Tag: human

It’s September, it’s my birth month, and I like to think that humans celebrate the anniversary of their existence on earth not because being born is a monumental feat but because as humans, we can always rebirth ourselves. If we feel we must be born again, then we will bear it all.

When an intergalactic mission reaches a critical point that threatens the life of the crew, when all is hopeless, and no other option is in sight, the captain of the crew must – if the crew includes a “human” – activate the WT protocol.

This measure should only be used in extreme circumstances, as its consequences are, despite impressive effectiveness, destructive and highly unpredictable.

If, however, the crew’s life and wellbeing are in danger, then the captain should turn to the “human” and clearly speak the following words:

“This is it. We will die here. There is no way out of this.”

The “human” will immediately direct their attention to their captain. Their answer should approximately be: “There’s always a way”, or “I’ll find something.”

It is crucial, then, that the captain performs the next sentence with as much condescension as can be mustered. They must look at the “human”, and say:

“What can a weak human like you even do?”

Immediately, distance must be brought between the remaining crew and the “human”. The protocol, if successfully initiated, will begin with a show of the “human’s” teeth in something called a “grin”, and the protocol words:

“Watch this.”

“Tell me the truth,” the human demanded.

The universe rippled, almost like a smile. “I grant you permission to ask any question, and this is what you want to know?”

The human glared a little bit. “Tell me. Unless you’re breaking your promise,”

“Of course not,” said the universe. It pulled the human closer, made the space around it warm, slowed time into a gentle river.

“Well? What’s the truth of if all? The one thing that’s always true, no matter what?”

The universe held its human for a long or short while. Then, it said:
“There’s no always.”

“Okay,” said the human slowly, “okay, but – ”

“The only truth is change.”

For a tiny or an endless while, the human said nothing. When it looked up at the universe, its eyes were shining with tears (maybe happy ones, maybe sad ones; the universe couldn’t be sure. Nothing was certain with humans, and how magnificent that was).

“So even if – no matter what – ” The human couldn’t speak anything else. It curled against the universe and held on tight.

A pulse of light wove around the human as it dissolved. The universe watched its way back to the stars, back to its home, and whispered a little something after it for when it woke up again.

Indeed, my human… you’re right. No matter what, even if something and anything happens, change is true, and truth will always come.

Being human, we’re small. We haven’t been here for very long, neither as our kind nor every single one of us. I like to think that the ancient parts of the world watch us, silent and unmoved above our heads and underneath our feets, and whisper to each other.

We may steal a glance at their shapes, be it buildings or oceans, a forest grown through centuries or the wind brushing through our hair, and we wonder what they have seen and done in their almost immortal lives.

Admiring them with deep reverence, we may forget something – that they too watch us.

And I like to think that even the oldest parts of our planets occasionally turn their senses onto us little humans, if only to wonder how something so tiny can still surprise them after all these eternities.

“you’re destroying yourself,” he told her. she didn’t reply. “you can’t live for just your mind and nothing else. you’re human, for god’s sake. you need love, affection, you need all the things that all of us need. please. you’re destroying yourself.”

she didn’t look at him. her fingers turned the page. her eyes read. her lashes flickered shut, just a second, before she drank the words on the paper. more information. more data. all the connections and causes the world had to offer.

he reached for her, touched her shoulder. “please,” now he was begging, “you’re not a machine.”

“but I wish I was.”

“you can’t be.” he spoke gently now, hope rising up. maybe he could reach her. “you don’t have to be. it’s okay not to know things. sometimes there are no answers, or a problem that even you can’t solve. there are things bigger than any of us, and you can’t do anything to understand them.”

she froze under his touch. 

he let go. he took a breath. “it will be okay. you’ll get used to it. come on.”

“no,” she said.

he opened his mouth. she turned to him, and the shine of her eyes spoke not of life as it used to, not of curiosity nor the yearning for knowledge that had made her the most brilliant creature he’d ever seen.

“who are you?” he whispered it, stumbling, terror in his voice. she was brilliant still, and it had made her – 

“i am my mind.” she didn’t blink anymore. her fingers were curled around the book, a page crumpled up under her palm. “i was nothing before i could think like this. before i knew. before i could connect all the information, make nets and theories and new ways. don’t you see?” her smile spread over her lips, hesitating then, shying away from her wide black pupils. 

he pressed his back to the wall. his body trembled. “you are more than this.”

“no!” she hissed. her fist crashed into the book, tears springing to her eyes. “you don’t understand, stupid, stupid! my mind could be perfect! it could be brilliant, better than anyone, it could make me special. it could make me more than just another…”

“human?” her swallowed. moved. came closer, just a step. “you don’t want to be human?”

“no. yes. I want…” 

“it’s okay. you don’t have to be extraordinary, you know? it’s alright to be enough-”

“I want to be more.”

he took all the courage he had and went back to her. when he stood in front of her, silent, she touched her fingers to his chest.

“if you’re not brilliant, you’ll be forgotten.”

her fingers curled into a fist.

“I’d rather be remembered than human.”