Apathy

“So, what do you want to eat tonight?”

“I don’t know, I can go anywhere. Where do you want to go?”

“You know me, I’m up for any kind of food. I’m not even that hungry. Let’s just choose somewhere and eat.”

“Yeah, let’s just go. Just choose something, anything. I don’t even care at all.”

“It’s too hard to choose. Why don’t we just head over to the drive-thru or something and be done with this.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

This conversation isn’t just the premise for Weird Al’s hilarious parody, Trapped in the Drive Through, but it’s also the current sad state of our youth.

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Long Way Home

Seeing your home so close in front of you puts you in a panic.

It has been years, no, decades, since you’ve last been so close to home. So close to the embrace of your parents, so close to the familiar smell of rice cooking in the pot and the sweet stench of rice wine fermenting.

Walking up to the final bus stop, a spur of the moment decision puts you on the looping sightseeing bus, not the direct business route home. 6am in the morning leaves this bus eerily empty, even as the Microsoft employees grudgingly pile onto the other bus.

“Ha, suckers” you think to yourself. this route was twice as long but half as cheap, because compared to today’s motto of “time is money”, these rat racers can’t lose a single moment of their precious, money-making time.

You’ve had your share of that. You’ve had your share of greed and misanthropy, of jealousy and lust. So many long years were spent wandering out in those cold nights, hoping for change, change that would give your autistic daughter a better life in the future, change that your friends could accept your philanthropy, that they wouldn’t laugh when you had your educational startup in Africa.

But now wasn’t the time for that. Challenges were past, now was the time to finally get back to home.

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Farewell

swinging on the tip of the plane
as it cuts through the dark night.
gazing upwards to twinkling stars
but downwards to my heart.

departing from the land I loved,
from the place where time was still,
still moving even through golden days
and silver nights, resting on memories passed.

memories of the days of old
where not I, but others were the ones to go.
bidding adeus and farewells, but not long
’till teardrops fell like heavy welts upon the earth.

day after day turning into year after year
and yet never getting over the heartbreak
of leaving behind those familiar faces
and passing by, as ships in the distance.

but each bittersweet departure between friends
only opens up more to be explored,
only makes this dark planet a bit brighter,
only makes me closer to this small world of ours

and as the chilly air cuts through my mind
my thoughts turn crystal as the green light beckons me on
onwards to a new future and a bright beginning
chasing the horizon to the edges of the earth

but the compass for a fantastic future
will always be cemented in the lives of our past
And no matter how the dreams of our future change
we find solace in the friends we have made, in the gentle embraces, in the sweet farewells of the past.

The End

As the school year winds down, my mind turns to a more contemplative state, of times gone past.

The natural tendency at this time of graduations and promotions seems to indulge in some fond memories as the teachers grow more lax and there finally emerges the hopes of free time.

Reminiscing about the past has the ability to bring many tears of joy to your eyes, as the memories of success and bliss can be quite powerful. But, just as importantly, one must remember the mistakes, the hardships, the blunders and stupidity of times past.

I have not lived up to my goals, and I am disappointed.

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To Be an Activist

You don’t get up one morning and just think, man, how great it would be to protest for something!

You don’t just think, oh I would love to give all this that I have in order to pursue a thankless cause.

You don’t consider in the middle of the night, wouldn’t it just be great if I became hated by those around me in order to do what I believe is right.

Becoming an activist is tough.

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