Of Care Bears and Gummi Bears

So it's 11:00 pm and despite having a really long and tiring day today (first rowing session of the college first boat, contemporary dance audition, university swimming team trials and two dancesport socials), I've decided to put off a couple of minutes of sleep just to write this email. I've been thinking about Mai's philosophical question lately and here's my two pence worth:


In this situation, I think a pragmatic approach would be most suitable. I think I can rightfully say that this question has been asked by many people since time immemorial (possibly even during prehistoric times before the invention of writing). And philosophers (as well as lay man) have tried to come up with their own answers (whether successfully or unsuccessfully depending on the individual).


But my question is: Does it really matter? Even if our brains are submerged in a giant vat of Care Bears and Gummi Bears and Jelly Bears (mmm), would we be able to do anything about it? Would the knowledge of this vat be of any use to us (especially when we don't really have any limbs with which to manipulate our 'real' surroundings i.e. the Gummi Bears)? Will this sense of helplessness appeal to us, Man, whose innate intuition is to master and tame the world around him?


But I think the most important question is: Would we want to have such knowledge? A knowledge of something which we would not be able to act on. A knowledge which would make a lot of what we currently have seem like a pointless experience or existence. When you're pulling in a club, do you stop and ask, 'Is this feeling around my crotch real?' or when you look into the deep eyes of your girlfriend catching the sunlight in shimmering pools of green or blue, do you stop and ask, 'Is this palpitation around my heart real?'


I'm currently listening to Emiliana Torrini's Fisherman's Woman. Her simple tunes of an unplugged guitar and easy voice are reminiscent of cold winters spent in bed stroking each other's feet tenderly under the covers. My windows are wide open and despite the cold wind of winter blowing in, I'm kept warm by my cup of tea and memories of past winters. And I'm thinking, 'I don’t really care if everything around me isn't real. It's my experiences that shape and define my existence: the people who matter to me, the things that are sentimental to me. And if they really are electrical signals. Then so be it. Because I cannot think of any higher order or purpose in my existence than to protect and cherish the people or things that really matter other than my selfish self.