Google Translate, the Qualia and Human Consciousness Pt. 3: There Is No Such Thing As Cosiness

6 min read

Our final stop is here.

"Our final stop is here," said the conductor of this rather odd train. She then came over where I was standing, swearing under my breath every few minutes when we came into a stop and where I suddenly became a gymnast of some sort in order not to fall down and drop the pint of dignity I have with me—

"Visiting, are you?" she asked breaking the inner monologue I was having.

"Ehm, actually I am coming back from one."

"Oh, so back to your parents' house?" she continued with her interrogative session looking at my ringless finger. I mean, I didn't know there's a surprise interview when I boarded the train, but oh well. I told her that I actually live on my own and gave her that smile that says, "Ma'am, please? Enough with the questions." But apparently she translated it into, "I would like to listen your sweet lecture about why I shouldn't live on my own as a young lady."

"Isn't it?" she glared at me while I was zoning back to the conversation. I broke the eye contact and just went, "Uhm yes!" before once again tightening my grip of the pole yet failing at the balancing part and consequently falling down... but on the bright side, the conductor was gone. (Who am I kidding, this is going to be a lovely bedtime story my neurons will tell me from now on.)

I got off the train and commenced my walk back home witnessing the debate that was on the TV station behind my eyes. And I thought the multiple party system was only limited to a country's way of ruling... Little did I know! You know, it is funny how I refer to the voices inside as "inner monologues" because it's a damn dialogue between characters that keep on getting born. Okay, okay... continuing to add on this will probably make me a suspect of one of those fancy name disorders our melancholic generation loves, so I'll humbly pause here. 

I unlocked the doors to my habitat. To give you a description of it, it is a small apartment with dark grey walls and light grey couches. I went in, poured myself a mug of Russian water and sat down on my couch. It's around 18:45 and you could easily look at the sun setting from where I was sitting. To complete the cosiness of my setting, I put Louis Armstrong on. There's this tabby cat from next door that came by my window at that hour. I gave her something to chew on pretending that I hated her (don't get me wrong, I wish I'd be honest with my feelings for her, but she always acts like a huge bitch and I gotta go with her flow).

Okay, let's stop that for a second, let's stop that walking you through my day thing, and let's talk. So, hi there! I am this character Ephrathah created so I can take her part in telling the final part of this three-parts-essay thing. She said it would be convenient as I would be taking the blame if it turns out to be shitty... I know... she is weird.

So anyway, there I was drinking from my lovely mug about to watch something on the TV, but then it hit me: how can drinking vodka from a mug feel so cosy? Also, what the hell is cosiness even?

I put down the mug because apparently the alcohol was getting in my head. And thinking it would help me with diverting my attention, I tuned in to some channel. But I failed miserably and kept on munching on that piece of thought.

Coziness is, I believe, one of those feelings that you just experience, that you just get whelmed by and feel safe in. But when you try to explain what it actually is, to someone that has never felt it, you'll have nothing to say but let a big sigh. 

It's always a game of wavelength, frequency and amplitude with light and sound, and there you go, a vibe is formed. A wedding will take the bright ones and a funeral the dark ones etc. But what is that border between the equations and chemical reactions in our brain?

Leaving all whining about the rollercoaster of emotions I felt while trying to understand the relationship between knowledge and experience, I will proceed to a next piece of thought I think is actually worth writing about: What is this all for? Why am I sitting here past my bedtime chewing on something that has nothing to do with my, in a pragmatic sense, day-to-day life of waking up, making money and pretending to be dead?

And then I figured it is because this kind of episodes are what remind me that I am conscious. Consciousness is a rather thrilling thing to think about, but the thinking about consciousness part wouldn't have come in if I wasn't conscious. I would be lying if I say it is fun to ruminate about this heavy subject, but it is good to be reminded that there are things that we haven't yet solved, you know. There's this man that said when one looks through a telescope to look at the grand fragment of space, the awe that he feels might make him forget that the greatest thing is actually looking through that lens. What I am trying to say is, though we are sitting up the summit of this mountain where a thick fog is below, hiding what the mountain actually looks like, there will probably come a time where it will clear up.. I mean, global warming and everything so, no lol (who uses lol in an essay, jeez) I mean because we are sapiens and because what made us different was our way of thinking and our epic use of a thought.

Well, I might have written an explanatory essay about what the qualia actually are and about the relationship the qualia and knowledge have; however, I thought that, that wouldn't be taking you on my train of thought. And remember, I am just a character that is supposed to cease to exist once you finish reading this, but somehow will exist again and again until I am thought of for the last time. Funny, innit? Farewell, then.

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