Hamsters and Humans Think Alike

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Sometimes reality feels like the subservient twin of emotion. When sadness overtakes the heart, ones perception of life mirrors that of a dead, limbless tree. The beauty of the world around begins to seem more like a cold dwelling meant to temporarily sustain its inhabitants. The others wander aimlessly, believing somehow that this hollow shelter holds purpose, even if they’re visibly devoid of life. At this point being alive truly begins to hurt, because it becomes evident that others are smiling simply because their deaths have permitted them to live within borders and shadings, oblivious to the fact that the only true ghosts in this world are themselves. Touching on this subject, I would like to answer a question while introducing a friend of mine, but this is not a question that someone has ever asked me. It’s merely one I would like to answer. “”Now then,” said the psychiatrist, looking up from his note pad, “when did you first discover that you were dead?”” (Beaumont).
It was at the age of thirteen that I first discovered I was dead. It wasn’t a sudden occurrence though, but instead six years of bleeding until I finally crossed over. Having never truly given thought to it, I actually find it quite interesting regarding the way my life has unfolded, but that’s beside the point. In 1997 I remember hearing about a prediction that the world would end on a particular date, and though the earth remained valiant through this supposed ending, a sphere of mingling storms began to form in my head. Over the course of the next six years my mind was focused on the world, whether it was Y2K, social inabilities, terrorism, home life etc., but there weren’t many thoughts on metaphysics or personal reflection. In 2003 I became...

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...e with the ever-expanding consciousness of self. I mean, if a hamster knew he was just a pet whose sole purpose was to entertain the neighbor’s kids when they come over, how much time would he spend performing instinctive actions such as burrowing or storing food in his cheeks? Why would he even want to move? I felt like a lone pet for so long, questioning the hand that fed me, but now that I have a comrade to partake in this expedition of discovery I am able to learn and grow as a person. It would be great if I were able to write about the subsequent adventures. It would be great if I could paint my friend in a better light, but in the end this is not about him. This is about the different he made, and since it might not seem clear let me tell you something. There is someone who will understand me when I say “For us the enemy was Reality.” (Lessing).

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