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Sounds cute but it implies that the body generates the soul, assuming that a ghost is just the soul bodyless. But if you die right after being born and become a ghost... That's why it has to be "a lifetime". So either the soul exists from the very beginning or the body creates one automatically. Oh wait. Ghosts are basically the soul with memories and regrets and everything. So you need the lifetime to transform the soul regardless of where it comes from.
Of course ghosts are more than just the soul. The soul exists regardless of the state it's in and remains in existence even after the ghost has moved into the light.
But what if a baby is born, dies right after and leaves a baby ghost? Would that even be possible?
I guess?
Then a ghost is just a baby's soul, you don't even need a lifetime.
A newborn baby would have had a 9 month lifetime. They would have experienced things.
Then the soul arises at fecundation? So do abortions leave ghosts? Even ones performed by the morning after pill?
The soul is eternal, it exists since before conception.
Then when does it get inside the body? Moreover, does it need a minimum cooking time before it can become a ghost? That's what we need to know, in order to ascertain whether the body is an active agent, and therefore a ghost factory.
Maybe the ghost is proportional to the lifetime. Not all ghosts are equal.
Maybe the table is proportional to the floor. Maybe the hole is proportional to the cloud. We need units of measurement.
g = sc^2
Where s is lifespan? I hope c is not light speed because that would make for exponentially powerful ghosts.
As the speed of light increases?
de wat? asddcv vbge
That's what you're implying: "exponentially". s is a linear coefficient, the only exponential here is c.
Oh yes. I was wrong. Anyway, the ghost here would exist since the very beginning. It just increases in kiloghosts as time goes by.
Well, while you're alive you're accumulating potential kiloghosts.
That's the thing, they're potential. Okay, I guess that sentence had internal coherence after all. I've been trying to find a fault in it but it all fits.
You have a point though. If g = sc^2 then the amount of kiloghosts increases really fast. Especially because s would have to be expressed in seconds since that's the SI unit for time. We'd need to measure g in petaghosts.
In a universe where this is a science, instead of wishing each other happiness or a long life, people would wish petaghosts on each other: "may you produce many petaghosts".
Petaghost long and prosper
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I made it to the northern lands. This is my hero's welcome.
On top of that, there was popcorn, and chocolate chip cookies, and tea, and granola bars. It's a shame they didn't last long enough to be photographed. The city is beautiful. It smells of fresh earth. Foliage is everywhere. Ducks run through the park by the lake. The horizon is littered with cranes and construction sites. The market downtown thrives with art and life. The streets are wide and everything is oversized. It's a good place to call home.
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I departed at 4 PM, in a flurry of last-minute packings.

My ride to the airport was a very comfortable van just for myself. My driver, codenamed 28, kept requesting to speak with his buddy (or pal, or mistress) 32. After several calls, he found out that 32 wasn't going to be online that day, and settled for 12 instead. I found the whole affair rather cute.

Once at the airport, I met my dad for the last time. I was pleased to see that he hadn't betrayed me and brought my mom. Good man.

We had nothing to talk about, since everything had already been discussed; yet, we talked anyway, until time ran out.

I came on the plane to find that my seat had been taken. Luckily, the lady therein kindly conceded my ownership of the seat and moved to the adjacent one.

As the plane began to move, I began singing inspirational songs from musicals in my head. I have a dream / A song to sing... The swirling paths formed by the airport lights eventually coalesced into that one bright and hopeful landing strip. This is my quest / To follow the star / No matter how hopeless / No matter how far... Tremors shook the plane, intensifying second by second, until suddenly, they stopped all at once, and we were weightless. I'm flying high, defying gravity...

I will never forget the sight of my city from a bird's eye view. The city lights were spread out below me like a bright orange flower bed. Big and small. I am on my way.
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 Disney has a way of speaking to your heart in the most crucial moments of life.

Last year, Julia played I See the Light for me - it was our song. Earlier this year, I moved away from my abusive mom to the tune of Let it Go. Today, it's time to Go the Distance. My new life is ready and waiting for me - my transport, my plane, my job. As soon as the van arrives, I will step outside of my home for the last time, and my journey to the north will begin.

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Ohana means family. Family means no one gets left behind. -Lilo and Stitch

I love Lilo and Stitch. But its message never got through to me. My family is the one thing I've been trying the hardest to leave behind.

But not all of it. Until today, my dad was the one exception to my rule. Today reminded me that he's not the only "good" family member, and there are several more worth caring for.

After a lunch at KFC and a long walk with my dad, we met with my favorite uncle at a coffee shop, and my favorite aunt joined in. Three brothers reunited, like in the Tintin story (three out of eight, in this case). I don't see them very often, yet I owe them so much.

My uncle is the cool uncle everyone wishes they had. He bought me my first decent computer, got me an internship at his truck parts dealership, and his travel stories awoke my curiosity for the world beyond. He has traveled all over the globe; he has raised and lost fortunes; he has been a father, a grandfather, a great-grandfather, a husband till death do us part; he has had the fullest possible life and he is still as healthy as a 85-year-old man can be.

My aunt is the loving aunt everyone wishes they had. She took care of me as a kid whenever my dad couldn't; she kept a watchful eye on my education; she always picked the greatest birthday gifts. She has been a dedicated teacher for fifty years, yet she looks younger than anyone woul.

The talk was fantastic. We discussed airlines, family history, It was the first time I had a real conversation with them since I was a teenager. Having read up on transactional psychology the night before, I could tell we were addressing each other in an adult-to-adult manner now. My dad, who had always lamented my lack of a proper degree, called me an engineer. I didn't have to play a role or live up to any expectations; they respected me. They loved me. And I think I love them back.

I even had the quintessential ace conversation with my uncle:

"Don't forget to let me know once you're expecting your first kid. I can never have too many grandkids."
"That's very unlikely to happen."
"You never know! Sometimes things will happen after a party, and boom! 9 months later..."
"That's... not my style."
"Well, you gotta have an orientation."

I got parting gifts: a map of the northern lands and a set of personal care accessories for men. I'm 27 and I had never been treated like a grown man by my own kin before - only by bankers and coworkers. I even got hugs. Wow.

As the cherry on top of my day of wonders, a quartet of street musicians sneaked into my little corner of the subway, dressed in highly conspicuous bohemian attire. Their music was a series of snappy 80's street jazz pieces. It was glorious and it made my world feel like a whimsical animated movie. You could picture the violinist skipping on Parisian cobblestone, the clarinetist waltzing close behind, the accordion dictating the troupe's joyful pace, and the singer leading them all through pulsing boulevards.

Since musicians are not allowed in the subway, they had to be sneaky; every time the train stopped and the doors opened, the accordion froze and the clarinet turned to a low whistling. Passengers would tilt their heads through doors and windows to scan the surroundings while the band laid low. As soon as the coast was clear, the party kicked back into full gear.

Even after they were all done and the train was heading towards the last station, the clarinet player kept playing little improvisations, as if he couldn't help the music flowing through him.


Aug. 27th, 2014 12:00 pm
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It's packing day. I'm sitting before two cardboard boxes: one for the things I want to bring along with me; one for the things I want to leave behind, but still keep for old time's sake.

In the first go my drawing supplies, office supplies, electronics, cat pictures, good books and miscellaneous adapter cables. In the second go my power cables (they're not going to work up north), trading card games, unused notebooks and books I don't like that much but that would be a crime to get rid of.

Everything else - bad sketches, expired medicine, scratched DVDs - goes into the trash, to be forever lost.

I'm holding a tarp bag just large enough to hold all the little trinkets and letters Julia sent me. Which box should I put it in?

Which box should I put Julia in?

Not in the trash, for sure. I don't have the heart.

I will happily throw away everything I have no use for, except beautiful things. I don't have the heart to let go of beautiful things, even after their beauty has become just a memory. I keep pictures of cats long past; I keep my dad's little gifts even though he doesn't remember giving me most of them; I keep a marbled stone from every trip to the beach; I keep the best of my childhood toys, comic books, pencils; everything I ever felt strongly for.

I don't have the heart to let go of Julia. She was my fairytale come true. Believing in fairytales is naive, they all said, but we were going to prove them all wrong.

I still want to believe in us, even if just for the sake of believing in something impossible. Martyr complex, maybe? Or maybe I just think we should all try to believe in the impossible. After all, taking action towards impossible things sometimes makes them a little less impossible.

Either way, if I'm going to believe, I'd rather believe from afar, just in a corner of my head. Actually interacting with Julia only makes everything worse and changes me into a more bitter person because it reminds me of all the affection and trust we've lost and may never get back. I need to cut my losses. I won't let idealism drive me to the point of self-destruction. That was my dad's mistake; it won't be mine.

One of Julia's gifts was a teddy bear. He came with a soulmate; a patch of velcro in their paws allowed them to hold hands, and magnets in their snouts allowed them to kiss. They were fated to reunite one day. They would run to each other in slow motion, romantic music would play from out of nowhere, and they would join in an emotive embrace. That bear represented Julia's commitment to me.

He's going in the first box. I'm bringing him along. But not necessarily to be reunited with his bride. I know he can survive without her, he can see the world without her. He stands for independence now.

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