If I wrote Like This In Class

 "Elephantfuseboxthecolorblue and Nothing Worth Mentioning"

The key to everything is balance, and family reunions are annoying because you have to be there. You would like to retreat into your brain and play Pokemon, but it would be disappointing because the console and pixilated monsters are not real. The human mind treads the very line between the abstract mind, soul, emotional self and the concrete body, physical being, and appendix that brings no end of trouble. Why we do it have left scientists puzzled for centuries, but back then they were called philosophers because ancient Egyptians, advance in medicine as they were, threw the brain away and marinated the physical body in hopes that their dead relatives will get resurrected. We as the living, however, would perhaps love to exist in a non-physical state like a cloud – a cloud of emotions and feelings and the occasional thunder to zap another cloud that annoyed you – and discard altogether what us higher beings regard as sometimes pointless, like when you bash your knee on the corner. But alas, the Pokemon, a mere concept brought to life by programmers and pixels, are concrete. We cannot exist in either state  - as a zombie or as a dead, freeflying soul – because we are human. 

But what does this all mean to us, as humans? Let us examine the intricate web of roti jala that we live in. Each person is in effect a strand, and each strand is connected to the other. If you get enough of these strands tangled up, you’d get a ball of lint – dirty grey – that you fish out of your pocket and wish to discard. It’s a mess, and sometimes, it seems useless. But then you realize, after throwing your wad of lint away, that your house keys were stuck in it. Conflict. Drama. Cathartic experience. Don’t throw your lint away, especially when it is suspiciously big and heavy.

Still, what does this all mean? And what do elephants have to do with anything? Everything, says the wise man. Go fix the fuse box, it’s malfunctioning again, says the wise woman. Silly woman, I can’t do that, says the man. O why not? Says the woman. Drama. Conflict. The house burns down. The elephants watch from afar, pounding the wires they pulled out of the fuse box into the dirt. They are smart, after all.

In the end, it means nothing, because the Egyptians’ culture died out and no one threw out the brains anymore. This has brought no end of trouble, because there are debates on what blue means, but in the end, there will always be someone who insists that the sky is blue and the clouds are white or grey even if you see it as yellow with purple speckles.