You know what? Recently, I have come up with a 'strings' theory symbolic of the various relationships we have with people here on earth. Maybe it might sound kinda cheezy to some of you, but hey the idea popped up when I was just musing haha.
Perhaps, there is an old wise man who lives just above the clouds who is the keeper of endless balls of string. String which is invisible to the naked human eye. So the old man goes around and ties strings on the hands or feet of two people, connecting them together without their knowledge.
(Okie, up till this point perhaps some of you are beginning to find that the story sounds familar...no I'm not writing about Yue Lao.)
Anyway, so basically there's like this invisible string connecting us together with all the people we know - family, friends, loved ones and even our enemies. The catch is that even the old man himself doesn't know what the nature of the relationship is of all the people whose hands or legs he's tying the string to. No one knows, it all depends on fate and chance.
But the old man eventually will get to know of what happens between the people he tied together with that apparently white ball of string. This was a special gift granted to him by some higher power to satisfy the old man's curiosity about his human subjects, that he would get to observe the changes of human life, though he was in no position to change anything. The old man may, after tieing the strings, use the big bottle of liquid spray labelled 'Time' on the strings. The apparently white strings will then begin to morph and change colours.
Family ties were marked by a crimson red, and to the old man, these were the most uninteresting, since they were marked out by default and usually never changed to any other colour anyway. Romantic relations were marked pink, and sometimes these were the ones that flashed black, black being the colour of enemies, and pink daily due to the indecisiveness of the nature of such relationships.
Last but not least, there were golden strings of friendship. Most white strings turn out to be this colour. Some remained this way forever, shining brighter by the day. Others eventually turned pink (and then, more often than not, black). But there was no greater sadness to the old man than to see a golden string turn black overnight, and no greater joy to see a black string turn golden (or any colour at that).
But there was no telling what would happen in the lives of these little people and only Time can reveal what was to come. Besides, who was the old man to intervene in the workings of the higher powers. He did as if he was due to do, and watched on, like the passive reader holding a novel waiting to be written.
