EPT.
Amongst the traffic signs and the wayward roads lies a quiet home, insignificant to even the gardeners which tend to it. But as many an oasis forms in the middle of a desert, a solemn place of refuge offered itself up to me. The ordinary eye overlooks it, preferring instead the paintings on the wall or the leisure of a couch. But to me it meant everything.
A single spider will watch his victim.
A human scrutinizes and criticizes; laughing and drafting all types of ill chatter. Students of all kind, though no bad intent,
gossip and draw stuff
as malcontent as the bird who sings silently in a cage she can’t rid.
But in the realm of my world, I become free.
gossip and draw stuff
as malcontent as the bird who sings silently in a cage she can’t rid.
But in the realm of my world, I become free.
Its astonishing how mere waves and electrons can create such a haven. Brushing aside the smothered loose-leaf and releasing the book bag which bound me that day, I become a new person. This is where I belong. With the inorganic matter that spawned humanity’s rise, I become one. My hands grasp the mouse and my fingers release as they rest on its top. A sigh of relief can be heard as my hair loses style and my shoulders relax. I am happy.
Atoms will bond no matter the color of their skin or the freckles that they have. And as mine connected with the computer, as they finally relax for the first time that day, I know that I am home. I don’t have to sit, stand, walk, talk, listen or learn as long as I’m there. My name is Pandain and this is my place.
Yet at the same time this silent oasis teaches me more than I will have elsewhere. The ability to be in a place, by yourself, to just contemplate on life’s goings and gone-ings, is a rare leisure indeed. Sometimes I leave this refuge for short periods of time, but again and again the child in me wanders back.
It was a gateway into another world. Thoughts to be read, information to be absorbed, everything could be found in the realm of the computer. The pleasure of knowing that I would somehow find out if Obama died allowed me to seal myself off from the rest of reality. Here I followed my dreams.
Mere images. A finite quantity of pixels on a screen, but my oh my are these pixels that inspire. Screams of excitement, roars of vitalizing victory, and nights of solemn silent(and eyes bordering on tears) have all taken place in this 8 by 5 feet area. In a game called Starcraft.
Adrenaline takes control of me as I stand aghast, mouth open, at the wonderous tactics performed. Beautiful formations of units emerge where only chaos existed.
Blast. A dozen men blow up in citric acid, spilling goo everywhere. Contrary to common sense, I stand there cheering for my favorite players as they duke it out in Korean television. Part of a community which loves the same game, I know I am home.
Cheering. A thousand hands go up in the air as a name is chanted. A glorious comeback, a dominating victory, the mysteries that await me entice me each day.
A language of angels exists in a world filled with hatred. They speak of excitement, of freedom. To sit down and watch something which you love. To be passionate about it. To live with it. To BE it. The glory existed in but a small town in a small state, but how that glory shined in my heart.
