Astrophe

Astrophe (n). the feeling of being stuck on earth (Source: The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows)

We learn about the planets of our Solar System when we’re five or six, and about other galaxies a few years later. We learn that Jupiter has a great red spot, that Neptune is sapphire blue, that Venus has clouds made of deadly sulfuric acid. And then we realize that, as endless as our Solar System may seem, it’s just a tiny dot in an infinite expanse of silence and dust. We’re overwhelmed with excitement when we catch one of the planets in the night skies; within minutes, onlookers have whipped out telescopes and powerful binoculars, all in the hope of laying eyes on an entity we can only dream about. Gravity holds us down, as if playing a petty game with our spirits and imagination. And so, we only know what sunrise looks like on Earth—we can never know what the rising sun looks like on Jupiter, or Mercury, or Pluto. We don’t know what our planet looks like from miles afar. Our perspective of the universe is constant and unchanging, all become of the limitations that prevent us from escaping the shackles of gravity.

We are trapped. The best we can do is send pieces of metal and dreams beyond the earth’s pull, and hope that it gets us somewhere. But… there is just so much out there! The world held its breath when Juno reached Jupiter—since it meant that a piece of humanity was reaching a realm we long to see with our own eyes. And that isn’t even the most intriguing planet in our universe! There’s the planet made of diamonds, the planet darker than coal or black acrylic paint, the planet of burning ice, rogue planets that roam about the universe—estranged and parentless. There are hypervelocity stars, quasars, the universe’s largest water reservoir, and a multitude of others… The incredible objects that encircle us seem as infinite and mysterious as the universe itself. When I first heard about these bodies, I was entranced. Until I realized that their “discovery” could be anything—a scientific glitch, an astronomical mistake, imaginations that ran a bit too wild. Even worse? The realization that we can’t know if they’re real or not with our own senses. The only thing we can control ourselves is the extent of our innovation and our ability to keep dreaming.

Sometimes, I wonder what it would feel like to view the Solar System from another galaxy. Is the sun a part of a constellation we don’t know exists? Is it a part of a system we haven’t come across yet? Are we being viewed by other perceptive eyes? Are we the aliens with strange features, enmeshed in curious surroundings—the subject of mindful speculations? I wonder how long it would take humanity to unravel these difficult questions.

But somehow, doesn’t the beauty of space revolve around its mysterious nature? Yes, we’re prevented from hiking up the skies and escaping the walls of our galaxy. Yes, we’re only around for a limited amount of time, while the universe embraces travelers who can immortalize themselves. If we think about it, we are completely imprisoned by forces beyond our control—regardless of how open and inviting those skies may seem. Or, in the words of John Koenig, we are grounded: stuck on earth, unable to leave it.

But that doesn’t mean we’re deprived of the treasures embedded in the universe. They’re alive in our imagination. In reality, a rogue planet is probably an ugly, dangerous chunk of rock roaming around the universe. But in our mind’s eye, it is so much more than that—a manifestation of rebellion, an object that refuses to conform to a standard orbit, a body with an acute case of wanderlust. Canis Majoris, one of the largest stars known to humankind, is a massive ball of fire that would incinerate all objects in its vicinity. To our imaginations, it is a glowing orb too powerful to envision.  

Maybe it’s a good thing that we’re imprisoned by gravity… When it comes to it, I think our mind more than compensates for what we can’t perceive with our own senses.

Pareidolia

the shapes we see in clouds, 

the familiarity we find in

otherwise meaningless patterns. 

     that moment when the clouds 

          were shaped like a wispy feather, 

when the stitches on her skin 

seemed to spell out her name, 

when the roseate petals resembled his face. 

     when alone in nature, among the trees and 

          soil, meaning seems to sprout from

undiscovered crannies—letting us know that we’re 

never truly alone, and that our essence

 is infused in the nooks of nature.

it looks unspectacular at first. 

but when examined from a different

     perspective, in a divergent lighting, 

          we see sense and awareness 

bloom forth—in the motifs of a human face,

an instrument, a pair of glasses, a pearly wing… 

in space, there have been sightings

of faces and creatures embedded

      among the celestial dust. although the observation

            can be a bit perturbing, it’s comforting 

nonetheless—for it reminds us that humanity,

isolated as it is, is watched over
by a benign presence.  

Haunted

Kenopsia (n). the eeriness of places left behind

A haunted house is reminiscent of malicious ghosts, hidden shadows, and strange noises at night. It makes us think of a dark mansion surrounded by skeletal trees, ready to be inhabited by a joyful, unsuspecting family. It reminds us of lightning, howls of fear, and an attic choked with darkness. From what we’ve read and watched, a haunted house is infused with a chilling backstory—one of sacrifices, betrayal, flames, unexplained deaths. It’s been so recycled in popular culture and media that people seem to forget the true meaning of a “haunted house”.

Every old house that is moved into is haunted. It is haunted by the memories and experiences of the previous owners, by the footsteps that had etched themselves into dust. And those memories can be beautiful—they can be memories of happiness, of pleasure, of childish excitement. Memories of a little girl taking her first step, a teenager preparing her first meal, a senior getting into the college of her choice. These old laughs and cries hover

 in the air, even though their owners may have moved out. Old voices permeate throughout, even though the house may be inhabited by entirely new, different people.

Every house is haunted—

—even if it was built from scratch and lived in for the first time. What about the people who lived on that dirt, and the memories that were created on that particular patch of earth? What about the children who ran around and fell in the mud, the adults who sat and gravely spoke about issues that are now outdated and uninteresting—and who are probably far away, maybe in another country, living another life? Now, we are just building upon those memories, without realizing that its grounds are haunted by the specter of old memories and bygone experiences.

Old classrooms. One time, my mother took me to her old school in her village, which is now stark and empty. My little sister had whispered to me: “this place feels haunted”. I had brushed her suggestion aside, although she did have a reason to say that: the breeze seemed to be eerily whispering through the creaking windows, and our surroundings were silent enough for a tap to seem loud. But now I know that it is haunted. It is haunted by the reminders of old school students, by the classes that were taught, by the usual drama that seems to pervade every school’s atmosphere. It is a haunted school, but not in the customary sense. Ghosts don’t jump out and malignant spirits don’t linger. We leave not with terror, but with nostalgia.

Kenopsia: the eeriness of places left behind.

Every house moved into is a haunted house. The floorboards may creak with impressions of a beaming baby learning how to walk, the wind may rustle the bedspread—and make it whisper with old conversations. Most of the time, these impressions are mistaken for imagination. But the next time our imagination makes us perceive something puzzling or inexplicable… don’t think about the phantom that floats in the corridors. Think about the experiences that were borne, the smiles that were conjured, the beautiful memories that were summoned.

Because we’re not alone. Every house is a haunted house.

(Image Credit: http://www.holidayscalendar.com/halloween/hauntedhouses.html)

Embracing our Heritage

This post was previously published at Voices of Youth (Update: it was temporarily taken down from VOY, so that I could make a few corrections)!

Fairness advertisements are painfully rampant in Indian media—to the extent that they almost become commonplace. Indian celebrities can be constantly seen endorsing fairness creams, face-washes, and gels: with the promise that those who use their products will be guaranteed sparkling white skin in less than a week. And according to the media, fair skin automatically leads to a perfect career, romantic life, and social circle. According to the media, fairness is all we need to succeed; other traits like diligence, commitment, and kindness are disposable.

In my opinion, fairness ads are one of the most ridiculous things stalking Indian media. In an attempt to emulate the western world, people of the east are consciously giving up their heritage for something as superficial and shallow as skin colour. I have seen an incredible number of advertisements that resemble the following plotlines: a woman who was spurned by a lover uses a whitening cream, becomes fair, and immediately wins back her man. Or: a young man gets rid of his tan and wins the heart of every lady around. Or… a girl who just wants to feel beautiful uses a fairness cream, and instantly wins back her confidence and self-esteem.

To quote a line by Kyay Mon, in her article 4 Simple Ways to Define Beauty, “beauty is colour blind”. And so are success, happiness, and dignity. And yet, it’s difficult to blame those Indian girls who purchase whitening creams in a desperate effort to look “more attractive”: since they’re constantly surrounded by celebrities endorsing these creams on television, the radio, and on billboards. I’ve seen several of my dark-skinned friends religiously applying face masks, telling me that they’ve been to dermatologists, and researching diets that would lighten their skin tone. The saddest part? They don’t realise that they’re already gorgeous. They don’t understand that there is so much more to them than the colour of their skin. They don’t realise that their skin colour has played a nearly inconsequential role in their lives.

It’s really sad that Indians have equated success and happiness with fairness. Even worse? The fact that we’re giving up our heritage. The fact that so many Indians are ashamed of their natural skin colour, of their roots and ancestry. We are so, so much more than that. Fairness has nothing to do with beauty; beauty depends on confidence and pride in who you are as a person. White skin has even little to do with success; success depends on diligence, commitment, enthusiasm. And the link between fairness and a social life is laughably non-existent; a healthy social life stems from your personality—definitely not from something as shallow and peripheral as skin colour.

So why do so many girls, boys, men, and women try so hard? Because of the mentalities embedded in Indian society, that are only exacerbated by endorsements from popular and beloved celebrities. However, this does not mean that the damage cannot be undone. There have been several campaigns initiated to promote the beauty and appeal of dark skin; an example includes the Dark is Beautiful campaign, that was supported by film star Nandita Das. We just have to learn to be proud of ourselves, and to love ourselves—for once we begin emulating another culture, we lose the distinctiveness of our own heritage. And once that’s lost, what will make India India? What will make a nation unique? What will make a culture retains its beauty in the future?