I always have to multi-task whenever I talk on the phone with my mom because it's the only way to mollify my temper and avoid heated arguments. Tonight I spent the conversation sorting through a box of old, miscellaneous papers trying to find items I could throw away. The box contained anything from magazine clippings, posters, old homework assignments, quotes, and other writings, and I stumbled upon a ranting page of free-verse I had written long ago:
"Is it true, that some people just are not meant to make it? Imbalances, guilt, sympathy, and physical restraints are all in the way. We are given these dreams, uncontrollable and so very frail, and full heartedly believe that a full life is one where these dreams are conquered. We all know these, no matter how many choose to look away, but under what circumstances? Reality, right? That is so indefinable, but really it is not. We just make so many excuses for ourselves, that we lose touch with what we are given, instead of what we desire. It is so much easier. Society and specialization make it so much easier. That is why they were developed so long ago. A horrible, horrible fairy tale. Yes, we have made life easier, but at what expense? It was once about survival, but we are beyond that. It is now about dreams. Dreams that we avoid. Dreams that we try to manipulate but then only leave us feeling spiritually vacant. And I fear that no one cares. I fear that I will grow to no longer care..."
It continues further, but goes off on a tangent. I have no recollection of writing it and there's no way of dating it beyond the roughness of the sides, which imply printing from one of those ancient dot-matrix printers with the perforated, tear-off edges. Of course, every instance of "we" should more appropriately say "I." Some points in it are confusing, others melodramatic, but what struck me as disheartening was that even realizing all that at a younger age, I still took the path that I did.
If there's anything good to say, at least I still care.
"Is it true, that some people just are not meant to make it? Imbalances, guilt, sympathy, and physical restraints are all in the way. We are given these dreams, uncontrollable and so very frail, and full heartedly believe that a full life is one where these dreams are conquered. We all know these, no matter how many choose to look away, but under what circumstances? Reality, right? That is so indefinable, but really it is not. We just make so many excuses for ourselves, that we lose touch with what we are given, instead of what we desire. It is so much easier. Society and specialization make it so much easier. That is why they were developed so long ago. A horrible, horrible fairy tale. Yes, we have made life easier, but at what expense? It was once about survival, but we are beyond that. It is now about dreams. Dreams that we avoid. Dreams that we try to manipulate but then only leave us feeling spiritually vacant. And I fear that no one cares. I fear that I will grow to no longer care..."
It continues further, but goes off on a tangent. I have no recollection of writing it and there's no way of dating it beyond the roughness of the sides, which imply printing from one of those ancient dot-matrix printers with the perforated, tear-off edges. Of course, every instance of "we" should more appropriately say "I." Some points in it are confusing, others melodramatic, but what struck me as disheartening was that even realizing all that at a younger age, I still took the path that I did.
If there's anything good to say, at least I still care.
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