The Onion Sprouts
There is this common analogy between a person and an onion; that there are as many layers to a person as there are layers to an onion. Each time you think you know a person, there's always something else beneath that veneer. I'm not sure if the pungent tear-inducing fumes of an onion are also deliberate to the analogy, but it occured to me that sometimes it is almost a pain stripping all those layers from a person as well, just like peeling an onion.
My friends would likely say this entry is a case of me thinking too much again, but it suddenly struck me as rude to compare getting to know a person to peeling an onion. Why do you need to force those layers apart? Are you trying to dissect the person, just like you would to an onion you are preparing to dump into the salad? In this case, I hardly have any sympathy for the tears that come with this sort of action. You deserve the grief for trying to knock down a person's defences this way.
For the past semester, two subjects have dominated my art work: the lotus, and the rose. For as long as I can remember, I have always been fascinated by flowers. Their transient beauty, their fragility, the vibrance and exuberance they flaunt at the height of their bloom. Just like a person at the peak of his life. Perhaps it is my vanity speaking to me here, but I do think it is probably more accurate to associate a person to a flower, rather than the onion. At least in this case, the process of getting to know a person is much less violent; you simply wait for the flower to bloom in order to view its splendor. Isn't this patience and commitment, essentially the foundation of friendship or any form of relationship?
In any case, tne onion itself is a means to an end, just like the flower. Life, for the onion, begins when it begins to sprout. And if we were to ruthlessly dissect an onion to see what it's made of, we end up killing it instead; pretty much like slaughtering the goose for her golden eggs. If you have to associate a person to an onion, I think it's more appropriate to say that he's a mystery like an onion until he sprouts and reveals what he has been hiding within himself.
My friends would likely say this entry is a case of me thinking too much again, but it suddenly struck me as rude to compare getting to know a person to peeling an onion. Why do you need to force those layers apart? Are you trying to dissect the person, just like you would to an onion you are preparing to dump into the salad? In this case, I hardly have any sympathy for the tears that come with this sort of action. You deserve the grief for trying to knock down a person's defences this way.
For the past semester, two subjects have dominated my art work: the lotus, and the rose. For as long as I can remember, I have always been fascinated by flowers. Their transient beauty, their fragility, the vibrance and exuberance they flaunt at the height of their bloom. Just like a person at the peak of his life. Perhaps it is my vanity speaking to me here, but I do think it is probably more accurate to associate a person to a flower, rather than the onion. At least in this case, the process of getting to know a person is much less violent; you simply wait for the flower to bloom in order to view its splendor. Isn't this patience and commitment, essentially the foundation of friendship or any form of relationship?
In any case, tne onion itself is a means to an end, just like the flower. Life, for the onion, begins when it begins to sprout. And if we were to ruthlessly dissect an onion to see what it's made of, we end up killing it instead; pretty much like slaughtering the goose for her golden eggs. If you have to associate a person to an onion, I think it's more appropriate to say that he's a mystery like an onion until he sprouts and reveals what he has been hiding within himself.