Lu | ola lanko

2024

lu & others

auto-fictional stories

writing | fiction | autobiography | existentialism

Lu & Others is a collection of interconnected short auto-fictional stories where introspection meets the fantastical. These stories explore the whimsical and often surreal experiences of Lu, who encounters various creatures on a quest for self-understanding. Lu's path is paved with surreal encounters, ranging from an opinionated owl residing in the silent shadows to a vain earthworm with an insatiable craving for butter. Through vibrant metaphors and analogies—including a silent butterfly named Rachel and a host of chatty, conflicted butterflies representing Lu's internal struggles—she navigates the complexities of the human experience with humour, heart, and a healthy dose of the absurd.

In her adventures Lu is looking for ways to die and forget herself, but encounters many obstacles. Realising that dying is not as easy as she thought, she keeps remembering herself.

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1 / sips of forgetting

1

Lu sat next to the window, sipping her freshly brewed tea and watching the colour brown. After the steam from the boiling water cooled down, its passions revealed deep shades of brown to her gaze. The white porcelain presented the tints gracefully, giving away its own pride in service to the murky glory ready to be injected.

With every pour, the colour weakens. Water saps the intensity of the tea, slowly fading its flavour alongside its essence. Slowly but steadily, water takes over, leaving behind exhausted leaves ready to be dismissed and forgotten.

Catching this thought, an evanescent vivid entity that often feels more like a bug than a butterfly, a wave of excitement entered her body; she knew it as a call for adventure. Jumping on this wave, Lu decides to connect with the inevitable transience of matter immediately. Forgetting herself is chosen as a strategy for this. Her reasoning behind it is simple: if she manages to forget that she is watching the tea, she can get a chance to truly die alongside it.

In her vivid mind, this idea seems brilliant. She forgets things all the time. The other day, she forgot the feeling of embarrassment after Kenny's childish attempt to catch her attention by splashing a glass of milk in her face. That was when she decided to die for the first time. That was a success; about five minutes after her metaphorical death, she could fix her make-up and carry on with her day.

In that first death, Lu discovered the power of being dead and has since become obsessed with the idea of dying at least once a day.

"But how can I forget myself if I am constantly reminded of myself by myself?" she thought while scratching her ankle with a cold metal fork that she used to wiggle the tea and help it unfold. Lu felt relief; the itch had been bothering her attempts to come up with a strategy for forgetting.

Her teapot was empty, and the leaves had reached their final breath as tea. The point of no return had come, and the omnipotent alchemy of meaning had won again, turning 30-year-old pu erh tea into an annoying sticky stack of rubbish. It blocked the sink, causing problems that needed to be fixed with the help of chemicals, emotional resilience, and discipline.

While contemplating strategies for death, the last cup of Lu's tea grew cold. The diluted brown had died prematurely, failing to complete its purpose: to end up in Lu's belly and transform into energy that could later become a new adventure. Lu felt guilty and drank it anyway. She hated cold tea as well as milk. But carrying guilt for taking away the tea's purpose was too much for her to bear. She would rather suffer than disappoint. Perhaps this peculiarity of Lu's character kept her from dying more.

The last sip found its way into Lu's system, changing her forever in minuscule yet irreversible ways. However, she was left in doubt: did she manage to forget herself this time or not? Probably not, she thought, but a lingering uncertainty remained. Lu couldn't bear it; doubt was even worse than milk, so she settled on a daily achievement.

Lu opened her notebook and wrote: "6 October. A few minutes of death. Maybe." Doubt didn’t leave her after all. "I'll try again tomorrow," resonated in her mind with a voice that wanted to convince her rather than knowing what it was doing.

2 / milk and grass

2

It was one of those days when the shivery misbehaviours of the weather would get to Lu, throwing her off balance. The cold and moist wind permeated her pores, bringing a feeling of unease to her entire being. Lu ventured outside to post a letter to a friend who lived on the other side of the world. If you were to drill a hole beneath her feet, you would end up right where he lived. They had found each other by accident, which, after a short conversation, didn’t seem like a coincidence at all, considering that their movements were exactly the same, though they were unaware of it.

She wrote that the weather was getting to her, becoming unbearable. The problem was, in Lu’s attempts to forget herself, she had forgotten where her home was. This became a real issue; winter was about to start, and that would mean Lu could freeze to death. Despite her numerous attempts at dying, she, most of all, liked living. In her mind, the dying she pursued paradoxically invited more life. Lu didn’t know exactly how that would work, but she knew that dying from freezing would bring her what she was seeking. Forgetting where her home was didn’t seem like such a good idea after all.

Luckily, she had Hata on the other side of the world; he would know the address. His home was in the exact same location; they even discovered that their keys were the same. She wrote: “Dear Hata, in my clumsy attempts to forget myself, I forgot where my home is. Please send me our memory. Use earthworms for delivery; don’t feed them for a few days, then whisper the message in their ears. I will prepare food on my end. Hunger will make them quick. It’s getting cold here; the air alone won’t do it. In the meantime, please put on socks and a warm sweater so I can feel it on my side. All my clothing is at home; I went to buy milk to show gratitude to Kenny, who taught me a new way of dying. But you probably already know that when I die, you die as well. Lu.”

She placed the letter in a handmade envelope that seemed to resist being just a package, struggling with an identity crisis inspired by Lu herself. The envelope felt profoundly unseen in its conventional definition: a flat paper or cardboard container used for mailing documents or letters, usually with a sealed flap. It thought the world was unfair and dismissive; only Lu could understand and know what needed to be done. Above all, the envelope needed to be forgotten so it could become the master of its own existence. Secretly, it desired to become a mother, delivering children that could grow into adults capable of making envelopes. Lu was a bit perplexed by the envelope’s reasoning; in her opinion, it was already fulfilling that role all along. She shared its desire to be forgotten, though, so doubting the envelope’s efforts would be inappropriate.

After the letter embarked on its journey to the other side of the world, Lu sat beside the grass sprouting from the soft soil and took out milk and chocolate cookies. She spilled the milk, crumbled the treats, and prepared to receive the worms carrying her memories. Forgetting home wasn’t such a good idea, she thought, at least not before she could forget herself first.

3 / a pillow of worms

3

Today wasn't like others. Instead of forgetting herself, Lu was keeping herself busy with remembering. It all started when the message from the earthworms touched Lu's ear. Subtle vibrations from the soil pinged in her body, an anticipated notification that would finally bring Lu closer to the warmth of home. She leaned towards the earth, putting her ear close to the ground, ready to receive the whisper.

"111 steps forward, leaving the tree where you kept secrets behind. 2nd floor, left. I had no other choice. I already love you. Hata."

Of all the people on earth, Lu trusted Hata the most and figured there was a good reason to send a cryptic message. But it didn’t make her life easier. She liked riddles, and solving them was her strategy for untying the ropes and strings that limited her freedom. Etymology was one of Lu’s secret fascinations; it helped her navigate through the world of concepts. She knew that “solving” referred to “loosening up,” and the sensation of loosening up felt good in her body. Thus, riddles were potential sources of increased ease.

From her life experiences, Lu learned that the most difficult riddles lay in the past. She had been so busy forgetting herself for so long that some of the oldest memories were indeed forgotten. Like, for example, when she was a tea tree or when she was gathering berries and moving from place to place. Lu didn't remember those moments clearly; only a vague echo in her body was still resonant. Or maybe it was something else; nobody knows anymore. Lu didn't care about the accuracy of decoding sensations in her body; she was not interested in stories and called herself a devotee of forgetting.

As a devotee of that kind, receiving a message that called for remembering wasn't exactly an optimal situation. But what was there to do? The desire to feel warm and reunite with her tea ritual was a strong motivator to forget forgetting and start to remember.

With one hand caressing the worm and the other holding her grandmother's ring, Lu closed her eyes and tensed her muscles, squeezing out memories. Unfortunately, nothing came forth; a black void inside Lu's head was generously silent. She felt irritation swell in her chest: "Just when I need it to speak, it remains quiet. What a stubborn mind of a wild elephant I have!" Unsurprisingly, the master of the elephant, poor Lu, was also stubborn and started to squeeze her body even harder, this time adding fists and activating her facial muscles. The worm wriggled in pain, and instead of a memory, an inhuman cry emerged. Lu quickly let it go and decided to change her strategy. Trying to remember wasn't bringing her any closer.

What if she never had that memory in the first place? What if thinking that she knew kept her from knowing? How could she learn something that she thought she already knew?

What a brilliant idea! Lu's chest opened up, filled with fresh and excited winds. She could go back to forgetting; no more working against herself by trying to remember.

Hata's riddle, however, remained unsolved. Consequently, Lu stayed homeless and tealess. The precise location of her place remained a mystery. She knew she had to come up with another strategy but decided to visit Kenny and see what he was up to.

Lu pulled the worm from the ground. "You are coming with me, mister. And you are going to be my pillow wherever I go. I will feed you cookies, and I will call you Bob."

The initial shock from Bob's unintelligent-looking face melted away as he gave in to the softness of the chocolate chip, covering her fingers with warm saliva.

"Show me the way, Lu. I already love you. Bob.”

4 / puma and parrot

4

Kenny lived on a quiet and rather peculiar street, in the middle of a neighbourhood that had a ban on straight corners. Everything had to be soft and rounded. Not only did the exterior have to adhere to that law, but everything inside the houses was as smooth as the skin of a grape. Forks, palm trees, books, and other objects with sharp corners were forbidden. People who lived there usually had storage space outside the neighbourhood where they could keep rectangular things. Sometimes, parties were organised in those containers. They were called "edgy parties," playing with double meanings and tickling the pleasure nerve that reacts to forbidden indulgence.

Every time Lu visited that place, she split in two.

Lu #1: An attractive middle-aged puma with narcissistic tendencies who felt calm and comfortable. Gracefully strolling through the streets, she lost the sense of time and direction but couldn't care less about it. Nothing could affect her; she was dissolving in sameness, becoming one with the neighbourhood and the people who lived there.

Lu #2: An anxious elderly parrot who doubted his own sanity, suspecting that he was all alone in the world and that everything was an illusion. The words of the inhabitants were as smooth as their couches. Nothing could hurt through their words or actions. Even smiling was forbidden, as it would reveal square-shaped teeth and turn a person into a lawbreaker. Smoothness levelled everything out, making him feel non-existent and lonely. Oscillating between a puma and a parrot, Lu found these visits very confusing. Smoothness was simultaneously attractive and repulsive.

"What is smooth doesn't injure. It doesn't offer any resistance. It feels safe and cosy. But why do I feel so lonely then? How do I know that I am still here if I don't feel any rejection? How do I know where I am if there is no poke to remind me that I am alive?"

While watching these butterfly-shaped thoughts, she spotted an opportunity to practise her skill of dying: "not knowing that I am alive" counts as "forgetting myself." Lu-puma and Lu-parrot were both dying in the smoothness, but one was dying in sameness, and the other in alienation. None of these deaths felt good to Lu. Perhaps a double death was one too many.

Bob was desperately rummaging in her bag, trying to grab Lu's attention. The sun was almost down, and he feared that the sharp edge of the moon would show up soon. Bob knew what that would mean for the neighbourhood. An omni-smoothing veil would be stretched over the sky, and they would be stuck in the double-death limbo.

"Cho-co-late" rang in Lu's ears. Whether it was Bob's whisper or some other mysterious force, it worked immediately, pulling Lu out of her trance and contemplating the challenges of a double death experiment. A rectangular bar appeared in front of her eyes, lifted by imaginary wings.

"Bob, what are you waiting for? Come on! Live."

They rushed as quickly as they could, moving away from death and towards a new life, which took the shape of a chocolate bar and gave meaning to their movement. For a brief moment, Lu remembered Kenny, but it was too late; she was halfway to death. Lu felt no regrets; she was ready to be born and taste the bittersweetness on her forked tongue.

5 / slippery butterfly

5

Tiredness was interesting to Lu. She was desperately trying to place it within the system of coordinates she used to navigate towards an increase in deadness. For convenience, she employed Cartesian coordinates, with "dead" and "alive" on the X-axis and "forgotten" and "self-aware" on the Y-axis.

But tiredness possessed something undefined and ambiguous. Like today, for example. While Bob was performing all sorts of tricks, spinning around his head and dressing up as a butterfly, hoping that Lu would pick him up, confusing him with one of her thoughts. If he could enter her mind, he would persuade her to get more milk and cookies. However, nothing could make Lu move. Days of homelessness were taking their toll on her. The memory of her loss still lingered in bright colours, holding her hostage and making her doubt that forgetting was a good strategy after all.

"If forgetting comes with so much discomfort, why would I want to forget?"

Lu caught that butterfly for a brief moment but quickly moved away from the anticipated discomfort. To question her whole purpose in life would be too much at the moment. She immediately forgot the doubt and leaned into tiredness.

"Bob, do you have those moments when you don't know whether you are dead or alive? Simultaneously being both or nothing at all?"

"Once, I lived with a cat who sacrificed his privacy to serve in answering this question. He suffered from all kinds of mental challenges, mostly rooted in a feeling of being unseen, unloved, and uncared for. He was born into a black box, and day after day, year after year, he was haunted by voices philosophising about his state of being. It was driving him crazy and pushing him into all kinds of self-destructive behaviours. He could never really do anything because he had no clue even where to start hurting himself. To feel pain, he had to be alive, which wasn't certain. Time passed, and voices continued; luckily, I died from boredom, lack of light, and ambition. I personally think the cat made himself too dependent on the voices outside the box, seeking answers about his state in their speculations. The voices were changing over and over; old voices were dying, and new ones came in with new ideas, promising clarity. There was too much hope for my taste—unproductive and consuming. I don’t know what happened to him. I'd bet my cookies that he is still in the box somewhere. So I don’t know, Lu, what to answer, but if you plan to keep yourself busy with this question, no cookies in the world would make up for it. I had my black box and talking voices that told me what I am. I would like another future for us, where we stop preoccupying ourselves with definitions, wasting time we could use for hunting pleasures for ourselves.

If you really want to know, Lu, you are dead and alive simultaneously at every moment. That's the box you have, regardless of the voices or eyes that are watching. But that is too much to comprehend, so eventually, they will choose what you are to make things easier and move forward; otherwise, everyone is stuck in the box. Just as the voices choose what you are for them, you do the same. So drop wrestling with the paradox and decide what you'll be; forget the other state and remember it again when you want to change.

I feel tired now, and my head is spinning."

Lu lost her speech and ability to move. She thought Bob's understanding of the world unfolded on Cartesian axes of "cookies" and "milk" on the X-axis and "sleep" and "move" on the other. This wasn’t as far from the truth as she thought at first while listening to his story.

Getting back to her senses, Lu felt guilty and self-uncooperative, equating tiredness with wasting time. She figured that this must mean that she was alive now; a dead Lu wouldn't be able to feel guilty. And if she was alive, she could get back on track, seeking death.

On a deep level, all of these movements didn’t make sense to Lu, but they energised her, taking away her tiredness. She carefully picked up sleeping Bob, who was drooling sticky liquid over her black socks, and rolled him over her neck. It was getting cold, and it was time to hunt for milk and cookies. Lu wanted to impress Bob when he woke up, showing her love and care. "I am definitely alive," she thought, noticing a cold tear running down her cheek while contemplating this weird slimy creature.

"Maybe I will stay like this for a bit, postponing my dying for a few hours."

The last butterfly in her head made this beautiful move and spirited her away onto a new adventure.

6 / nightly spoonfuls

6

The weight of the night had dropped down like a heavy theatre curtain, celebrating the end of the day. Lu gathered some herbs to lure herself into sleep. She picked some mugwort, sagewort, and lavender. Mugwort to add colour to her dreams, sagewort to relax the nerves, and lavender to release the muscles. Lu used to be a gatherer back in a time when life was simpler and people allowed nature to show them their place of settlement. She was convinced that she was very good at tracking herbs, edible nuts, and berries. Otherwise, this skill wouldn't have survived all these years.

Every time Lu was in a forest, her whole composition would change. Her posture was slightly bent over, her back rounded, minimal blinking, mouth open, head turning quickly to follow her gaze, hair on her head activated, and her tail tensed. The most interesting transformation was in her attention, gaining a laser-like sharpness that knew exactly what it was looking for. There was no doubt or uncertainty in her actions. Lu was becoming an animal that knew what it was built to know.

Sometimes Lu would find herself in a similar state when she was having a conversation, harvesting an interesting brain, gathering delicious mental cookies. Those kinds were Lu's favourites because, in her opinion, they were secret maps leading to more of those cookies, generally known as insights.

Sometimes, Lu was so focused that she confused ideas with berries, forgetting what time it was and where the hunting was unfolding. Those moments she considered successes in a special kind of dying. She was not simply dead but could observe herself from the side. It was not only a little unsettling but also very scary.

"Who is this person picking berries in the brain of another person? Wait, these are not berries but thoughts! Or wait, this is not a brain but a forest!"

And so she ended up in a loop, not knowing what was what and who was who. Lu didn't even manage to find out who was thinking these thoughts. The loop became smaller and smaller, suffocating whoever was between her ears. Quickly, Lu's body remembered itself, sending gentle reminders of sweat and heat, followed by an increase in heartbeat and hyperventilation.

Lu was alive again, once again as it must be. Finding herself picking herbs in the moonlight to brew some tea and dissolve in the place where not knowing anything for certain was part of the game and not that scary.

Without finishing her last sip, Lu found herself spooning with Bob, both biting their tails and slowly spinning in circles. The spilled leftovers of the tea attracted small animals seeking to beautify their existence and jump on the train of induced lucid dreaming.

Lu and Bob didn't mind those cute clandestine passengers as long as they were furry and cuddly. The night promised to be cold, and the warmer the body was, the deeper the dream would be.

7 / lucid milkshakes

7

Usually, while Lu was asleep, she dedicated a part of her dream to visiting Hata. She always took a milkshake and a box of purple berries. She knew he often forgot to eat when he was thinking, which he was doing all the time—except when he was asleep, which Lu never saw him do anyway. His thoughts were very precious, and nothing was allowed to disturb them. Even the smallest bit of his attention had to be utilised and put to work. Hata knew he had an important role in this life and was very serious about it. Lu didn't know exactly what that role was, but she understood that the brain is one of the most energy-consuming organs, and to think properly, one must eat properly. A milkshake, in her opinion, was a good way to replenish Hata's energy. And purple berries were good for his eyes. Hata wore heavy glasses that gained an extra millimetre of thickness with every box of books he read. It scared Lu; she didn't know how it would end and decided to provide care for his eyes preventively. She had read that berries were good for eye protection, so she added them to her daily gifts. Above all, Hata loved milkshakes, so Lu felt not only useful but also happy.

"You happy, me happy," she used to say, which annoyed Hata. Ideologically, he rejected the obvious interconnectedness between them, insisting on their asymmetries. Lu stopped saying that, but the phrase stuck in her mind like chewing gum in hair that wouldn't come out. She secretly wanted to level up with Hata, and the asymmetry moved her away from wanting to be like him.

But Lu was also convinced that her milkshakes were, at least in part, responsible for Hata's inventions. She suspected that they were a reason why Hata came to her every night. She didn't mind this and liked contributing to Hata's mission even without knowing what it was. Not that she had any other choice; Hata was the one who already loved her, so it didn't really matter why he was there. He didn't have much choice either.

They sat together, played language games, rolled on the grass, and collected things that could be both "Yes" and "No" simultaneously. Once they found such a thing, their blinking decreased, their breath slowed down, and their words began to make less and less sense to each other. Until all words faded, and Lu and Hata ended up in statue-like postures, gazing at each other silently, unable to comprehend what they had just discovered.

Lu was convinced Hata knew what was happening. Most of the time, she was losing her clarity, staring at him and trying to squeeze drops of understanding out of his brain. In those moments, their attention was like a strong cord binding them into a secure knot. Even if an elephant swung on that rope between them, it wouldn't break. Lu felt she had to hold on stronger than Hata, but she never knew for sure and didn't dare to ask. Being silent seemed important to her, to avoid scaring off insights, she thought. But Lu couldn't hold confusion for too long.

She was not always comfortable with silence and not knowing, and when Hata slurped his last sips of the milkshake, breaking the virginity of stillness, Lu would push out her ripe question:

"How is all this possible?"

Perfectly shaped sounds, highlighting the joy through the familiarity of excitement. This phrase was their small ritual to celebrate the end of the dream. Lu was ready to get up; now she had a question to answer. Fuelled with energy and enjoying the itch to solve the puzzle, she would leave Hata behind, doubting if he even existed. The question itself was more important than the answer. Lu didn't understand why that was the case, but she suspected it was related to her being alive.

Perhaps forgetting to ask "How is all this possible?" would be an answer to her death, but Lu was avoiding thinking about it. It would also mean she would forget Hata, and her dreams would be pointless. There would be nobody to deliver a milkshake to.

Perhaps she secretly didn't want to die; she wasn't ready yet. Unlike Hata, who was a master of dying, Lu was a young soul, still in training, learning how to die silently.

8 / berry brain

8

Hata was an old soul in a young body. He knew it from an early age, and there was no way to hide it anyway. Each year of his life counted as a year in human time measurement units. While other boys were measuring and competing in their strength, Hata's beard was growing and greying simultaneously. No one told him how to trim it, and in the world of the elderly souls, it didn't matter anyway. It was so long that it served him as a cosy scarf. Lu was happy about it; she was always worried Hata might get cold. He didn't like wearing many things, or maybe the crisp bite of the air brought him pleasure. Lu wasn't sure, but she was always concerned that Hata would get cold and his brain would be damaged. She also didn't know exactly how old Hata was, but that was unclear to him as well. At some point, Lu became obsessed with knowing, and then she became obsessed with knowing why she needed to know. She entered her loop but grew out of it and forgot that it was important.

Citizens of the place where Hata lived grew accustomed to the strange boy who wore his beard as a scarf, sported glasses, and always had a smile on his face. Sometimes, they saw him freezing in front of the most unremarkable things and standing like that for hours, saying nothing at all. After a while, he would release a huge tear that ran down his cheek and watered the beard, awakening a dormant flower that was growing on it. Once the tear was free and the flower was in bloom, Hata started moving again as if nothing had happened. While walking away, he would say:

"Two, five, one. Again. There. Is."

There was something magical in numbers for Hata, a secret language to describe a universe. Perhaps he was secretly aiming to create a new one, different from what we have. If he could only understand how everything could be modelled, then nothing would be impossible. All the problems of the world would be solvable. Slowly but steadily, every corner of his room was mapped out, and he could separate reality from things and move them into the mathematical realm. Then, he could begin building.

Hata's room was like a Temple of Measurement, where he created his own rituals and procedures. He made small marks on every object, diligently collecting information about their properties. Hata worked with precision and often forgot to sleep. If it weren't for the milkshakes that Lu sent him and his favourite berries, Hata would lose all his brain cells before losing his sanity.

Lu was preoccupied with his careless forgetting, but Hata was deliberately working on losing his sanity. Forgetting his sanity was Hata's dream; being sane was equivalent to conforming to boredom in his existential equation.

He spent a lot of time in the library and invented his own reading method. Hata wasn't particularly interested in the content of the books. In fact, he thought that language was too rigid and constrained the imagination. In his opinion, it divided everything too much. The language was too orderly for Hata, who naturally liked to disorganise. Lu thought it was because Hata's hair was messy and he liked it that way. After thinking about it for a long time, he decided that there is beauty in things beyond structures, just like on his head. From that moment, instead of taming his hair, which he thought was perfect, he started to create what would be considered "chaos" by many, but Hata saw it as rescuing beauty.

He invented many ways to dismantle organised structures. Reading was an easy one to crack. Knowing the language seemed unnecessary to Hata; why would anyone agree to such a limiting rule? On a sunny day, he occupied a local library, leaving only a tiny door to his dreams open so Lu could bring him milkshakes, and he invented a reading method. After a few circular dances between the moon and the sun and a couple of empty cups with soaked and chewed paper straws, Hata took his impermanent marker and wrote on the window glass facing the garden:

MP Measuring Present

Eye: surface, size, colour, shape, form, white space, pressure points, vagueness, sharpness, distance, proximity, position in space.

Heart: concentration, precision, pointedness, isolation, cold-heartedness, unattachment, ruler.

RP Reconstructing Past

Skin: usage, exposure to light, presence of bodily fluids, torn pages, dust, position in time, action.

Heart: courage, fearlessness, boiling blood, seeing, regret, front, tyrant.

MF Modeling Future

Brain: imagination, intellect, why not?, yes and, always, oh, right!

Heart: cute, lightness, open, back, belly button, oracle.

TC Tracing Circles

Circle = home.

Line = no home.

A line is a dot moving through space.

Life is not about to start.

Dot.

He took a picture and sent it to Lu. She responded with an emoji of a drooling yellow face, which translated to something like:

"I have no idea what you are talking about, but I feel overwhelmingly excited and am taking my time to savour not knowing. Feed me more slowly."

Lu feared that Hata would become lonely when he would lose his sanity and made a promise that she would continue bringing milkshakes and berries even if he wouldn't recognize her anymore.

Her concern was constructive, as Hata was gradually moving towards madness as he was moving towards the truth of things.

8 / idowatfimom

9

One of the profound truths discovered by Hata is that "can't" doesn't exist. Every time Lu complained about her "can'ts," Hata would respond with iron-like clarity: "Can't doesn't exist." He always reminded her that "can'ts" are simply "don't wants" in disguise, and this notion resonated with Lu, often helping her rediscover her sense of empowerment. She frequently forgot that "can'ts" were just "don't wants" or "don't want it enough."

"How do I know what I want and what I don't?"

This question was consuming Lu these days. Her search for home seemed to be leading nowhere, and she arrived at the familiar conclusion: "I can't find it," a full stop in her punctuation system for actions.

"What if I don't want to find it?" A thought that had yet to fully form, a vague feeling, was crawling into Lu's mind like a mental caterpillar, ready to transform into a lively butterfly. She wasn't sure how to accommodate another butterfly in her already crowded mind. She needed to reorganise some mental space and create a new arrangement for her beloved inner thoughts.

Lu couldn't recall how she acquired her first butterfly; it felt like they had always been with her. Some stayed longer, while others faded quickly. She didn't keep a count. She once attempted to add colouring pigment to the sweet honey water they were consuming, causing their antennae to turn electric pink. This was meant to help her keep track, but her butterflies always played together, and the paint ended up all over their delicate bodies, affecting the accuracy of the experiment. Lu abandoned the counting and welcomed them all.

Initially, she knew little about butterflies and had to spend hours studying books and interacting with them to understand their habits and favourite treats. Lu learned that caterpillars were small, hairy creatures that primarily enjoyed eating sugary snacks. When they grew weary of their consumption, they paused to contemplate the emptiness behind their obsession with food. In that moment, they began to spin glowing, silky threads from their mouths, shifting their focus from eating to creating. This process was secretive, and caterpillars were shy while weaving, totally naked and exposed. They preferred taking their time and space to undergo transformation. Lu often tried to interfere but realised it was detrimental. Prematurely opening the cocoon proved fatal for the butterfly, as the half-formed thought would consume itself, ending in nothingness. This saddened Lu, and she learned to observe from a distance, keeping her mind tidy to provide the right environment for thoughts to evolve. When the time was right, they shed the scaffolding and revealed their beauty. It was always a surprise for Lu to see what colours her newborn thoughts would have. Some were less attractive, and she hesitated to release them into the open sky.

These remarkable creatures were demanding pets, requiring attention and maintenance. Lu complained about their difficulty but secretly cherished them all. Even now, in anticipation of the birth of a new chubby butterfly she affectionately called "Idowatfimom," which stood for "I don't want to find my home," she felt excited. She wasn't prepared for it yet and needed to create space first.

Lu found the caterpillar that had the potential to unsettle her deeply and placed it in a box, keeping it dry. Warmth and minimal hydration would slow down the metamorphosis as she prepared to welcome this new attention-seeking creature into her mind.

10 / mapmaker

10

Quietly leaving Bob's handless embrace,Lu shook off the slime and opened her bag. Her hand disappeared into the dark void of the zip-mouthed creature and pulled out a piece of paper. Lu saw for the first time that it was written in her handwriting.

"Making a good map of the world requires being in the world."

What is a good map?

Who is making it?

In which world is this “who” living?

In which world does this “who” want to live?

In which world can this “who” live?

What are the impairments of this “who”?

What is the scale of the map?

What is not on the map?

11 / dancing wants

11

Lu was not only fascinated by tiredness but also by her wanting. She had spent years on wanting, and perhaps this activity in her personal tracker made her notice the superiority of the blue and green coloured bars. Blue represented non-wanting, which Lu considered the twin brother of regular want but with a twisted neck, while green represented wanting. Besides those two bars, there was only one other colour: orange, for sleeping.

The first time she met her Wants, she vaguely remembered.

It was wet. I had no arms or legs. My skin was transparent and pulsating without traceable logic. It was lonely. Some places were warmer, and others colder; I liked the warmth. I moved towards and away. My name had A's in it and was surrounded by round-shaped sounds.
That was all Lu remembered, but this memory was deeply ingrained in her and felt cozy. She knew it was important to her relationship with the Wants, but she didn't know why. Maybe Lu thought that her wanting carried a secret knowledge that would take her closer to her home; she was not ready to forget. Maybe her want was the only clue she had; at least she could follow it, and she would end up somewhere.

Today, Lu surfed a wave of her want and ended up at Kenny's. She had to forcefully drag Bob along, who had a different want at that moment. He was imagining a hammock swing accompanied by some milk and chocolate chip treats. Kenny didn't have any; he was watching his weight because his want wanted him to fit into a pair of expensive trousers he had bought. They were on sale but didn't come in his size, so Kenny had a brilliant idea:

“What luck! These pants will force me to lose a few kilos! Finally!”

Kenny's wants were celebrating their cleverness, and amid the intoxication from hope, they lost their sanity, forgetting that, in order to lose weight and fit into the pants, other wants would rebel against it. Alongside wanting to look skinny, Kenny also wanted to eat ice cream for breakfast. In situations like this, Kenny transformed into a battlefield where his wants screamed at each other, demanding justice and their right to be satisfied.

Kenny usually started off brave and optimistic; he would line up all the wants, count them, and listen to what they had to say one by one. This annoyed the wants immensely; waiting was their least favourite thing. They quickly lost their patience and began talking over each other, confusing Kenny, who was at that point done trying to be considerate. He gave up quickly, and usually, the want with the quiet delivery of results would win.

Kenny preferred celebrations over negotiations. "Oh, shut up, you all, and let's celebrate. Where is that ice cream?" He reached for the fridge, becoming the want that temporarily possessed Kenny's body. Eventually, Kenny would come back to his senses and find the pants in his closet, which looked so great that they awakened his other want, and everything would start again.

Ice now → pleasure now = no pants ∧ celebration
Pants now → no pleasure now = yes pants ∧ negotiation

It was an easy equation to solve. Kenny's predisposition towards celebrations made his choice very easy. Kenny's home was almost always filled with joy, except for the recurring intermezzos of wants that made him doubt and the interludes of post-celebratory guilt when the desire to fit into his pants awoke again.

Lu liked celebrations mostly because she could wear her shiny rabbit hat. It didn't really matter what they celebrated; she just enjoyed chasing the light reflections made by the fake crystals glued to her long ears. She also had a small hat for Bob. Before their first party, Lu took him to the shop, and Bob could choose anything he liked. Bob jumped off her neck and crawled across the floor, leaving a slimy trace on the asphalt-grey carpet. After a few moments, he returned wearing a tall black cylinder that radiated slightly uncomfortable snobbish elegance. Lu didn't like it much but said nothing. She also wasn't sure if Bob liked her rabbit hat and secretly feared his judgment, which could lead her to change.

Generally, Bob wasn't in favour of wants, especially those that interfered with his ability to manifest his full being, which was only complete when reunited with sugary delights and soft, milky liquids. He also wasn't in favour of celebrations because they had to end, which would mean cookies would also end—something Bob saw as unnecessary.
Why would you end what is always there?

Bob was a bright worm who didn't understand the obsession with wants and knew that the obsession with celebration was linked to it.

Lu simply liked her hat and kept dancing.

12 / yours truly

12

Resignation letter

Dear Everything to Me,

It has been many years since I first noticed that I am being watched by you. You chose me to be your host and turned your attention towards me without ever announcing it or asking for my consent to claim me.

Your seductive moves spun and twisted me in a seamless motion of time, where I slowly gave away myself and forgot who I was before you embraced me with your hungry arms.

At first, you were carefully observing me, learning my habits and finding your way into my life. Like a beautiful singing of sirens, I heard and followed your voice with the obedience of a hungry dog who knows her master has a treat in their hand. The only thing was that there was no master. You blinded me with my own desire to become what I saw, and I gradually replaced every bit of myself with the words of your songs that were whispering in my ear through the books, sounds, and voices of others.

Just like a sticky spore of the cordyceps mushroom, you inhabited my weak, ant-like body—so well designed to obey the social order, fulfil its function, so desperate to be liked, and so deceived by your false promise to find belonging and fill the void of loneliness inside my heart.

Today, as I stand on top of the anthill, entirely in your service, I have nothing more to lose because I have nothing left that I can call myself.

I can let you go now.

And so I will. I take a step off the cliff and take you with me.

Farewell, my dear identity.

I loved you,
Truly.

Lu

13 / ways of friendship

13

Often, after sequential festivals and celebrations, Kenny behaved very strangely. In those moments, even Lu, who had known him longer than she knew herself, struggled to recognize him. His movements became slower, his gaze never reaching above the horizon, and his face felt cold to the touch.

Gradually, Kenny's skin grew pale, and he stayed silent, spending hours staring at the wall. Sometimes a tear would roll down his cheek, or he would let out a nervous laugh. People began to avoid him; strangers would move away, finding excuses to cross to the other side of the road when he approached.

Kenny still expressed his wants, but they didn't transform into celebrations. In the mornings, while choosing what to wear, he noticed his hands moving, but it was unclear who was doing that. It was obvious to him that he wasn't in control, but the glimpse in the mirror next to his closet told him something else. Kenny tried to stop the action but didn’t know how.
It was confusing.

Lu was creative in her ways of being a friend. Once, she brought a long needle and poked balloons in Kenny's bedroom, which were always floating there after his celebrations. She wanted to startle him so he'd wake from his zombie-like state.

When Kenny lost himself, Lu lovingly called him her Zombik, reminding her of her mother tongue that she realized she had forgotten a long time ago.

On one of those days, when Zombik had lost every bit of Kenny and undergone a complete replacement of his brain cells with a parasitic entity determining his choices, he rapidly jumped out of bed and went straight out the door—half-dressed and without a shower. Lu was buried under his clothes, which, at that time, looked like a pile of old magazines where she had built her nest. Bob slipped off her chest, leaving Lu with a cold, wet patch that introduced a high contrast in temperature to her skin.

The nervousness in the room, combined with the rapid movements, upset the yeast bread that was ripening on the windowsill. The day before, Lu had planned to bake poppy seed buns and lure the last bits of Kenny back before Zombik took over completely. She knew that smells and flavors had magical powers to evoke memories. Often, Lu thought she had forgotten—gracefully celebrating her newfound sense of death achievement—only for a sneaky smell to crawl into her nose, leaving her no choice but to resist it. A smell of pancakes, fried onions, and pork fat that her grandmother used to cook would invade her senses.

The upset dough in Kenny's place disrupted Lu's afternoon plans, so she decided to follow Zombik, to be fair, she was also worried for him. A complete takeover did not happen very often, and she was afraid of losing Kenny forever. At the very least, Lu could live in his house if Kenny died. That outcome soothed Lu's concern, although she was still unsettled and technically homeless.

Pulling on her dress and grabbing Bob, who was sipping his morning coffee, Lu stepped out the door, blinded by the bright light of the world that filled her mind. Quickly adjusting and switching her inner gear to outer awareness, Lu spotted Zombik moving alongside the concrete wall of a tired building.

She kept her distance, not wanting to interfere, as she was very curious about the destination Zombik clearly had in mind. So they moved about five meters apart. It was a long walk out of the city, filled with exciting moments of crossing roads where the stoplights miraculously turned green as Zombik stepped onto the roadway, as if the whole city were aware it had to help. The city was mobilising its forces to support lost Kenny, carried inside this emotionless, white body of Zombik. It was almost beautiful, pulling a salty tear from Lu's eye once in a while.

Finally, the procession moved out of the city. Zombik carried Kenny inside, while Lu carried Bob on her shoulders. They dove into the rural landscape, where various creatures, seeking entry to the city, welcomed them with questions about city life, dreams they had but couldn't fulfill. Lu felt a little scared of these homeless entities; she feared becoming one of them if her quest for home failed. Not that they were threatening or dangerous in any way, but they looked kind of lost and lonely. Most of all, Lu was afraid of loneliness; intuitively, she knew that forgetting herself would inevitably feel lonely. That was why she had to learn how to forget quickly—so there would be no time to remember that she was all alone.

Bob gently bit Lu's ear, seeing she had drifted away in her thoughts. He whispered his usual refrain: "You are not your mind," and licked a tear from her cheek.

14 / ways of friendship

14

Lu was not always comfortable with silence. She falsely associated it with a negative space of not knowing it had to be eliminated immediately. Knowing was Lu’s favourite state, and for some reason, since she was small, silence did not present a possibility of being a source of knowledge. She considered silences to be shadows of words, their backside that felt rather uncomfortable and even scary at times. Long, deep shadows cast onto nothingness, an endless space where things seemed to freeze. The motionlessness of silence scared Lu, who was a natural mover. Words were her wonderful lianas, allowing her to move around with ease.

Words had authority in Lu’s meaning-making arsenal, which she desperately needed to survive. It was unclear why it was so crucial for her evolutionary purpose, but Lu never engaged with this question properly, as it would require some risk-taking and a revision of her fundamentals, and she didn’t have time for that. She was busy with dying.

She discovered that you can get away with and from anything if you know enough words. But while spending a lot of time in motion, mastering wordy jungles, Lu forgot to explore the space in between—in silence. Lu was moving further away from what words were telling her. If Lu stayed in silence for too long, words would move away from her, taking with them every kind of knowing. Meaning was dissolving in the darkness of the shadow. Words were forgetting themselves, causing Lu disorientation and waking up ants on her skin.

Despite her complicated relationship with silence, it was luring her. Perhaps knowing had become boring for Lu, and she was looking for new excitement. One day, she ended up in the darkest place of the shadow, away from words, in the unknown territory of wander. Instead of her usual verbal pirouette, she decided to refuse the temptation, overcome the discomfort, and stay in silence for a little longer. Suddenly, she saw two bright twinkles cutting through the dark and glancing at Lu. There was something comforting about them, pulling Lu closer. The twinkles became two big eyes on the head of an owl. He was watching Lu with curiosity without saying a word. She didn’t want to scare him away, so her movements became slower and softer. Lu was also curious about this creature.

"Your name will be Dot, and you are going with me," Lu said in her head so as not to disturb the silence or scare away her new friend. Dot gave Lu a subtle movement, which she interpreted as a smile and as a "Yes."

"I'll take care of you, Dot. Don’t worry about the shadows anymore; we will share them. You will be my guide, and I will be your shield."

Dot responded with a similar movement, reinforcing Lu’s assumptions about Dot's way of communicating agreement. She felt immediate satisfaction, a wave of warm, pudding-like warmth entering her body, filling Lu with pride. It was the development of a new language that set it in motion. A language in which everything was crooked, silences were talking, and words were silent. A new jungle for her to move into, and on top of it all, she found Dot, who was quickly growing on her. In the meantime, Dot was mastering his non-words, expanding his vocabulary, and rising like yeast dough on the sunny windowsill. Silence was slowly becoming home, welcoming Lu with peace and motionless movement.

15 / silent walk

15

Since Lu met Dot, she started to visit silence more often. She liked his mysterious slowness and fearlessness in confronting something Lu considered a source of discomfort. She felt inspired and perhaps even a little opportunistic, wishing to become familiar with this unknown territory of silence that scared her.

Having a friend who could support her in this was a wonderful opportunity Lu didn't want to miss. She decided to be liked by Dot, and the best strategy she had learned while growing up as a social animal was to bring presents. It wasn't obvious what kind of present Dot would like. He didn't share much in words, Lu's primary language. For hours, she stared into his deep eyes that resembled water wells, reflecting fragments of the sky and catching moonlight from time to time. Dot never blinked and looked more alert than relaxed, tracking her movements. At first, Lu interpreted it as disinterest or maybe even suspicion, but as time passed, she understood that Dot liked her. He never missed their eye-gazing dates in silence, being there when Lu wanted to visit.

One day, a thought woke Lu from a dream.

What if Dot can't see properly? Spending so much time in the shadows behind the words, he must have lost clarity of his vision, wrestling with darkness.

She immediately ran to the shop and got a pair of glasses—a tiny gold frame embracing round lenses. Lu liked Dot's deep wells and wanted to preserve their beauty so she could still enjoy them in fullness. Feeling excited and proud of her sensitivity in picking up Dot's needs, Lu rushed into silence.

As always, Dot was resting on the invisible branch of a tree. It looked like he was hanging in nothingness, which was impossible. His head turned 180 degrees as Lu fell into the dark, her heartbeat racing. Quickly becoming aware of the impact she had on silence and how inappropriate it was, she collected herself and, pretending to be composed and without nervousness, moved towards Dot.

Lu was squeezing a small package in her hand, trying not to break the frame. It was the first gift she had brought, and the excitement of it being wrong was skyrocketing. Lu was afraid of losing a new friend and shutting the door to silence, missing an opportunity to discover a new language. She unpacked the glasses, used her velvet skirt to wipe off the dust, and placed them on Dot's autonomously rotating head—a phenomenon Lu attributed to some sort of magic. Dot impulsively flinched away, releasing a wave of anxious insecurity into Lu's system. Calm, cosy silence turned into a sticky one. Waiting entered the space, a tight string between their gazes giving Lu shivers and all kinds of discomfort. She truly hated waiting. Of all the existential states Lu had ever been in, waiting was by far her least favourite. She struggled to understand why it should even exist. Despite her complicated relationship with waiting, Lu often found herself in it. Sometimes she didn't even realise she was suspended in it until a stretchy, pulling feeling on her skin became so strong that she recognised where she was. Luckily, Lu had a question that had the power to pull her out of the waiting void.
What are you waiting for?

Usually, immediate action followed, and Lu felt release.

Staring at Dot, who looked softer in his new glasses, Lu was waiting for his reaction, but nothing was forthcoming—only two dark wells with a golden edge.
Come on, Dot! Do you like it? Do you like me? Will you teach me silence?

A train of thoughts rushed through her mind, bumping into a familiar semantic stop sign:
What are you waiting for?

She didn't know the answer, though. Opening the cupboards of her mind failed to be a successful strategy. There was nothing Lu was waiting for; Dot was still there, and it felt as if nothing needed action. The tense thread of waiting weakened, and Lu felt the soft blanket of silence hugging her from all sides. The corners of her mouth turned upwards, a movement socially recognised as a smile. When the last bits of stretchy longing for something melted away, Lu noticed a subtle flicker in the right eye of her staring partner. At first, it was a small highlight, but it started to grow, rapidly becoming a sphere. Dot remained uninvolved, as if nothing strange were happening; he was still gazing at Lu with the same level of attentiveness. Everything happened rather quickly, and Lu didn’t catch how exactly. A small black pearl radiating oil-leak-like colours fell out of his eye. With the grace of a lynx, Lu jumped towards the pearl, adding a few silent, perfectly executed Aikido rolls, not missing a chance to impress Dot with her physical abilities. In a free fall between words, Lu managed to catch Dot's little dot, squeezing it as hard as she could while searching for an invisible branch to land on. She opened her hand and saw the most marvellous thing: a perfectly rounded Vantablack dot in the middle of her palm, as if there were a hole in it. The darkness of silence was now in her hand, portable and compact.

Suddenly, a sharp, dry sound, lacking grace, jumped into Lu's ear. She lifted her head and saw Dot, who in the meantime had found some rice crackers to nibble on. She smelled cheese-flavoured powder and watched as white crumbs disappeared into the darkness. Lu felt a little hungry and loved rice crackers. Making sure the pearl was secure, she jumped onto the tree where Dot was snacking, joining him in his unscrupulous, mischievous behaviour, releasing crackling sounds that, like fish, could swim freely in the vast ocean of silence.

Lu also felt release; silence was less serious than she thought. She could simply enjoy crackers with her friend Dot without talking. Finishing her last bites, she was ready to face the words again. She left with a better idea about gifts for Dot and was already planning which flavour she should bring, choosing between shrimp and sour cream. She still didn't know if Dot needed glasses but decided to leave it with him as it looked like he was enjoying them. Lu felt remarkably calm, rested, and energised at the same time. She didn’t know why exactly, but she knew it was a special day and that she had received a very special present: the black dot of silence she could carry with her everywhere.

She headed to Kenny's, where she still had a crush, excited to tell him everything about what had happened. Kenny wasn't there yet; he was probably staying late at work, compensating for his messiness and escaping guilt by overworking. Bob was waiting for her on the couch, balancing a little box on his head, munching on cookies and sipping coffee through a straw. The box had Lu's name on it. Overcoming her sentimental emotions, she opened the box and found a small metal cylinder with a wire attached to it.

“Dot called. He said you got it. Congratulations, Lu, my little girl; I am proud of you.”

Lu opened her hand, protecting the dot, unscrewed the cylinder, and put it around her neck.

“Silence walks with me.”

She snuggled into Bob, finding a comfy fit with his slimy body, and fell asleep again.