To South Pole

While walking home tonight, I remembered a person.

He's far away. Nope, far isn't the right word to use.

Let's say that 'ideal' is standing somewhere in the middle of South Pole, then he, the person looking for it, would currently be walking aimlessly around the northern part of Siberia. He certainly had made some efforts to get closer to his ideal self, but to even call it far would be underestimating the distance he still has to shorten between him and his ideal self. To call it far would imply that it is a measurable distance ― that one can subjectively judge as near or far, but in fact, 'ideal' may not even be in the middle of South Pole to begin with, it may be in a completely different place altogether. It may even not be a matter of distance but a matter of depth, and yet he had no idea about it.

That would be the proper way to describe the distance he has from 'ideal'.

But what the hell is ideal? Is it just something like 'this way to ideal' written on a sign by the side of the road, or is it a part of some old legend that says, 'ideal lies asleep beneath that mountain', or is it a reward from proofing your courage, or is it an unending search that may or may not encompasses all kinds of possibility?

"I don't know," thought he. 'Plus, this place is too cold. If I spent too much time on thinking, I could end up freezing." He then decided, "If it isn't there, I'll just look for it somewhere else. After all, my life would be pointless if I stopped here just because I'm not sure about something."

And so he continues his journey toward South Pole.


*The GIF is probably unrelated to the whole thing, but please don't mind it

One of Those Classes

It was physics class, the Physics C. This week the lesson started to go deeper into the topic of light ― reflection, refraction and stuffs. My teacher is somewhat different, he teaches the lesson entirely by using hand outs. Good, since I don't have to spend a few extra thousands yen for another book. But bad, because no exercises aren't given.

Unlike previous weeks, this week's hand out was full of sentences filled with hand written kanjis. When the sentences started to show up, all I could think of was, "Okay, let's just leave this for later," "Let's do something else."

So I ended up wasting the rest of the lesson watching three people, and writing about them, and exaggerating what they did.

1

She wished that she had no need to hold a pencil and an empty piece of paper. All she wanted was to have enough reasons to keep her head up and eyes pointed toward the slide in front of the board. But it was not reciprocal. Her demand for reasons was paid with incoherent sentences from a man with graying hair, walking here and there by the slide.

Thus, she chose to stop. With head bending down, ears closed, she took the pencil and the paper, then began to write.

2

He was focused. He was, in all manner, different from the girl, except for one thing ― the pencil and paper, although that similarity was strictly limited to the fact that they both hold the same kind of thing, while the purpose was completely different. The girl held hers as a sign of lost. He held his because he had not gone down, he was in sync with the walking man.

3

He removed himself. He was there only because the schedule told him to do so. He sat there, behind the girl, holding a pencil and a bunch of papers, jotting down some other assignments.

He had papers and pencil, just like the other two, but one aspect made him unique. Unlike the other two, he had nothing to do with the man by the slide. He cared not a bit about the slide, or whether the man was giving him what he needed or not. None of these things mattered to him, he just carried on doing what he had started from before ― doing some other assignments.


*I should be studying calculus, not doing this.