We'll die in the class that we're born. Well, it's a class of our own my love.'
I'd rather be a romantic failure than a predictable success.
We're born. We go to school. We work. We retire. We die. A life like any other, bound by society and its unyielding reach that traps us in this monotony. Rigid timetables and bundles of paperwork keep us company as we sit, tired and uninspired. The commute home is silent, thoughtless, and blank. Whatever rest we manage to muster is only interrupted by our alarm clocks. Our days are like a Halloween pumpkin, moulded yet hollow, smiling wickedly at our dissatisfaction. We'll tire, and not the sleep kind. Imagine this repeating. Everyday.
I wouldn't be able to bear it. I can't even bear thinking of the possibility of this as my future. Such strangled repetition, and for what? Money, probably. That little palm-sized piece of paper that guarantees happiness, or so we're taught. I've never understood the value of it. People question me, asking 'Don't you want to have a big house and nice things?'. I've always said no. It's not about that. It's not about living an unfulfilled life for the sake of temporary pleasures. We forget those in the end. Our memories don't save space for such things. I want to do what I know I'd love to do, not something forced and meaningless. Apparently that means I'm destined to fail.
I don't mind. What would I be failing at anyway? Would I be disappointed that I couldn't impress people with expensive cars and pricey trinkets? The world is pretentious. We're deceived into pursuing things that we don't even want. A ceaseless chase which traps us with the belief that we'll be set free by it. We fear the dark, yet we chase shadows. I don't want to be tied down by that, to have to sacrifice my own happiness for 'happiness'. If that requires me to fail, then I will. I'll enjoy every second of it.
'Sleepwalking through every moment we took for granted.'
P/s : Arief Hamizan's. Seriously all his writings are my favourite. (Y)