Member
Have you ever seen a kid flushing down a goldfish down the toilet? And then you asked the child why he or she is doing such thing. And as usual, the child would just respond with the phrase “Because it is dead" and “because why not?”
Most would just laugh away the story and simply explain the child the meaning behind of the destruction of one’s identity and the inevitable end. The study of death and old age is something important for every child to learn as their first lesson. Without it, the child will lack one of the most important lessons in his or her life. But there is something different in my second child. There is something unusual about him. Something dangerous and no less twisted in that small thing.
So many strangers, Zig thinks as he walked through the bustling Tokyo Station. After receiving some help, not by any normal senses, of course, Zig had finally reached the train station of Tokyo and entered the mythical train station. But is it “train station" or “tram station"? The question remained in Zig head as he strolled through the whole building. And only two words can be used in his limited English vocabulary, is that the Tokyo station is ”big" and “beautiful." And there are many people as well. Strange people in nice-looking suits. Pink, yellow, blue all mixed together and formed a river of color. And tons of food. Delicious food. Again, limited by his poorly vocabulary, Zig would describe the takoyaki as “octopus being cut and roll into a circle shape then fried into a yellow orb with smoke coming from it.”
Now, the only thing that remained is to learn English vocabulary. Sitting down on the nearby benches and feeling its sturdy supporting his back, Zig takes out an English dictionary and begin to write down vocabulary in his notebook. Time is precious, Zig thinks as his scribbled words into his yellow notebook. And despite how noisy the others are when seeing their “long time no see" friends, the child in pink uniform remained silence. In his small corner, undisturbed by the voices of the strangers, Zig writes. Erase and scribble, the boredom action. Time rolls and goes, waiting for whom?