Some say minesweeper is for anti-social dorks. Well, it's tough to get a kick out of something you don't understand, and minesweeper is too profound for such people, like diamonds are to men (they just don't get it!).
Such detractors are secretly envious of people who're able to tackle minesweeper without losing metaphorical appendages, clicking away at the speed of a Viagra-fed playboy with a bevy of ladies.
When you step near a hidden mine, no digits light up on the ground to warn you of the impending kismet. There are no 'Press F2 for New Game's, no 'Help' tabs, no second chances.
You falter, you screw up, and the bomb goes off; you lose an arm and a leg but you hobble along anyway, because you have to, because life is a game no one can Pause or Undo or Alt-F4, a game everyone is forced to play until the inevitable Game Over.
And it sucks, but it has to be done, just like laundry and taxes and my very horridly overdue homework.
Because over the past few days I have heard too many sob stories about people breaking up when the relationship was still good and regretting it. And for the sake of world peace, only break up with your partner when you're sure you don't have feelings for him/her anymore.
"You're blinded by love; I'm looking through the lenses of practicality," he said. He says this, and then destroys everything we've worked for together, blows out my dreams, packs his suitcases and leaves, leaves me behind. I might as well cry on then, since I am already blind. And if I can see a future for us and he cannot, then being blind is much better.
I would wait to see if his shadow would perchance grace my tearful corner again, except that he is blind. He will not return. I am a lonely open book with bleeding words and a broken spine, while he remains unfathomable, elusive, tight-lipped, gone.
Yesterday in class I had been snacking on raisins when J on my right joined in the pig-out session. Z on my left looked on nonchalantly and made half-hearted remarks about putting on weight as J emptied the box of raisins as rapidly as a vacuum cleaner might have.
As Z and I watched, he took another raisin, positioned it strategically between his forefinger and thumb, flicked it into the air so that it made a graceful, elongated arc and returned like a faithful boomerang, and shifted his head slightly forward and backward with his mouth wide open towards the heavens. The moment the raisin landed in his mouth effortlessly Z realised the lasting implication it had on their relationship and announced, "J, I have found a new level of respect for you."
It's raining noodles! Hallelujah! And the noodles shall inherit the earth!
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