The Joys and Frustrations of New Years' Resolutions: Happy 2015!

         The latest New Year's trend seems to be resolution-bashing; looks like many have lost faith on the idea of creating goals that they'll eventually give up on, and have taken instead to laughing at those who do make such goals. This may be a trivial thing -nice for some laughs- but discouraging someone from trying to progress and reach a point of ambition is never small or funny.
              So what if we never keep our New Year's resolutions? So what if we almost always give up?
That's just one of our proud and distinguishing traits as humans - we trip over an abnormally large number of times (I blame toes - does anyone really know any unique uses of toes? They're existence seems to depend on the pain they cause when they are stubbed on short tables). But giving up pon our goals, defaulting, and tripping down is not such a big deal. The underlying reason for goals is trying to become a better person. Their whole point is striving towards self-improvement -the feeling of acknowledgement is just an added bonus. The real gain of goals and resolutions and guidelines is from the growth and the learning and all those good things.
           So really, New Year is not the only time for fresh starts, you could wake up one morning and just decide to make new goals to strive towards. Make goals and resolutions. Break those goals and resolutions. Now start again.
             That's what life is all about- working your way up to being the best person you can be, and that person can change everyday (causing your goals to change everyday). Making goals for self-improvement creates purpose, and just the slightest hint of purpose makes happiness much easier to come by. You're living your life to the fullest when you're working towards making yourself the happiest person you can be.
          So I'm going to say Happy New Year even if January 1st isn't the only day for new beginnings. Make your resolutions, have a great time, and don't worry about times you fail or give up - because then you get to the fun part of starting again with new or similar goals.

The only thing to remember is that if in any case, the road to fulfilling a goal is making you miserable, it's time to stop. Goals are meant to create happiness: in the road to their fulfilliment, in the joy of their sense of accomplishment, or in the tepid frustration of the failure they create

The Truth in Your Eyes

             It’s winter solstice today- the apex of the cold and dying, and the beginning of the rejuvenation - a rebirth. But for now, the dying is all we have. The snow might be a happy distraction from it all in some places, but here in California, the bare trees shiver with the winds as the leaves lie browning on the ground.
               But it doesn’t matter really; Christmas is right around the corner, and my house is in full on Holiday mode. I walk around the house singing Joy to the World as my brother trips over the decorative red ribbon I’ve drapped artistically around my room. We have intense competitions (like coin flipping) to see who gets to lick the cake-dough-spatula (which, for the record, might be my favorite food in the world). The neighbors’ loud christmas music is translates through the walls into a soft background track, and the world is just a feel-good Holiday movie. Despite the dead world outside.
           Everyone is happy during Christmas time - even those hiding behind their Scrooge personas, but I find it to be fake. It is a happiness that is created by the holiday atmosphere, and this expectation of joy that is laid on this time of the year. This happiness is like a sugar high, lasts a few hours (days in this case), and then your dropped back into the mundanity of your normal life.

Nobody wants to talk about the gradually wearing away of this energy when they’re full of it. Except for eyes. Eyes just don’t seem to be fooled. They are the windows to the soul - an overused Bible verse (Matthew 6:22), but a hugely significant one.

              Eyes are the windows to the soul - they are the medium through which we can communicate our innermost feelings when our minds and our mouths simply won’t allow it. Even as lies flow out of your being like water, eyes shimmer with the truth.
              None of us are really brave enough to bare our souls, and pour out our raw emotions (with the exception of poets, though they do have their paper to hide behind). None of us can really walk around, being absolutely genuine. It’s a human thing, a societal thing - all our lives we’ve been told to cover up: clothes, etiquette, and the whole “Silence is golden” thing. We live in a world of lying to be perfect, but eyes just don’t conform to its rules, no matter how compliant the rest of the body is.
             Eyes tell the truth about a person when all of their body is trying its hardest to cover it up. Eyes have never conformed to the rules of society - when one is happy, they are happy; when one is sad, they are sad; when one is conflicted, they are conflicted. They bow to no expectations, and listen to no societal rules. Eyes are the original rebels, and they help keep us from over-complicating the world.

Behind your frequent and hollow laughs, your sing-song voice, and your silly puns, your dead eyes are sending out an SOS.
Your ragged clothes, and raspy voice combined with that angry expression on your face don’t scare me, because that haunted look in your eyes tells me that you’re scared yourself.

You bow your head, arrange your face into a sombre expression, and start talking again. More sternly this time. But there’s something there that wasn’t before; a jovial spark in your hawk-like eyes that tells me that the phone call that you just took gave you the best news of your life. 

Recounting the Blessings: The Best Birthday Present I've ever Recieved

I've found a new way of coping with particularly hard days: counting my blessings (or recounting them to be precise). For a while now, my go-to reminiscable memory has been the morning of my 17th birthday (so basically a month ago). Here goes:

I woke up at 4 in the morning to a catch a 5 'o' clock bus for a 6 'o' clock class (No, I'm not one for time management. I try to do everything as early as possible).
          Breakfast was a drag - I chewed on a hard piece of pita bread in the partial light of my study room like some Arabian vagabond (I'm thinking Alladin) - but it was only the bad beginning scene to a great morning.
          I walked out into the cold, darkish, and empty streets to a playful wind, and an absolutely beautiful sky.  The wispy clouds were high and the first light was was escaping from below the horizon. The perfect song was playing in the backround of my mind, and I didn't even care that I must have looked ridiculous as I gaped up at the sky in awe.
         Maybe ten minutes after this glorious and peaceful pre-sunrise gazing, I found myself among the usual murmuring, coffee-equipped crowd on the bus. I don't remember what exactly I was thinking as I smiled comfortably out the window- it was something simplistic and grateful, something that was meant to be forgotten. Before I knew it, I was at the College.
        I walked purposefully for a short distance but got distracted by the gorgeous sight to my right - the much-awaited sunrise. My instincts studdenly took over (no lie. I actually felt a jolt in my middle) and forced me to take a detour along the more scenic route to the locker rooms, and, for once, my instincts did the right thing.
       I lingered on the lonely, out-of-the-way path (and ended up being late for class), and just took in the moment. There I was: all alone between three tall redwoods, surrounded by the most unintrusive but intrusive wind, and watching the sun set the clouds on fire. I unfortunately couldn't resist the urge to take pictures, and spent a good ten minutes just capturing the moment to take with me. That was a sight that brightened my eyes forever; of course, I couldn't resist trying to catch a piece of it for my pocket.
          The rest of the day was dull (maybe, just in comparison..maybe not), and I would rather it  be forgotten so as not to taint this beautiful early morning memory in comparison.

I considered keeping this my very own secret, but then I shared it on instagram (the teenager in me just can't resist). So here it is, the inadequate picture of the most beautiful birthday present I've ever recieved.

Quote of the Day ~ Warsan Shire

            I’m in my own little bubble where extracurriculars (ECs for short), work experience, and essay prompts matter, and you are in yours where maybe the boy with a nice smile, and pretty clothes matter. The news anchors chatter on in the background; we notice their perfect hair, and teeth much more than the words that burst out between their smiles.
           What will it take for us to look beyond our bubbles and notice the real world in all of its suffering and injustice? 

I think it would take an all-out revolution. To make people (me included) sit up and realize that there is a world beyond the end of their noses, I mean.
                Suffering is everywhere, and this is a ubiquitous fact. Everyone knows that the world is full of pain, but no one is doing anything about it...Apart from a few idle charity donations, and donation drives, the subject of poverty, injustice, or pain is general avoided. Normal conversations are all just a loud silence, they revolve inside the bubble and never reach out of it. Even when suffering bursts out in the form of demonstrations, when national debates on important issues are sparked, it feels like the average human just doesn’t care.

               Suffering is everywhere; we all suffer. It is this, our collective suffering, that we can try to alleviate if we would only just turn around and look, and see that everyone else is suffering too. If we only noticed others' suffering, we will be able to solve our problems together instead of slagging away on our own and digging ourselves into deeper holes as we struggle through our own problems, and suffering.

Quote of the Day ~ Civil Twilight

I can see a tiny glimmer of light - the end of the tunnel is in sight! (Yay for unintended rhyming!)

About 6 weeks from now, I will be done with this whole college application mess, and I’ll finally be able to live without that nagging feeling of guilt that I should probably be writing another application essay/personal statement right now.
           Six. More. Weeks. But first, deadlines (which are very aptly named), final exams, and the obligation of at least pretending to have fun during the holidays.

Anyway, without much further adolescent ranting (I personally think the word 'ado' comes from adolescent ranting haha), here’s the quote :)


Sometimes I think that my biggest enemy is the oppressive silence: the silence that will not be broken; the kind of silence that puts less awkward ones to shame. An oppression not of sounds, but of words.
          This is a silence of idle conversations that are punctuated with giggles and smiles- they’re all very beautiful, of course, but when they block out any other kind of conversation, they are oppressive. The very definition of a loud silence, these laughing talks are long and fulfilling, but disturbingly empty.

People just don’t seem to care about anything except their own happiness. A happiness that they construct carefully with curtains of denial and empty words. Last night’s party is a fun enough topic, but if it’s all that you will talk about.. The world around me seems to be stuck in a quicksand of mundanities, and it isn’t even trying to pull itself out.

Why can’t we talk about society, injustice, literature, and art? Why do we have to talk only about the little problems that affect us, and ignore the greater suffering? Why is staring at our smart phones while ignoring the beautiful world turning into a metaphor of our existence?

                We’re stuck in a vicious cycle of consumerism; it’s all about working, buying, consuming, and working for more buying and consuming again. Work-> Buy-> Flaunt seems to be an unconscious mantra, and it’s a distracting one too. Again, nobody really cares about anything important because they're too preoccupied by their need to earn more, buy more, and consume more. Flaunting anything, be it clothes, shoes, or just a good day is definitely in, while the more important things that affect us all is out.
               This need to flaunt and these empty conversations is making everything passionless (Flaunting with a passion doesn’t count; that’s plain scary). The world does seem a cold and careless place with its all-encompassing beat of consumerism.

That Heavy Emptiness

Your empty gaze meets mine and, for a second, we’re not empty anymore. Then we look away, and go on about our day, slowly acting out those familiar and meaningless motions.               Sometimes it’s just one thing that makes life worth living; just one thing that fills the void of existence (too much?)- a person, a hobby, a pet dog (or dragon), a passion. And when that one thing goes missing, we’re left with an emptiness that is, paradoxically, heavy.
               There are two ways to deal with emptiness: a gorgeous, romantic quest to find the missing piece (which, despite Hollywood’s best efforts, will not be a letdown like “it was right under my nose after all”) and denial.

Unfortunately people don’t go on “finding themselves” journeys anymore, and they probably won’t until the day the #FindYourselfChallenge becomes a thing (We’re in an age of practicality until it comes to social media...then it’s all “Let’s pour a bucket of pneumonia-giving ice water on our heads!” See ALS Ice Bucket Challenge).

So the only option left is DENIAL (cue Beethoven). The psychedelic, delirious, and altogether false state-of-mind that everything is going to magically fix itself without any real conscious thought. Denial is a dream-sleep of reality; it’s like walking zombie-like through a set of controlled circumstances. Denial is rejecting what could be a beautiful truth to live in a distorted lie, a lie that isn’t even your’s but someone else’s.

I look ahead of me and there they go, marching smart and tall and blind. Marching and marching and marching until they all go out of their minds.         
              Denial is losing awareness of what makes you happy and what fills your emptiness; it’s closing your eyes and letting someone else solve your problems - someone else who obviously can’t do it right.

                If you feel empty, don’t close your eyes. Open them.

The Optimist vs. the Realist

Excuse the collee talk, but as the deadlines approach thoughts about the future are all that will fuel my head :)

From: here

The pessimist in me has always made what will happen one day a very scary thought indeed. I’ve been toying with the idea of just drifting across the world, learning, observing and writing, and just earning my way through it all. It’s a romantic proposal, and, according to my parents, “impractical,” but I know it too; my life isn’t a Hollywood movie, I’m not going to go on an observer’s voyage; I’m not going to soak in, and learn about the world by actually experiencing it. I’m not going to have an epiphany mid-thought. At least, not yet.
                 I will go to college, and a heavy debt will befall me. It will hang in the air around me, wherever I go: a huge ominous sign in red - “$100,000 DUE”. My degree would hang next to it - in hopes that the dazzling nature of this piece of paper would distract attention from that menacing stain of red so close by. I will have a tangible proof of my resourcefulness, and some useful experience, and I may even have a job. I will work, and live. I will experience, and learn, but running at the back of my mind, would always be those words - $100,000 due.

               One day I will open an old high school journal, or maybe I’ll find this. I will laugh at my resolve to travel the world, and then, maybe, my eyes will fill with tears. I’ll think of how it had been a laughable idea, but also a well-loved one. I’ll daydream of quitting my job, and traveling out into the sun set, the perfect lighting making my skin glow.

But the optimist (whom I had to drag out from the shadows) suggests that maybe I will go to college, and it will be like travelling the world.
           I might get a college degree after four fondly remembered years, and pay back my student loans with a smile of remembrance. I might value the education that money actually got me.
           Maybe one day I will remember my high school dreams, and I might smile. Maybe I’ll smile at my naivete; at my belief that watching the world was the only way to learn, and that far off places are the best to observe. I’ll have something wiser to say then. Maybe by then I would have learnt not to regret. I might know something then that I don’t know of now.

The Ride Home

          A thrillingly confusing mixture of greek and arabic symbols whirl about my head as I run walk quickly to the waiting bus. I nonchalantly flash my card (the smoothness of it all still amazes me...Smooth is hardly a word that could define me) and head towards my seat, burying the numbers and letters in my head as I prep my mind for the best part of my day - the quiet ride home.

From: here

             In a widely spaced suburb, with its low extending buildings and occasional malls, cars are ubiquitous, and public transport is only a government formality. Everyone who’s anyone drives, and that leaves all those unwilling (or unable) to drive in the nobody category. When I clamber onto the bus everyday in the morning, I’m met by the silent ghostly stares of people whom I somehow never seem to spot in the outside world.
            Some peer out of their windows with troubled expressions, deep in thought; others stare straight ahead, an unsettling emptiness in their weary eyes. These people..they’ve seen, heard, and known so much - and not in the conventional sense of the word- I can see it in those expressions. It makes me feel extremely inexperienced in my just-learnt-so-much-in-a-controlled-environment face.
           The lady with her meagre snow-white hair in a bun sends shivers down my spine when she tries to smile at me; the mellow greetings of the smart-looking old man with his beaten-up briefcase echo with tiredness; the quiet young woman who stares out into the darkness shakes her head to herself occasionally - she seems stuck between conflicting emotions every time I see her.

Public Transport isn’t for everyone - especially in the suburbs. It seems like a special place for those who can’t afford to whiz through life with their fast cars and loud stereos. It’s a place to slow down, and think; a place to revel in the quietness and the silentness of all those others who seem to have settled comfortably into the shadowy nobody status.

Quote of the Day ~ Kant

I like to think that the tears that welled up in my eyes when I submitted my first college application today was some sort of bodily disorder, but five hours on and I'm still alive. 

I think I cried of relief when I clicked that submit button. 

Oh well, one done; six to go...

Anyway, I should probably introduce this quote before I go start a pity party haha. I was going to do a Cheshire Cat themed Halloween post (I appreciate Hollywood's latest depiction of that cat; now he's just creepy enough to be a Halloween costume!), but then Immanuel Kant came along, and I now have a Cheshire Cat meets Kant quote analysis..

I was a bit shocked when I first read this quote. That’s the kind of blatant pessimism no one really wants to hear. That happiness is impossible in our world unless we imagine it is probably the rudest thing anyone could say about it. Right?

Is the American Dream dead?

But, before I pronounce the idea dead, I need to find its corpse (excuse the analogy), because the American Dream is as elusive as the Higgs Boson.
        I posted a discussion on BlogCatalog last week, and I received such an overwhelmingly diverse collection of definitions for this one ideal, that I've decided to clarify what the American Dream is (or at least what I think it is) before I hold a funeral service...

Here are some of the ideas I heard from my discussion:

"[the American Dream is]getting a good job, getting married, buying a house and having kids who did a little bit better than you. " ~ Rhumperd

Quote of the Day ~ Carl Sandburg

Last week my English teacher pointed out that "quote" is a verb, and the noun form of the verb should be "quotation". So this post series of mine, should actually be named "Quotation of the Day" (I don't like it either). Isn't that ridiculous?

             We've all gotten so used to saying "Quote of the Day" that we don't even realize that it's grammatically wrong (can you imagine the number of other things we're doing wrong and don't notice because we do them all the time?).

Anyway, here's the quotation:

   

At one time, Carl Sandburg was one of the most talked about men in America. I can imagine that he comes from a time when the American dream of a rags-to-riches story was still alive and burning, a time when the country was still idealistic. 

I'm not a (complete) nostalgic, but maybe the world was a better place in the 1960s...I mean what's happened to the American Dream today? Where's the idealistic optimism for change?

What's the Use of Social Experiments?

My weekly art requirement is met by my weekend movie (or two or three). Last week, I watched a TV movie called The Pregnancy Project. It’s an adaptation of true-story about a Washington State high schooler - Gaby Rodriguez - who pretended to be pregnant to study the social stigma towards teen moms. This was, I learned, a social experiment.

                 I’ve never thought of society as a laboratory, and I’ve never dreamed of testing my hypotheses. But that is exactly what Gaby Rodriguez did- she had a hypothesis: that girls who accidentally became pregnant in high school were stereotyped and belittled for their mistake, and she had her model to test the hypothesis: pretending to have an unplanned teen pregnancy. What she found were what was expected, people sighing about her being a waste, and classmates jeering at her unideal future prospects.

Suffering in Tartarus

A million needles rain down on me as I sit still, trying to put what I feel into words.
Is there a way to describe pain without using the word itself?

The problem is that I can't explain what it feels like to be in pain. Pain is well, painful. (The idea that words are simply incapable of describing pain, or any feeling for that matter, shows how important emotions are to us humans.) Emotions can never be described; they can only be felt.

I'm not out to write about what pain is like, but what pain is. What is pain?

Quote of the Day ~ J. G Ballard

In this chaotic world of floating delirium, reason is the one thing that stands still. Logic is our fair compass, always pointing due Reason. But few take a peek at their navigation instruments.

If the world was to run on reason, logic, and the objective truth, it would be a cold, hard place.

It would be the kind of place where stars aren't the lanterns in the sky that wink at us conspiratorially, challenging us to reach for them, they'd be large (impersonal) orbs of burning gases that are light years away. 

It would be the kind of place where calculations are more popular than colorful speculations.

It would be a world where guesses and quirks and anything out of the ordinary would be regarded as a mistake, a deviation from the straight line of purpose.

Do you believe in Happy Endings?

The sunset was a medley of all colors red, and it was like a fire in the sky; the French Alps were in sharp contrast to the blazing fire above them. The couple stood leaning into each other- they were only a silhouette.

           “I’m soo happy for you,” my mother stated, her voice wasn’t emotionless as much as it was truthful; she was really just happy for the woman in front of her, and stoically devoid of any other thoughts on the matter.

I simply stared at the picture our guest was showing us with my best imitation of a calm demeanor, while my mind shrieked, “She got married in France, in the Alps! There was even a sunset behind her!!”

…

I sat at the kitchen counter, my elbows on the table, and my feet dangling off of the absurdly high chairs. My mother bustled about the kitchen and produced my breakfast (of pancakes with chocolate syrup) with a happy smile. We hadn’t done this kind of thing in a long, long time.

Maybe it was because I was swinging my legs and eating chocolate covered pancakes, or maybe it was just the smile on my mother’s face, but I felt five again, and I wanted to talk to my mother like I had talked to her then- not our usual, mundane, and potentially alienating, topics of chores and grades, but about things: thoughts, hypotheses, crises etc. - just things.

         “The news from yesterday was really cool,” I began, “Imagine getting married in France. The picture made the place look so beautiful!”

              “Well the French have always liked to do things in style,” she said - or something like that anyway. I was drifting away into my thoughts of sailing off into the sunset and getting happy endings; I was dreaming of a day when the movie of my life would end, and was wondering who my director-inspiration was- Woody Allen maybe? No, someone with a Jane Austen-y inclination..

               “I can’t believe it,” I said, “here I am, facing important decisions at 17, and I get to see what a happy ending looks like. Was this some sort of cruel joke to tease me with?” I really meant it; my life lacked that Jane Austen factor- at the rate I was going, I was worried about whether I could even have an ending at all, let alone a happy one.

               “A happy ending?” my mother snorted, “Isn’t that concept a bit too juvenile? Even for you?” I swear that the last three words were spoken contempt even if she is my mother and she loves me.

…

Is the concept of happy endings juvenile?

Well, for starters, life doesn’t just end like movies and books do. So, I suppose it’s childish to thinking of such things. But phases of life do end, and new ones start.

Happy ending is not a singular term. We all have many endings in our life, and whether these are happy or not depends on us.

Isn’t looking forward to a happy ending similar to looking forward to the completion of a long term-goal? Happy endings are simply moments in the future when the emotional rollercoaster or life reaches a high, what’s so wrong about thinking about them?

It's all for the highs.
From: angelicarbrem.blogspot.com

I’m not stupid (no, really); I know that living changes as we go through the course of life. There are times when things will never ever be the same again: those turning points can be the fulfillment of goals, or simply a change in personality or personal outlook.

Shouldn’t we all be working towards such turning points? Shouldn’t we all be working to better ourselves or climbing mountains that will get us where we want to go? Isn’t working towards change the purpose of life?

Happy endings are successful turning points; in reality, there are no unsuccessful turning points, because you reach one until you have succeeded. What’s so juvenile about happy endings? They’re goals, and they’re the perpetrators of change- what’s life without change, and what fun is a roller coaster without any highs?

Quote of the Day ~ Plato

The blackbirds are congregating on the telephone wires, and I can tell that what they're plotting this time is going to be truly devastating.

         I wonder if they realize that the wires are sagging dangerously; surely the poles can't take anymore?

My inner cynic makes me ever so paranoid, and makes me ever so firm in the idea that humans are inherently evil, and that one day the world won't be able to take this kind of thing anymore. *poof* It'll just self-destruct. 

But then I think, 

Her smile is just underneath the surface; that piece of art is gorgeous; John Lennon was one of us; you have a personality, and I do too.

The world is a gorgeous chaos.. Isn't that just enough reason to celebrate? We're so distinct, and different. The world is a piece of art, and it's so beautiful. Opinions are everywhere- some artfully put, and others thrown in your face, unfiltered- and they have such a beauty to them.

Everyone is (a little bit of) everything, and that is why they are nothing. 

...

We're not blackbirds, we're more colorful and confused than that; blackbirds are decidedly evil, whereas humans...we just don't know what we are (though we like to think that know exactly who we are and what our priorities, in every hypothetical situation, are).

There are many problems in the world: 

extremist groups which hate America that are waging religious, and cultural, war; 

rainforests that are being mowed down like they are wild blades of grass in a sophisticated neighborhood, and 

the heads of corporations -the top 1% of our population- who are lounging in some exclusive resort in Luxembourg, who couldn't care less about any of us.

I could go on, but the list would never end be really long(in case you're wondering, these are the first 3 that popped into my head, and are by no means prioritized)

Here's what I think the problem is: humans cannot ever be all-good, they have to have some evil in them...it's very very natural, and that's what makes them so beautiful blah- but the bad side of so many people is adding up to become something terrible.

How can we solve the world's problems without turning everyone into angels?

John Lennon's dream of no heaven, no hell, and no borders is beautiful, but it's also pretty scary. If there is no war, it is because there is no difference of opinion. Passion sparks arguments, but it sparks art too. 

If we're all working together, we will all have to conform. Our differences are what make us unique (heck, uniqueness literally means different-ness - I need help with abstract nouns!); our dark sides too. 

From: www.tumblr.com

So as long as the world is a world of beautiful chaos, there will be problems, and wars, and destruction. Utopia is going to be our unreachable horizon, something we will work towards but we will never reach. Our suffering makes us beautiful, and our measures to stop suffering is the most beautiful of all. 

I do not find this thought very depressing. I'd rather have a beautiful world with passionate suffering, and efforts for change than an ugly world with unhappy peace. 

We're trapped.

For the claustrophobic in me, being a high school senior is such a scary experience. Being educated at any level invokes claustrophobia, anyway. 

               Here we are, in our cozy little corner of the world, not caring for the economical, political, or social conditions of what’s around us, while we (ironically) learn in our history, government, and finance classes. Here we are, safely behind closed doors where our only knowledge will be theoretical, and somehow smaller than life.
             We’re not exposed to the world. We’re learning about a world we haven’t been exposed to. Aside from the distorted views of Hollywood, and the dreams of our fellow underexposed prisoners of education, we haven’t seen much of it. If we're going to be ready for it, we have to know what "it" is. Will the real world please stand up?

From: www.lovethispic.com

It’s a puzzling dichotomy: to learn about the world by alienating ourselves from it. We’re stuck in a cocoon of theory, a prison with a tantalizing glimpse of the outside world, and we can’t seem to escape.

How do I get rid of Writer's Block?

           I stare at nothing while my laptop burns my thigh and the TV babbles in the background. I could have been sitting there for hours, or even days - I just can't tell the difference between Monday and Thursday anymore. It's all the same to me: a nice and blank Word document on my laptop screen, and my eyes focused on something fascinating...and invisible.
           This has been my worst case of writer's block yet, and I'm not even a proper writer! It's just typical that my inner writer (or whoever so kindly arranges my thoughts into coherence for me whenever I put my fingers on my keyboard) would let me down when I most need her.
            I always thought college application essays would be a piece of cake, but turns out I'm absolutely incapable of writing about myself. After the struggle of thinking of things to say, for some reason my ability to string words together fails me. I write one mundane, choppy sentence after another until I have an entire page...then I delete everything in one quick movement. Oh the agony!

From: iwanita.tumblr.com

So far my Writer's Block Remedies have been of no help.

• Free random writing left me with a few scribbled words on paper, and one lousy poem-ish thing. If anyone found that piece of paper, they'd think I was possessed (that's a lot of S's). 
• Taking Walks, and focusing on other things, has only worsened things. The more I walked, and the more I tried to do other things, the more guilty I became. I'm so aware of the emptiness in my head that every time the wind blows, I imagine it whistling through the hollows of my skull too.
• Giving myself permission to write badly is a step I've been repeating for a while now.
  Needless to say, it hasn't worked.

What do you do when you're creatively blocked?

Quote of the Day ~ John Maeda

           John Maeda, MIT grad and former president of RISD, seems really cool: he’s bringing art and technology together. Actually, the idea of him is so perfect for the world right now (all this technological improvement needs to be balanced by some kind of art revolution).

But I looked at his art, and I was less than impressed. Maeda’s work is supposed to have that crisp, modern, minimalist feel to it: simplicity is about subtracting the obvious and adding the meaningful- those are his words by the way.

The first piece of art I found was a computer program that took your sentences and reduced them to words which consisted of the first letter of each word of each sentence (if I didn’t do a great job explaining it, you can check it out here). He’s doing a great job adding meaning…
            Okay it sounds like I’ve targeted him, and will proceed to single him out every chance I get if I’m not stopped. So this is me stopping myself. I will not insult Mr. Maeda’s work- art is art. (On that note, I really liked some of John Maeda’s other works...Check them out here: http://www.maedastudio.com)

From: rdkreative.wordpress.com

            But his words are troubling...subtracting the obvious while adding meaning. He’s making perfect sense, of course, crisp short stories are much easier to keep track of than long winding tales with 70 characters, and 15 plotlines and yet, such stories are the ones that draw in the most people...Game of Thrones is an example- but then again most people would watch anything with that much gore: even if it had just one plotline and a handful of boring characters..- and so is Desperate Housewives, and all those other poly-plot-line-ic TV series’. Maybe it's because simple, short, and crisp is often boring; it consists only of what is useful and meaningful: the facts.

The whole world of minimalism is about sticking to the bald facts- being concise. Somehow minimalism gets away with it, maybe because it has that clean, uncluttered look. But I don’t think it should (get away with, I mean). Facts aren't beautiful, it’s the flourish with which they are presented that makes them beautiful. That's the art. When the facts are subjectified, and interpreted (not distorted, mind you...just interpreted). When there is no interpretation, just a depiction of the truth, that is a kind of minimalism. This is the rage of the modern world; to not put a flourish, and to not interpret or subjectify.

I DECLARE MYSELF TO BE A SUPPORTER OF THE GRANDEST TYPE OF MAXIMALISM STILL AVAILABLE IN THIS WORLD

(my version of shouting it from the rooftops)

     To me, art is all about looking at the world from another person’s eyes; it’s very subjective, and very transporting. Minimalism is all about presenting the truth, the bare minimum, with as little embellishment as possible - it's a type of art that just doesn't take me places.
            If minimalism took over completely, then every kind of transporting art would be gone: movies, fiction, paintings etc. Movies, books, and music tell stories; they present the facts with metaphors, and allusions, and symbols.
                Imagine if stories just laid facts on the table - no comparisons, no allegories, just the bare, naked truth. Stories wouldn't be stories anymore. Art is not about communicating a point; it's about communicating a point of view. We don't listen to stories for the actual communication of the truth (we were supposed to have newscasts for that), we listen to stories for understanding, for insight. We look to others' viewpoints so that we may find a similarity, or something we've been missing. Stories are about a person's philosophy, and everyone knows metaphysics isn't an exact science; everyone knows that it has no solid facts.

So even if simplifying your interpretation and the way you look at the world adds to your understanding of the meaning, or your purpose, it does not make it any more beautiful. It's a complex world, and deluding yourself into thinking it is simple, isn't enough. Appreciate the complexity of it all. We're never ever going to understand everything, but let's try!What if it is the obviousness of a presentation, the extraneous details, that makes it all the more meaningful anyway?

An Objective Critique of the College Application Process

I know that the title is a bit essay-like, but trust me on this one: the college application process must be criticized professionally or else I'll sound like some whining kid (which I, most definitely, am NOT)

August brings in the smell of fall, new shoes, and curriculum. Romantic isn't it? 

For seniors, this month also brings in the monster that we've created in the college application process

           What with the nervous energy created by looming future, and the overwhelming nostalgia, Senior Year can be an emotional roller coaster! It can't be made worse by anything other than the fact that it is also a pivotal year which decides the next 4 years of your life.

I've created a useful (at least I think so) timeline of senior year based on observations and experience...

SUMMER (June to September)

What they're supposed to be doing: 

• Creating a College List (complete with estimated costs for each college),
• Visiting Colleges ("While you're at it...why don't you stay for a week?"),
• Creating Rough Drafts of our Applications essays (it's best to be prepared right?),
• Volunteering in activities that will help the community (and, more importantly, look good on our applications),
• Being a leader at some extra-curricular activity we are passionate about, and

(This one's the clincher...)

• Having fun too.

The demands are...well, they're quite crazy. 

Of course, being passionate, and helping the community while also being on top of the applications process by writing 7-8 essays about yourself and your wit, knowing exactly what you are going to do with your life (and where you are going to spend it) for the next four years, and also having fun...is extremely easy! 

That is, it's easy if you are the kind of person who enjoys:

• trying to sound witty on paper (but end up sounding tacky...wit on paper is always tacky, take it from the expert); 
• volunteering at non-profits not because you like the cause, but because you want to add another item to your weighty college application; and
• researching about your future, and trying to cement one thing you're going to do, when you're barely 17 years old, and have no idea what you want to do with your adult life.

The idea that we have to fake volunteering in the community, and be a "leader" at extra-curricular activities we "enjoy" is so forced to me. If a person is truly passionate about a cause, they will volunteer at events, and rise to positions of leadership because of their passion. If a person is just doing all these things because they want to go to college, they don't really deserve the credit  they get. These people aren't passionate about the cause, they're passionate about themselves and their prospects at college.

FALL (October to December)

What we're supposed to be doing:

• COLLEGE APPLICATIONS!!
• oh, and don't forget to...study (not as big a deal though..)

Suddenly the fun isn't even a part of the agenda. All that needs to be done is the college application process. Having fun is an added bonus, and one must be grateful if one even get's a hint of it. First semester/first quarter of high school studies are tolerated...it isn't really the priority right now. 

         Writing, writing, writing. That is all that is being done. Everyone's trying to be funny, and charming, and creative; they're exaggerating, and finally wielding the full power of the influence of those high test scores. The words "You are more than your test scores" fall on distracted ears, as anxiety brims up in every heart whose SAT score is less than a 2200. 

         We're high school students, we're supposed to be studying, learning, not finding new ways to portray ourselves to trick colleges into taking us in. 

All the advice is about how to make yourself look good; nothing is about how you are already good enough...the thing is to find the college that is right for you (all How To Find The Right College For You articles and advice columns are suddenly disregarded - Harvard, MIT, UCLA, NYU, and Yale are flooded with applications). 

           I'm drowning in the fake-ness and the advice that forces us to be fake. I wish someone would just stand on a high school rooftop, and yell for all the seniors to write what they feel like. I wish that someone would tell seniors to be themselves, to not exaggerate, and to do nothing they aren't really interested in. 

WINTER (January to March)

What they're told to do:

• Have fun! Go on a fun spring break...be crazy, and wild. You're teenagers!
• Oh yeah...don't forget to study (Grades are important)

      The two things that nobody cared about in the fall are now the only things left to do. This is when Senioritis sets in. It is the unique disease that high school seniors develop after the submission of their college applications; it is a form of laziness, and exhaustion so extreme that the most the infected can do is trudge out of bed, and get to school...and of course have fun.

Symptoms include:

• Late Nights
• Afternoons spent hanging out, and chilling instead of volunteering at events they were soo "passionate" about.
• Slightly drooping grades

Now all the pretentiousness is gone, and the seniors admit that they deserve a break. They finally start doing what they want to do, and are relieved that they no longer have to put up the act of a "responsible, community-minded individual." Maybe I'm being a bit harsh, they do deserve a break, but a 6 month break from ones passions shouldn't be considered as a break, but as a letter of resignation. 

           For a while, all is well, seniors do what is absolutely necessary: they reminisce about high school; they hang out with their beloved friends, knowing that this is probably the end of all things familiar; they make some final memories; they laugh and cry and laugh again. Prom season is in the air and all is well

SPRING (April to June)

What they're supposed to be doing:

• Calmly awaiting their acceptance letters, and
• keeping a sleepless vigil over their grades

There ends the beautiful mirage of what senior year is supposed to be like. When these people look back at their senior year of high school, they don't remember the enervating application process; they remember the nervous energy: the needless giggling, and the fake excitement about any and every thing, of waiting for the acceptance letters. The air is slightly strained, but nobody admits it. All seems well on the surface: spring break trips to the beach, and happy pictures are everywhere (Especially Facebook), but the acceptance letters are swooping down like bats in a dark cave. 

         This is the time for religion, and prayers, and hope. The nerve-racking end for an overall nerve-racking year...

Quote of the Day ~ Vampire Weekend

            Sometimes there's just one line in a song, a line that sticks with you even if it only lasted for a couple seconds.

From: dandispo.wordpress.com

         Isn't that life? Every moment of every day is spent trading youth for experience, for wisdom. That adds a kind of desperation to it: the more you live, the more you know about living, but the less time you have to live. Obviously you want to learn as much as possible as quickly as possible, but the cruel thing is that such things can't be rushed. You learn when you learn; there aren't any crash courses in life.
          It seems like a trap; the only way to learn is to gradually not be able to use the knowledge. Maybe it's a way for the world to preserve its secrets (What fun would it be if the elders spelled out the secrets of life -the ones that we are yet to unravel- long before we even thought of them?).      

But it can be looked at from another angle: the more you learn, the older your soul, not your body, becomes. A single moment of significant revelation ages you more than 10 years of blissful ignorance. Maybe this is a soul thing. Maybe a soul can be wise, and old, even if the body is young. (Why do we correlate wisdom to old age? A wise soul's thoughtful, deliberate, and experienced movements are like those of an aged body. Even a young wise soul can appear quite wrinkled with so many abandoned idealist thoughts, and dashed hopes, and knowledge of the ways of the world).
          Only, what is the highlight of being young? The energy? The beauty? The heightened sexuality? I think it's that cheerful, idealistic outlook on life; something more to do with their souls than their bodies. It's always the 20-something year-olds; they're ready to be the change. And they always are. Every generation has seen the rise of its youth (hello 60's hippies), but then when the youth are no longer young, they settle down. Why do they settle down? So the age of your body can influence the age of your soul, just like the opposite view.

I've talked myself into a circle, but what I'm trying to say is that trading youth for wisdom can work both ways. Literally, you do learn more as you grow older (simply because you have more time to learn). But wisdom also makes your soul older; you can learn much in a few seconds, and feel your soul, rather than your body, grow older. Sometimes you trade youth of your mind, and outlook, for wisdom, while at other times, you gradually trade the youth of your life for wisdom.

Newscast-turned-Tabloid

             A rare sound drew me to the family room- the angry buzz of a perfectly groomed news reporter (yes, I knew he was perfectly groomed before I saw him; it was something in that abrupt voice). I walked in cautiously (a rare event like this required as many precautionary as possible) to find my silent parents on the couch: my mother once again had a lugubrious air as she sighed over and over again; my father was frowning at the screen, and was muttering things that would make him seem smart and informed.

            I gaped at them; since when had we ever gathered our news from a television newscast? I glanced at the screen, and saw that it was projecting repulsive images of dead children, and bombs going off in a distance, and a woman who looked like she was trying very hard to appear grim. The only thing I grasped from my quick glimpse was that she was accusing someone- the government perhaps?

       My mother looked up and stated that this is the apocalypse. My father quietly wondered what the world was coming to. The television was now flashing a colorful advertisement for insurance, or mattresses, or some other mundane thing.

        A week later, the TV went silent again, and the family room was as abandoned as ever. With no more plane crashes, apparently there was no need to keep up with the news anymore. 

I think it's because of people like my parents, who switch on the television to sigh, and worry- who switch on the television for the drama- that the media sensationalizes so today. Anything tragic, that looks tragic, and involves the direct deaths or injuries of people is just as good as any exciting TV series today. Ooh and an added benefit is abusing the government (which was elected by the people). The whole television news media has turned into a giant tabloid!

From: www.veteranstoday.com

          I think it's because of the fact the news channels now have to compete with the likes of TV series' like Scandal, Game of Thrones, and Devious Housemaids(I think that's what it's called), that they try to depict news so darkly, so war-like, and so iniquitous. People like scandal, and they will only watch something that is slightly scandalous. News channels have to add those sexual, gory, and scandalous elements to their shows to get people to watch them, to get advertisers to fund them. 

Media sensationalism is an old story. Actually, it's been hyped just as much as death has been hyped by the media. The way to solve it is what we're supposed to be thinking about.

How can we stop the media from sensationalizing?

Option A. Make people more sensible (highly unlikely)

Option B. Make a news channel that is not for-profit (hence, preventing the whole incentive of viewership bringing in money from advertisers.) Like BBC.

Option C. Make news channels like CNN, and FOX, and NBC use another channel for scandalous TV series' like well...Scandal, and provide unadulterated news. I realize that they all already have side channels, but they simply don't seem to get enough of the drama!

Option D. Balance all the sensationalism by also giving an unadulterated view in another show.

I'm sure a lot of people would watch if they knew that the news they're watching is absolutely trustable too  :)

Quote of the Day ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

        Jogging against the wind has always made me feel better about life; the wind is like a conquered enemy as I run against its efforts- a merry one too, rushing past with all the bustle of my gramma's kitchen at Christmas. Unfortunately, the weather lately has just been so dead; the harsh sun rays fall on us but we don't mind because we're so hollow and empty that we think that the continuous light will fill us. Can weather get anymore depressing?
       This drought is so very underrated; it's killing us all from inside (Read about the West Coast-South West Drought here). I suppose this is only the beginning....as a professional pessimist, I believe there is going to be a year when the spring turns to summer, but the summer never gives way to fall. What if the wind doesn't comes back one day? (President Obama isn't helping with his new endorsement of a plan to dig the Atlantic Ocean out in search of oil...)

             But I only miss the wind because it was an enemy I could feel; an enemy I could lash out at. This is the only tangible way to get back at the attacker, because every other antagonist in my life is ever so subtle: poking me in the back and then retreating into the shadows; laughing and talking down at me while hiding in my head.
            This quote actually doesn't really connect to my state of mind at all, but it's something I want to talk about. So here goes :)

From: www.redbubble.com

            Everyone worth knowing is a bit crazy, but they are what society deems as crazy. What if people who are strange/enigmatic/weird/crazy are actually the ones in the right? It's all subjective isn't it? So what if the majority of people is messed up, and the minority, which isn't, they call "weird"?
          The people with "problems" are the ones who feel the most; the ones deemed "messed up" are the ones who care the most; the ones on medication are the ones who think the most. Some of the most profound things I've ever heard, I've heard from people my gramma would call the "wrong crowd," people who know themselves to be outcasts, people who are "unsuccessful". This isn't just my experience of people, Sylvia Plath, Vincent Van Gogh, Ned Vizzini, Emily Dickinson...who's going to deny it? People who had the most insight; people who were the least in denial are famously considered the troubled ones, so much so that they do become the troubled ones...
         So obviously society's idea of messed up/weird is wrong...What if every other preconceived idea is wrong? That just scares me, but coming to think of it; we, as a people, are in denial. We go through life, one ambition after the next without stopping to think what it all means. It's all so scary; don't we see that our lives are mechanical...we form an idea of what we would make us happy, then we pursue it, then we achieve it; but by then we realize that this thing of happiness is not really a thing of happiness, so we form a new idea. It's an infinitely repeating cycle- a circle. Let's break this cycle. Let's think for ourselves; let's form views and ideas that are independent of others (if it's necessary, you should shut your eyes and close your ears to outside influence); let's step out of our shielded world of denial.
         I don't care what anyone says, but I'm going to respect the person with the most life views, the person who's thought about everything that interests them, not the person with the most money or influence.
I'd rather be flying up there with those bird which look so small from the ground..

The World is a Black Hole

Snuggled into my favorite blanket, and cradling a cup of hot chocolate, I stared out of the window. Somehow the mist outside had gotten into my head, my mind is a haze.

The outside world looked enticing; and, I felt myself being drawn to it like it was a black hole. It is a black hole. It’s terrifying, but attractive- the world outside, it drags me in and never lets me go. It makes me feel like I’m useless, like I’m not needed by anything or anyone, like I have no purpose (but do I have a purpose?). To and fro it marches, with the purposeful clatter of its stilettos, trampling my self-esteem underfoot. But I only go back and get hurt again. Those who wander aimlessly in this black hole are lost, and we are better off that way.

I wanted to throw off my blanket off and put on a coat, I wanted to run out into the foggy morning and prove my worth. I wanted to smile and laugh loudly and put on my own lethal-looking stilettos, but I knew that I would lose myself in the mist; I knew that my smile would falter weakly, and my laugh would turn to a whimper. The world would taunt me once more- slap me then pull me in again, drag me in again- until another bubble of my laughter disappears amidst the sound of a weak little cry.

I snuggled deeper into my blanket and took a scalding sip from my cup; I waited for the warmth to fill my body, but I felt a shiver run down my spine instead. No, I’d rather be lost, and aimless, and trampled, a bald dandelion, in this windy world of purpose. I’d rather get hurt again and again and again, than feel this haze in place of my brain, this haze that reminds me of my failures and freezes my insides. I’d rather go out and try my hand at proving my worth again. I’ll wander till I find my path. Besides, feeling a smile crack on my face, I thought, Not all who wander are lost.

The door creaked open, it has long since been used to my comings and goings, and I stepped into the back hole again.

From: www.longcitywalksblog.com

What is intellectual?

After a picture of Albert Einstein (who, I
think, was more intelligent than intellectual),
this is the first picture that
turned up on my simple
Google search

        Somewhere along the line, someone got the stupid idea that only those books deemed classical are considered intellectual. Of course, by someone, I mean Hollywood (There isn’t a day that goes by without me noticing the stereotyping created by what constitutes our entire film industry). Well, maybe I’ve been too harsh- it is Hollywood’s job to create stereotypes, to create an idiosyncratic character who reflects characteristics of the certain parts of society it wants to invoke -it is the way of art- but I still can’t help but cringe every time a new movie comes out and the nerdy-but-cute girl enters with an old-and-boring book in her hand, and huge glasses.

          Hollywood has programmed us to think that an “intellectual” is a man in cordovan loafers and a turtleneck, or a women with no fashion sense whatsoever; both have the essential glasses, and their noses stuck in a wearying book. Unfortunately, intellectual doesn’t mean that you read books of old- it means that you have insightful opinions on them. It is not the subject that makes a person intellectual, but the thought the person puts into it. One can be an intellectual on all things teen pop culture if they want; all they have to read is Teen Vogue, and Seventeen, and other magazines, and have an impressive opinion about the things they read- millions of girls simply copy their styles off of these magazines, but millions of others use them as ground zero, building up from there, and enhancing their own styles. So yeah, what I’m trying to say is that a person who reads Teen Vogue can be considered intellectual just as much as person who spent all of last weekend reading War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy, but has learnt nothing from it-except for what has directly been stated, can be considered pretentiously stupid.

She's intellectual too...that style is unmistakably
original

              This is probably going to lead into stereotyping, so I'm going to stop before I go down that road. Any ol' person can study. Studying is easy, it's like being a kitchen sponge: soaking everything in, and then not knowing what to do, so you gradually let everything seep out. Learning, on the other hand, is more like being a frying pan: you take what you knowledge you get and then work on it, and change it, until you've made something useful from it. Because learning isn't about reading textbooks and other people's research, and rearranging it; learning is about reading textbooks and research papers, then forming your own thoughts about it-doing your own research. A lot of people focus on the reading, and they forget that thinking is a really important part of learning too! And just like that, you'll see that the original and stylish girl who reads Teen Vogue has learnt just as well as the guy who discovered a whole new side to James Joyces' Ulysses- because both of them did their research, and both of them thought about their research, and got new ideas about it.

Intellectual-ness (intellectuality? no that doesn't work either...)isn't about how much knowledge you have, and what kind of knowledge you have, it's about being able to think and use that knowledge.

Quote of the Day ~ Neil Gaiman

           I was reading The Ocean at the End of the Lane (even though I, technically, don’t have no time to do anything as unproductive as reading….I mean reading isn’t going to get me into college is it?), and I just snapped when I read this quote. I finally found the energy I thought I’d temporarily lost, the energy to write.

             It’s true isn't it? There’s no passing or failing at being a person. Whatever kind of person you are...you’re still a person, and that’s what counts. The real judge of whether you pass or fail is you. Do you think that you’re good at being? Do you think that you’d pass according to your own standards? If you bumped into yourself at the grocery store (one of the most judgmental places...don’t ever walk into the organic food section without designer clothes. Don’t.), what would you say later? Would you even make an impression...or too much of a bad one?

           That’s the question to ask. That’s the question we've all been itching to ask ourselves all those times we laughed at not-so-funny jokes, or tried to fit in though it kinda hurt us. We all thought that approval from others may mean approval from ourselves, turns out we were wrong. As long as you like yourself, you pass; you’re approved.

This is where I come in; everyone knows that you’re only happy when you approve of yourself. But what if you don’t know? What if you can’t decide whether you’re happy with what you see in yourself?
              It’s the forever questioning. It’s that feeling that you (I) don’t know what you are (I am). It’s the feeling that I don’t know what is right for me (and society isn't helping by being all, “College is good. Here, waste a fortune on it, and you’ll figure everything out”), and also the feeling that I’m passing myself when I don’t really know what grade I should give. But maybe that isn't the point. There is no pass or fail at being a person- I give up my right to judge myself. What is is what is (wow that statement looks so wrong in writing). Let me try again, What it is, is what it shall be- no stopping it (and by it, I mean life). For now, I’m going to just do what I think is right...I’m not going to judge my judgments; I’m not going to worry about whether I’m giving myself the right grade or not, I’m going to go with my flow-just do whatever I want to do without over-analyzing.

There’s no passing or failing at being a person, and there’s no passing or failing at taking care of yourself and wondering whether you're doing the right thing. If you've got the brains to over-think it...you’re probably fine.
(At least I think so)

The Pillars of Society

            Books like Divergent and Hunger Games have been ruling the Young Adult book scene lately (and by lately, I mean before John Green), and, from what I've seen, they're very traditionally Dystopian with a Twilight(-ian) twist to them*. These Dystopian worlds they've created are...well, they're different, and seem miserable to us who aren't used to it, but for people living in the Hunger Games/ Divergent/ The Giver dystopia, it must be quite normal and what they're used to. Maybe if people from the 50s (supposedly the Golden Age of American Government) or even the 70s read a book describing our society, they'd be a bit upset themselves.
           If anyone were to write this hypothetical book about American Society in the early 21^st century, what would be the main theme?
1984, by George Orville, had a theme of government spying on society all the time while Hunger Games had a theme of working class people (Districts 1 - 12) being forced to live amongst themselves with no prospect of raising their standard of living. What kept society in the book 1984 was the lack of connection between people which was created by the paranoia of always being spied on. In Hunger Games, the pillar keeping their society up was the absolute belief that one could only do for a living what one's father used to do; the belief that things must, and can, never change.


What keeps our society going? What is the never ending cycle of our society? What are some beliefs that can never be broken?

I mean, in comparison, our world seems perfect right? Yeah, there are some orthodox, homophobic people, but change can be brought about by protesting and court rulings....I mean Gay Rights became a thing recently right? We have a lot of change.
But what is one thing that can never ever change? What has always been a part of society, what is one thing that, coming to think of it, we don't need at all but we still have?


Trends in society...Trends in society...What are they?


In a world of change there can be no trends. But that's the answer to my question.
In a world of change.
Change is a trend in our world. Everyone is looking to change, to upgrade to the next level; everyone is ambitious.


        It's the need to succeed. Yes, that is what keeps society the way it is today.
           Our society today is defined by a manic rush for jobs; you are your job in this world. If you don't have, what society deems, a respectable job, then you have nothing. (Along with riches and fame,) job-glory/the image of prosperity is what drives the typical 2014 person the way he/she does (and I said typical).
              It consumes us: this need to prove ourselves as better, the best. Sometimes we forget to look at what we really want to do, because, maybe, what we want to do isn't accepted in society as “better” or “the best”.
This glory and idea of success are the pillars of our society. We're all hardwired to want glory and prosperity. The moment we stop listening to this preconceived idea of success, and start making our own plans, we break the cycle.

*Okay...whoo am I kidding? I read Hunger Games, and really wanted to read Divergent for a while.

Quote of The Day ~ Kurt Cobain

          Nirvana was before my time; I wish it wasn't. If music like that was on the mainstream in the 90s, it's no wonder my parents no longer listen to the radio today. I'm not a punk rock/grunge kinda girl myself, but their music is just so intoxicating, and so heartful. Under that lush sound is a song that's not all crap.        
         I've been wanting to do a Kurt Cobain quote for a long time now. Judging from his tumblr quotes, he seems like just the person who could spew profound philosophy just because; just the troubled misunderstood soul who comes up with untapped knowledge.

Did Kurt Cobain's death/suicide come as a surprise? I wouldn't have be too startled...
        I don't agree with Kurt Cobain, but I don't disagree with him either.

        If it's the difference between throwing a giant good-bye party for yourself and slipping away unnoticed, I would definitely pick the second option. It's so much better to fade away into the background without much ado; without a fight. Because it hurts both sides; it hurts to leave, and it hurts to be left. I believe it is wayy better to fade away and let the pain subside without making a it a big deal. The problem with slinking away unnoticed (besides making you look and feel like a coward) is that it puts a bad taste into all your memories. It doesn't provide closure (Philosophy Fact #2 Everyone seeks closure); saying goodbye -sometimes grandly- does. It would be nice to be remembered as the person with the fantastic party, and as the person from 'good times'. There are benefits to both fading away and burning out.

                Ugh there are soo many ways to look at this!

Burning out is like a tiny spark that lasts for a second; one minute it's there and the next, it's gone. The most important part of its existence-the thing it will always be remembered for- will be the way it ended with a show.
Burning out is like ripping a band-aid out quickly, feeling only momentary pain.
Burning out is like that one vibey tune you heard on the car radio on your daily commute one morning; it's short and sweet, and it makes your day.
Burning out is short. It's momentary. It's quick. And it's spectacular.
           Would a spark be any more beautiful if it lasted a long time? Would it be easier to gradually peel away the band-aid, fearing the pain more than feeling it? Would it be better if that fun, vibe-filled, tune lasted more than a couple minutes?

But fading away is like a book that goes on and on, losing momentum gradually. You don't want to continue reading, but you can't just stop.
Fading away is like playing a favorite game a million (and one) times and seeing all the possible scenarios- it get's boring towards the end, but at least you know that you've seen it all.
Fading away is like cancer. You know you're growing less distinct everyday, and you're ready for the end.
Fading away is knowing. It's familiar. It's steady. And it's comforting.
           Is it better to read a gripping short book than the one long one which slowly grows on you? Is it more fun to stop playing the best game you've ever played after you finish it once?
Is it better to die suddenly; in the middle of life...in the middle of a sentence.. than to be ready for it, and accept it before-hand?

            So here I am, back at square one. I've successfully argued both sides.
It's just that I don't like the idea of an end. I want everything to go on forever; I have goodbye issues. Don't we all? We just have to grit are teeth and do it- decide to end things. Change is good; always.
         So whether this change/end has been a long time coming, or just happened before you had a second to think, it's always going to be different. Not an upgrade, or a downgrade, just different.
        So what I'm trying to say is that there's no point wondering whether it's better to end things gradually, by fading away, or end them suddenly, like an unexpected burn out. The end is always going to be a change that we shouldn't worry about until we get to it.