Author: Christelwise PM
A possible one-shot story of a naive girl trying to uncover the deeper meanings of existence.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Drama - Words: 954 - Published: 10-19-11 - id: 2962507
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"There is no such thing as a utopia!" Grandpa fumed with indignation upon hearing
her words. He simply lunged forward from his chair behind the table to gesture his
complete dismissal of Angela's naive opinions. She bit her lip with a deep frown
before stepping back a little.
"But Grandpa, I am referring to emotions," Angela reaffirmed forcefully, risking herself
of being lashed at again by the stern old man. "And if utopia is a world of its own,
then we humans have got to be involved in it one way or another...And the way this
whole new society works is going to affect us through our senses directly! Then it
seeps into our souls...and soon we get to experience the mystical 'emotional utopia',
don't you understand?"
"Why you obnoxious little girl!" he blasted at her right away in an attempt to call off
this nonsensical debate. She boldly glared at him. The unfortunate result was that
the infuriated grandpa slammed his hand strongly on the table, which shook from
the impact and his cup of steaming white coffee clumsily splattered all over the
Angela gasped. The next minute, he rushed over and pressed for her to leave him
alone. Dragging her along to the door, she was too dumbfounded to retort. Thus,
she was sent out without further explanation on his part. He then shut the heavy
door before her with a deafening thud.
Left standing outside, she sighed in exasperation. It was a naturally futile attempt of
hers to voice out bizarre ideas, especially to an elderly who could not care less about
mind-stimulating subjects. Slipping her hands into her pockets, she gave up and
headed out into the open.
Venturing past the backyard, she finally reached the clean beach behind their
bungalow. Angela breathed in hard as the endearing breeze sent her long tresses flying
like agitated waves in the air. After a stroll of leaving a long trail of footprints in the
sand, she stooped down to pick up a nice find. It was a stray, interestingly clear
empty bottle, which was worth a keep. Thoughts drifting back to the reason which
brought her here at this hour, she dug out a pen and a sheet of scrap paper from her
big pockets. Within a second or two, she already figured what she would write and
scribbled yearningly, "If only I would believe..."
Upon finishing, her ironic mood sunk as she glanced around every angle of the
place about her. On this auspicious day, she was supposed to deliver all her tough
views on the elusive topic of 'emotional utopia' and yet now, she ended up
abandoned and isolated on a beach emptied of people. A tinge of self-pity pierced
her heart. Recalling a love letter she had written a while ago but was not replied to,
she continued to write on the paper, "You will reciprocate my feelings..."
In the ensuing moment, Angela laughed aloud at her own silly notion. She stuffed the
note into the bottle and buried it under the sands instead of letting it float along over
the seawaters, sending her precious wish to oblivion. Sitting back down, she
wondered back again to the little bicker she had with her grandfather and tried to
conceptualise all the bits and pieces of ideas held dearly from her own standpoint.
Perhaps he was right, that there can never be a state of perfection in love. Yet, deep
inside, everyone wishes for it to be so. "Ah, stiff-necked people will only keep
denying that until the end of times," she muttered stubbornly, refusing defeat.
However, she was struck by the reality of her pathetic situation right now, all alone
by herself in a deserted environment, which made her stared wistfully over at the
spot of her buried bottle. Had there been a utopia, she would not need to experience
such unrequited love. This world is filled with ceaseless unpredictables and
possibilities. As much as humans worked so hard to create order and expectations of
rational patterns, randomness will always be a part of this chaotic life. And this is
basically just the opposite of utopia, as Angela decided. That kind of imaginary world
in her mind, she now realised must have demanded so much of automated thoughts
and feelings, actions and reactions, in order to survive the esteemed idealistic living.
Merely picturing the extent to which all the processes of life will be thoroughly
controlled, Angela cringed with disgust. Coming to this point, she doubted how she
came up with the definition of 'emotional utopia' in the first place. How can one end
up gripped with such elation without getting in touch with the physical beforehand?
If any sensation or feeling is supposed to be utterly free-flowing, unrestrained like
the forces of the roaring waves and wandering seas, why is it so distant from her
version of 'perfection'? Flaws are inborn in us that they attach intimately to us like
the skin enveloping our bodies. Imperfection will never leave this life or world no
matter how much one despises so. All the mysteries of pain and hardships may well
have to be kept sealed in the vicious Pandora's Box, to be cautiously guarded
through the defensive locks of time.
Getting up, Angela brushed off particles of sand from her blouse and skirt, before
dashing back home. Her fantasy-craving mind earned much enlightenment and she
decided that she would take charge of cooking for supper, as a humble way of
apologising to her hard-headed grandfather. Beyond the far-off horizon, the setting
sun cast faint shimmers on the half-buried bottle laid to rest on the golden shore.