whether you're 18 or 28 or 38 - if you have no desire to study, if you do not respect academia, and you do not take examinations seriously, why would you enroll in an educational institution? if learning is not important to you and instead smoking a whole lot of hash and killing your brain cells is, why do you bother? if you measure your own worth by how much you can drink before you hurl, why even own academic books?
because if who you are is determined by who you know and who you date, in your own eyes, and if you are closed minded (this is different from narrow minded, which still suggests some room for change), then despite your education, you will not be educated.
and despite your degrees, you might not qualify as literate.
and despite your freedoms, you might never be free.
i am saddened to see how only a few people respect quality education. i am disappointed by the number of people who actually desire to be intellectually challenged. i am disturbed by the growing apathy and indifference, and the increase in inane and senseless chatter. i am confused as to when being intelligent became un-sexy.
it is not a degree that makes an education. it is you and what you do with it.
and so while so many are out there, wasting their privileges and opportunities, i can breathe easy. because that was never me. and i will never allow that to be me.
and sometimes this is all that i have control over.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
i was stupid over you
so i've thought about it. you didn't ask me to, but i thought about it anyway. i've come to the realization that it probably isn't going to work out between you and i. you didn't know that was even on the table, but i was hoping it was all the table held. but i slept on it. you didn't demand that i did, but i did anyway. and i have come to understand that there are too many obstacles in our path. you weren't aware that the path was one, but it was the only path i've seen since i have known you. i doubt you think we know each other adequately, but i am content with just what we know about one another. and given all i know about you, i'm deciding that it's best we end this. you haven't known that there was a this to end, but there is, there was. it's ending.
i'm tired of the trying. i'm tired of the effort i make with each time i contact you. i am tired of the various modes i use, so that we are never really apart. i am tired of wondering whether you've responded, whether you will, and when. and i am tired of wondering why you haven't.
more than anything else, i am tired of thinking of you. it is everyday, in most moments. it is when things remind me of you, and bring me back to you. it is in moments when things do not remind me of you, and then i wonder why there are no associations between these inanimate objects and you, and once more, each thought brings me back to you.
i am tired of wondering where you are, what you might be doing, and who you might be with. i am tired of thinking these thoughts do not matter, because all that does matter is that you are not here with me, sharing moments with me, making memories with me.
you might not know this, but we shared some wonderful moments, you and i. you might not know this, but i think of them often. but what you should know, and what i will tell you once more is that i am done with you. there is no point to this constant trying (does everything always need to have a point?), no purpose in these constant efforts (is a purpose always relevant?), and no reason why this should continue (does the heart know reason?).
i was stupid over you.
and i'm done.
done...
...i think.
i'm tired of the trying. i'm tired of the effort i make with each time i contact you. i am tired of the various modes i use, so that we are never really apart. i am tired of wondering whether you've responded, whether you will, and when. and i am tired of wondering why you haven't.
more than anything else, i am tired of thinking of you. it is everyday, in most moments. it is when things remind me of you, and bring me back to you. it is in moments when things do not remind me of you, and then i wonder why there are no associations between these inanimate objects and you, and once more, each thought brings me back to you.
i am tired of wondering where you are, what you might be doing, and who you might be with. i am tired of thinking these thoughts do not matter, because all that does matter is that you are not here with me, sharing moments with me, making memories with me.
you might not know this, but we shared some wonderful moments, you and i. you might not know this, but i think of them often. but what you should know, and what i will tell you once more is that i am done with you. there is no point to this constant trying (does everything always need to have a point?), no purpose in these constant efforts (is a purpose always relevant?), and no reason why this should continue (does the heart know reason?).
i was stupid over you.
and i'm done.
done...
...i think.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
the land that you leave behind
if i had 5 rupees for every time someone had clung to me with all their life-force, and then abandoned me the instant their life bettered, i would be shitting money. i would have so much money, i would repay my college loans, get myself a phd and travel around the world twice over. and then with all the remaining cash (and there would be plenty), i would ensure that no animal was ever harmed again.
you'd think i would have learnt by now and that i would see such episodes coming my way, that i'd be able to smell them from a distance. aaah, but you see, i can spot them from several hundred miles away, just as i can smell the imminent misuse of my love and affections. this however, does not stop me. it never has and despite the battle scars at age 25, it probably never will.
because, just how do you turn someone away when they claim (and perhaps truthfully so) that they are miserable and broken beyond repair? how do you deny someone your hand when they lie twisted and hurt at your feet? how do you stop yourself from bending down to pick up the million little pieces someone has fallen apart into, when you've been taught it's the right thing to do, and the necessary step to take?
after the help has been given, and the kindness been shown, the real irony takes place. somehow the pitiful, pathetic and broken creatures before me, grow wings and take flight, soaring above me, away from me, and taking from me a huge chunk of myself. somehow their lives transform to ones where their every desire is catered to, and worse still, my every desire, the ones that i have craved and strived for, come to them easily - sometimes even when they do not want it or need it.
the people whose "lives i change," the people who "will never forget me," are drowning in love, the very thing i gave them (and they were unable to give back). Love: the very thing that i find difficult to locate, and harder yet to replenish.
so, use me. go ahead. but do not pretend i will ever matter beyond this point.
and please, do not pretend that those wings that you have grown will ever flutter again through this land that you were so desperate and quick to leave behind.
you'd think i would have learnt by now and that i would see such episodes coming my way, that i'd be able to smell them from a distance. aaah, but you see, i can spot them from several hundred miles away, just as i can smell the imminent misuse of my love and affections. this however, does not stop me. it never has and despite the battle scars at age 25, it probably never will.
because, just how do you turn someone away when they claim (and perhaps truthfully so) that they are miserable and broken beyond repair? how do you deny someone your hand when they lie twisted and hurt at your feet? how do you stop yourself from bending down to pick up the million little pieces someone has fallen apart into, when you've been taught it's the right thing to do, and the necessary step to take?
after the help has been given, and the kindness been shown, the real irony takes place. somehow the pitiful, pathetic and broken creatures before me, grow wings and take flight, soaring above me, away from me, and taking from me a huge chunk of myself. somehow their lives transform to ones where their every desire is catered to, and worse still, my every desire, the ones that i have craved and strived for, come to them easily - sometimes even when they do not want it or need it.
the people whose "lives i change," the people who "will never forget me," are drowning in love, the very thing i gave them (and they were unable to give back). Love: the very thing that i find difficult to locate, and harder yet to replenish.
so, use me. go ahead. but do not pretend i will ever matter beyond this point.
and please, do not pretend that those wings that you have grown will ever flutter again through this land that you were so desperate and quick to leave behind.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Miss P*
"How do you know the when you're chasing your dreams, and when you're trying too hard
and pursuing a lost cause?" I asked. Miss P thought a
moment and said, "If you're chasing your dreams, you're driven, motivated, and determined. That's what you feel and that's what rushes through your blood stream." She waited. She turned to look me straight in the eyes. "But if you're pursuing a lost cause, you will feel the hopelessness and helplessness set in. Just as you will feel the frustration." She leaned forward, and it was her turn to ask a question. "Tell me," she began, "do you feel frustrated?"
*based on a real life story
and pursuing a lost cause?" I asked. Miss P thought a
moment and said, "If you're chasing your dreams, you're driven, motivated, and determined. That's what you feel and that's what rushes through your blood stream." She waited. She turned to look me straight in the eyes. "But if you're pursuing a lost cause, you will feel the hopelessness and helplessness set in. Just as you will feel the frustration." She leaned forward, and it was her turn to ask a question. "Tell me," she began, "do you feel frustrated?"
*based on a real life story
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
