Martian Notes

Time is regressive. The more having it, the less appreciating it. Imagine, how a person would spend the last day of life, or a normal next day of life. Time is unknown. We never know that whether it will be a next or last day, whether it will be a next or last dinner, a next or last trip.

Being unknown makes us unfearful. Hedonists would say that, spend the day like there is no tommrrow. That is real bravery. I would be panicked rather than hedonistic if the statement was true. I would rather imagine that there are limited tommrrows, so that I can arrange a series of activities to plan a productive farewell. It sounds like to negotiate with god of death for an alert on the deadline. Greedy as always.

The specialty of this year could easily trigger such apocalyptic thinking. It is not the opportune time to be a human being. Maybe it is better to be a cat, the inhabitant of confinement, or a bird, the carrier of freedom. It is like a rolling stone that is suddenly stopped, out of nowhere, all by itself. The stillness brings me dichotomy. I value the me time, as I always imagine myself as a me person, who relishes self company. But I also could not resist the longing for human connection, beyond screen gaze or vocal communication. When there is physical distance, mind is distanced as well. I feel detached, aloof and parted. While we are trying to assure each other over the Internet connection, we are absorbing the bitter thinking that virtual reality is anything but real.

This year looks like a mockery to all humans, especially those with ideas like anthropocene. It is never anthropocene. It is still naturapocene. We are turned upside down by our blind ignorance and unwise bravery.

In the times of confinement, we are our own prisoners. We put ourselves on trial and sentence ourselves to eternal isolation.