Monday, 6 August 2007

And so we continue where we left off ... back in 2002 when Meteor Garden was all the rage. What is that they say about history repeating itself? We all come full circle. How true indeed.

...

The Sandman:
But hoping for something that will never happen and wishing for the impossible won't solve any problems. In the end, you'll just be deluding yourself and what's the use in that? It's just a pack of lies isn't it?

Poppy:
Well, zipping around and sprinkling those ridiculously tiny sleeping sands into people's eyes isn't exactly the most practical thing to do especially since the sand probably doesn't work anymore. Everyone's so tired nowadays that they fall asleep even before their heads touch their pillows!

The Sandman:
Digression.

Poppy:
You can't always stand up to the storm and shake your fist at the heavens to make the rain stop. Even the strongest and bravest need some rest and respite. Some shelter. You can't keep taking the blows without giving yourself a chance to recover.

The Sandman:
But some people use this so-called recovery as a means of escape! An excuse to hide away forever!!! Sleeping pills are such a pest. They're making my sleeping sand redundant!

Poppy:
Digression. I persist in believing in the need for an escape from reality.

The Sandman:
Let me tell you a story. We shall begin as most stories begin ...

Once upon a time there was a solid sphere of rock floating in the freedom of outer space, rotating on its own axis while revolving around a burning star and generally minding its own business. On this rock there lived a little poppy, among many other flowers of all shapes and sizes, colours and appetites. After a rather comfortable childhood in spite of the rather constant threats of pesticides, insecticides and other agents of psychological strain, the poppy seedling matured and managed to bloom. A single red bloom amidst the rest of the flowers. A striking colour but still deemed plain as it did not have the glamour of the red roses or the exotic demeanour of the birds of paradise.

The little poppy grew up quickly and soon began to take its place in the society of flowers. It was to be a worker. It had a special gift - its seeds could be used to make certain intoxicating substances but that was a potential that required external forces to exploit so the little poppy on its own posed no danger to anyone although the world out there threatened to squish out the very life of this little flower. As the little poppy bloomed it took on the job of serving pollen and nectar to the bees and butterflies that buzzed around. Those insects and animals that came for refreshment were free and beautiful. The butterfly was one of the most beautiful creatures that ever frequented the 'bar' for drinks and food. The bees had a superstructure that produced more food for others and they were indeed richly endowed with the ability to make honey. Hence it was a sweet life for the rich and beautiful of this society. The flowers were also beautiful in their own right but they lacked the mobility of the bees and butterflies hence they were confined to service. Never to flutter around but simply to wait for others to come to them. Even though they were the building blocks of the society as they provided the nectar and pollen, they alone couldn't make the honey nor could they pollinate and propagage without the help of the high-flyers.

So the little poppy grew more restless day by day as it watched the traffic pass it by day after day yet there was nothing she could do but accept her lot.

Poppy:
What kind of a story is that?! It's supposed to end with "and they all lived happily ever after!" That should be the way stories end. Surely we don't need to be reminded of reality. We must be able to believe that it could happen to anyone, that dreams come true and it could happen to the poorest and the plainest of us all. Like Cinderella and her prince. To think a prince might actually fall in love and marry a commoner on the grounds of her goodness? I mean, surely that's one of the greatest fairytales of all?

The Sandman:
Precisely. That's all it is. A fairytale. A fairytale that belongs to fairyland despite all its glory and grandeur. This is the stuff that dreams are made of and dreams they will remain. Every sleeping head dreams of such lovely endings but a precious few or one or none will ever enjoy the luxuries of life as seen in reel life. It is a hopeless hope that is best laid to rest.

Dream and forget when you awake
So you may escape the bitter taste of heartbreak
For dreams in life they come and go
And this is the reality you ought to know.

Poppy: Wei shen mo ri zi zhe mo nan guo ne? Maybe someday fantasy will merge with reality. After all, who is to say that such a day will never come our way? Yet the road ahead remains nebulous ...