Yearning for Yesterday vs. The Vicious Cycle

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.