I believe in the bizarre.

[A ramble based on a true story]

𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚞𝚙 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚢. 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐'𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚢 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚔𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝. 𝙸 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝙸 𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚢 𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚢. 𝙼𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚢 𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚙 𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚏𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚜, 𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚠𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚙 𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚌𝚢𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚜. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚑, 𝚢𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚐𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍.

𝚆𝚑𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐? 𝚂𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝙼𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚜𝚘 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢. 𝚁𝚞𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜, 𝙸 𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎. 𝙱𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗, 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎. 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍, 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚢 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗, 𝚣𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍-𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚝. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝙸 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝, 𝙸 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚣𝚘𝚖𝚋𝚒𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝.

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You probably don’t believe me, and probably never will. But I'm not lying. One could catch my lie more easily than they could a highly infectious cold. I’m defiant that I’m telling the truth, and could perhaps make an attempt at defending myself, though indirectly.

What if I say my nose hasn't elongated one bit? Even though noses do not generally grow when one lies (sorry, Pinocchio), you cannot deem (as people typically do) my nose-not-elongating as “not-good-enough-proof for not lying”. Taleb's The Black Swan taught me that we cannot prove, only believe, that lying does not lead to an elongation of the nose. For even though such a nose-elongation case hasn’t been recorded in history, we must be aware that this means we have no proof that a nose elongates in the event of a lie, not proof that a nose doesn’t elongate in the event of a lie.

Like a lot of people, I didn’t believe in zombies—until it made its way into my apartment that cold, wet day. It made me think about how I thought about the existence of beings. We think we know a lot, too much sometimes... but we really don’t. I believe everything is possible. Isn’t that the tagline of the universe? If even time could once be born, doesn’t it sit well to admit anything could come into being? Anything could materialize from non-existence. Anything's possible. And if that’s the case, then everything is possible. Nothing is impossible. This huge certainty keeps me dreaming up possibilities, for they are precisely that… possibilities.

So if once I’d ever added “zombie” to my list of things I’ve never seen before, I'd now strike it out promptly. I also make sure I don’t go to bed without properly arming myself with my DIY mustard sauce and hot pickle gun.

Before I stop, if I said the zombie gave me my breakfast, would that make my case more believable or less believable? Anyhow, you must know that when I recovered and, before it disintegrated into nothing, the zombie handed me a bowl of my favourite cereal. Honestly though—if there had been no zombie, how would that bowl (an easily accepted element of reality) have moved from the other end of the table to my end?

Wait, of course. Poltergeists exist too.