About Bubbles (or is it?)

I told this story to a friend of mine and apparently it's got a very interesting allegory in it. Or maybe it's just him:

Soap bubbles entice me in a way that nothing else can.

First of all, I think it's because we rarely get to enjoy a lot of free floating objects. A balloon floating in the air, for example, does not invite that much awe, but more on concerns over which poor 5 year-old lost their grip. On that note, a hot air balloon is another equally magical thing, maybe because it served its purpose as being entertaining just by floating around freely.

So among those few entertaining floaters, soap bubbles are perhaps the most (literally) down-to-earth, since everyone can make them. I think this fact made me appreciate them even more - the moment that soap film curved into a round shape, then as we snapped the wand to let go of the bubble and it became ovale-shaped for half a second before it bobs beautifully right on your face. As you look at the light colours and extremely light movement, a bubble as good as any other, you wonder in your insecure childhood mind : "How did I make THAT?"
I honestly think it's the closest thing to pure magic I will ever witness.

Now.

As I've repeatedly argued, being "grown up" does not mean you forget your childhood dreams. Being an adult should empower it. And so one day I realized I can do just that - now that I've grown, I should push to grow the size of my bubbles too. Maximizing what my college years had taught me, I looked for the most logical solution and googled "how to make giant bubble".

Fate brought me to Professor Bubbles, where I learned the serious art of bubble making. The fact that it was serious enticed me - I must be on for more magical moments! - so I obediently boiled my tap water (this is called "soft water", as I'm told), looked for the recommended soap dish brand (nothing made for machine use - too harsh) and persuaded my parents to prescribe a bottle of glycerin from the hospital. I have no idea how these three ingredients can make any difference to the store-bought mixture, but as I learned later, there are much more than just putting three strange elements together. In the next couple of weeks, I tried my luck at the mixture, failed, and repeatedly went back to Google only to find "how did I miss that?" tips.

This site told me that, when mixing, I have to stir very very slowly, as suds and foams (which ironically are little bubbles) are bubble busters. If I stirred too quickly and found suds, "carefully spoon them away from the surface". These additional-tips websites normally add some learning values to this, such as "explain to your children that in this game, patience is very important", which is sort of depressing to read for a 23-year-old.

Bubble Town, which I think is the most helpful site overall, stated that it's best to let the solution sit overnight. Upon further searches to back this tip up, I found consistent disagreements in whether the solution should be left uncovered or sealed. Deciding there was no way I would know better, I tried both.

And then there's the wand itself. I learned that straws, pipe cleaners and cookie cutters are all acceptable, but for giant bubbles, consider the classic wire hanger - turned into a ring shape. I experimented with all sorts of sticks, picking some off the streets, bending and polishing them, experimented with different ways. But no matter how I blow out of them, it's not giving the satisfying effect. The bubbles are mediocre.

I didn't want to resort to this because I know what will show up on Google, but I realized I had to master the trick of blowing. Remember: always specify the blowing skills you wish to look for. After being educated in ways I could never think of, I found that ultimate professionals, those who measure their bubbles in meter, often rely on wind. Wind-blown bubbles are usually supported by a special wand, made of sticks and three pieces of strings. Looking at the 8 steps needed to make the wand (and still not knowing how to use it), I realized this was getting way too serious for me. I had to settle for the paper cone version - which was complicated enough.

On top of everything, I also had to learn to control the bubble. Bubble Town suggested I started practicing in a closed space with no wind, as "big bubbles are harder to control" (I didn't even realize this was a bad thing), which I think kills the magic, so I ignored it. Then I found out that the correct way to blow a bubble is to do it horizontally first (so your cone is facing down) because you want the bubble to drip off any excess solution. Once it's the size intended, start tilting the cone upward and carefully flick the bubble to freedom. It's important to flick instead of just pulling the wand away. Not even Cosmo can give a more precise how-to-blow guide.

After 2 months of concoctions, experiments with wind and wands, and practicing my blowing technique, I finally nailed it. The bubbles weren't as big as I dreamed it to be, then again I've dreamed it to be at least half as big as me. It's liberating to know how many people are as into bubbles as I am, and it's scary to know just how many people are serious about their giant bubbles - World Record is 2.98 cubic metres. I guess when I've acquired the skills and professionalism necessary, I'll get to enjoy bigger sizes too.

I've said it before and I'll keep saying it again.

I'm sick of feeling lonely but I don't know how to make it go away. Obviously this isn't some form of isolated-lonely, since I go to work and interact with people every day, all day, nor is it a form of boredom-lonely, because I've done enough sudden road trips or self-pampering to know that excitement can easily come from watching a Scrubs marathon. Incidentally, that's what I'm doing right now.

I guess I just feel lonely at heart (whatever that means). And look, I've thought, talked and written about this for many times, and I still don't know how this came to be. I've had people telling me that I got stuck feeling lonely because I LIKE feeling lonely. And like any self-deprecating individual, I understand where this is coming from, but how would I know for sure if I really subconsciously want to feel like this or not? It's called subconsciousness for a reason.

And you know what, I don't care. Maybe I secretly enjoy feeling sorry for myself, or maybe years of being antisocial has finally left me with no one. Whatever the reason is, I don't want to feel lonely anymore. I hate it. It makes me sad and needy, and I look sad and needy, and neither can be good for my social life.

So I ended up feeling alone again, for no particular reason, and I got up and tried talking to someone for a change (instead of sulking in the corner, which I used to resort to) and sometimes, I'll just have the pleasant surprise of finding out that people just don't give a crap. I can see it from the way they start uhh-ing and ahm-ing when I started talking. A few words of kindness. A sincere explanation that they really have to go. And off they went. I swear, nothing will reduce you more than realizing that people close to you are in fact too busy for you. It screws with your mind because they're your good friends, you thought you can afford being selfish, then you realized you're being TOO selfish because let's face it, even your close friends have issues of their own, and you can't demand their full attention to you. No matter how much you want it. If you didn't get it, you didn't deserve it.

And no, I do NOT think all of my friends are like that. I've had times when someone really did cheer me up, to which I'm eternally grateful, but here's the news : they're rare, and most of them are too compassionate to be listening to someone like me. They're much much better off being with people who can give them as much attention as they're giving out, because they deserved it.

This sucks.

On Taking Deep Breaths

I'm sick of doing it.


It sort of symbolizes me wanting to be strong (which I'm not) through these very hard times (which I often conjure up myself) while still allowing me to feel sad and pathetic over the whole situation (which I often am).
I'm typing this on my last day at this gorgeous office, knowing full well that I may never again get a chance to see this much fireworks from atop.


Then again, maybe I will. We really are not able to signify our situations proportionally - there are thousands of people out there going apes over a change in time (for God's sake, I'm standing on level 40 and I can here people counting down on the streets), and there are thousands sleeping at home, having no business over how time changes. This is my last day at work and I'm barely thinking about it, but I know there may be a time later when I'll wail about it. This moment could be everything or it could be nothing. And there's no way you can tell.


I don't like the fact that I think everything is important. It tips off my balance. I can't stay sane if I think all moments are precious, and I should hold on desperately to each one of them until they're all snatched away from me. Refusing to let go is what keeps me fighting, and I know I have to fight for what I want, but this is crazy. Am I really going to be able to do this?


No. This is important for me. I'm staying.


I'll just hope I'm not the only one holding on.