish acts with precocious consequences.
It was more than one week ago. I was given a little bottle of bubble water.
I like bubbles. My chemistry teacher said.
I wonder why. Because they are iridescent spheres? Because they are transparent?
Is it because of the fact-as most people would say- that they are beautiful?
Possibly.
However, things are never that simple to me.
People like things that are similar to themselves.
People want to find their own reflections from these bubbles.
We are like these bubbles.
Iridescent, therefore capricious.
Transparent, therefore insidious.
Beautiful, therefore dangerous.
We are like these bubbles.
We are all from the same origin, a plastic straw.
We all have different shapes, sizes and colours.
That is what the word ‘background’ really means.
Just like these bubbles, our background cannot be changed.
Apparently we are all in the same form, but in fact we are not.
Can you see? I keep making bubbles.
They are all different, yet they are all equal.
They are like us, and they are not like us.
We are all different. We are not all equal.
You know, from these bubbles…we can see our future.
The inevitable destination, no matter how different we are.
We are all going to descend, to land, to burst.
To dissolve.
The only ‘support’ behind us, the air, will eventually disappear.
That is the only moment at which we can be all equal.
People always compare our dreams with soap bubbles, totally oblivious of the reality.
The reality is, our dreams are not like these bubbles.
We are extremely similar to these beautifully fragile bubbles.
Yet we are afraid of admitting the truth.
That’s why we evade, wanting to persuade each other that we are not that vulnerable.
Why do we still dream?
We are still holding on to that one last hope.
The hope that I might last longer than all the others.
The hopeful despair.
If I had the power to be the dictator of all these bubbles, I would control their landing.
I would land myself there.
I know, the moment of arrival is the moment of destruction.
We are all going there.
I agree with my chemistry teacher. I like bubbles, too.
I can see myself there.
It was more than one week ago. I was given a little bottle of bubble water.
I like bubbles. My chemistry teacher said.
I wonder why. Because they are iridescent spheres? Because they are transparent?
Is it because of the fact-as most people would say- that they are beautiful?
Possibly.
However, things are never that simple to me.
People like things that are similar to themselves.
People want to find their own reflections from these bubbles.
We are like these bubbles.
Iridescent, therefore capricious.
Transparent, therefore insidious.
Beautiful, therefore dangerous.
We are like these bubbles.
We are all from the same origin, a plastic straw.
We all have different shapes, sizes and colours.
That is what the word ‘background’ really means.
Just like these bubbles, our background cannot be changed.
Apparently we are all in the same form, but in fact we are not.
Can you see? I keep making bubbles.
They are all different, yet they are all equal.
They are like us, and they are not like us.
We are all different. We are not all equal.
You know, from these bubbles…we can see our future.
The inevitable destination, no matter how different we are.
We are all going to descend, to land, to burst.
To dissolve.
The only ‘support’ behind us, the air, will eventually disappear.
That is the only moment at which we can be all equal.
People always compare our dreams with soap bubbles, totally oblivious of the reality.
The reality is, our dreams are not like these bubbles.
We are extremely similar to these beautifully fragile bubbles.
Yet we are afraid of admitting the truth.
That’s why we evade, wanting to persuade each other that we are not that vulnerable.
Why do we still dream?
We are still holding on to that one last hope.
The hope that I might last longer than all the others.
The hopeful despair.
If I had the power to be the dictator of all these bubbles, I would control their landing.
I would land myself there.
I know, the moment of arrival is the moment of destruction.
We are all going there.
I agree with my chemistry teacher. I like bubbles, too.
I can see myself there.
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