The generation that chose me is one that I did
not choose back but had to be in it anyway. Among life's choices, belonging to another generation is one that I cannot ferret on.
I disclaim that the curiosity and, at the same
time, longing to belong in the olden days is that portion of my brain that
demands to escape life. Rather, it is my continual resistance to the forward
movement by way of modern technology.
I do not have any personal grudges against the
speedy production brought by it. I am not in favor of its detrimental results
to the essence of being human. But most especially, I don't agree with its
aftereffects to nature.
Life is beautiful, as everyone claims, and I
choose to live in such. But the essentials of living in this world have become
as non-evident as the smoke of a put out fire--the values, like the smoke,
disappear altogether.
I don't really see the meaning of anything
anymore. It seems that as time moves forward and prices up, life's worth and
anything else that goes with it plummets to a drop beyond retrieval. The scope
of our eyes' vision can see one fourth of the better world, everything else is
an add-on that makes life not beautiful.
The Chase, or not.
I can run but I don't do it to chase around. I
run for my life, that's what I do. I merely plan to survive. I am not geared to
compete or be on top. I simply want to keep my serial breaths of air at its
best for as long as I live.
If I may act differently from what you have
initially took as an impression of me, that is because I am exploring other
things this world has to offer. Not that I plan to deceive or entirely change
my view. I just want to take a peek at that angle. A scant turn to the adjacent
side but worlds totally disparate.
My quest is to pass by the earth on a peaceful
ground and a placid journey. I would acquiescingly follow paths, tumbles and
turns. I can create a new path for others to follow but I will never tear down
an existing road for my gain.
Back in time.
If only time could have been as flexible as a
rubber. Stretches out and springs back to its equilibrium length. I could have
lived in all the recorded time in history. I could have understood how easy it
was to deal with the things deemed as difficult today. I could have lived raw
and ripen with age. I could have been a better person, or genuine to better put
it. But I am merely playing with sheer imagination or hope. Nothing more.
My life, just like any other, is not an extraordinary
kind. I am one of the ants piled up on a wall. Same color. Same size. Same
purpose.
I am one of those who will die when the earth
decides to give up. But while the earth is deciding on blowing off, the future
generation can think of today as something pure. Then yearn for it, too.
It will be a cycle. Then purity of age becomes
a myth.
