I looked around and see all kinds of people, moving along, walking down the path where the rat race was held. Some people were faster, and they surged ahead. Some stopped to help the slower ones, while the more ruthless ran them over.
Having walked down this road for years, I grew weary and started to question my purpose. Why was I devoting my life to this, when I didn't even know where the final destination is, or what the winner of the rat race would get. Suddenly, everything around me blurred, and the boundaries I thought existed, vanished into thin air. And just like that,
I've lost all motivation to survive.
Turning my sights on the other lesser-traveled path, I have instead decided to live.
-On a short break sorting my priorities out-
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Liberate
So recently, I asked what people thought about prostitution, and why they're being scrutinized.
Sure enough, the answers I got were stereotypical to say the least.
A prostitute in the eyes of society are:
1.People who sell their body and conscience
2.Shameless
3.Not worthy of sympathy and respect
4.Weak
Those are just a few out of the hundreds of accusations bombarded at them at a regular basis.
A good start would be to think before you talk, so lets consider the following points.
I've had someone say that "to call prostitution a job is an insult."
A job, as defined by the dictionary, is:
Sure enough, the answers I got were stereotypical to say the least.
A prostitute in the eyes of society are:
1.People who sell their body and conscience
2.Shameless
3.Not worthy of sympathy and respect
4.Weak
Those are just a few out of the hundreds of accusations bombarded at them at a regular basis.
A good start would be to think before you talk, so lets consider the following points.
I've had someone say that "to call prostitution a job is an insult."
A job, as defined by the dictionary, is:
A piece of work, especially a specific task done as part of the routine of one's occupation or for an agreed price.
Sounds familiar? A specific task done as part of the routine of one's occupation - sex.
Now on to the bigger issue.
On one hand, people view prostitutes as immoral, filthy whores; but if you think about it, they're just taking advantage of human weaknesses.
I pose a scenario: If a wife catches her husband patronizing a prostitute, who is at fault, the husband or the latter? Far too often, housewives blame the latter, they say it's their fault that the husbands go astray. Is that really the case? If an employer is caught stealing from the company's safe, does the manager blame him or the money that's sitting there?
Prostitutes can be characterized along with money as Temptation. When a person falls into sin, it's not the fault of the sin for being there, but the person for succumbing to temptation. Similarly, the husband is clearly at fault for being weak-minded and not the prostitutes for trying to entice him.
Secondly, consider this; many of us today want to make it big, we take up corporate jobs hoping to climb all the way to the top. Many of us dream of big houses, fast cars and a jet-set lifestyle.
Some of us will eventually climb to the top, but hardly by honest means. Backstabbing, bootlicking, sabotage, spreading gossip, bribery, corruption; just to name a few. If anything, these acts are worse than what prostitutes are doing, for in their case, the patrons choose to sin, but for us, WE choose to commit these acts. That said, how are we any better than the common slut?
We sell our conscience too. We're like the corporate prostitutes; we sell our souls for money.
In conclusion, am I condoning prostitution? No. Are they immoral? Probably. Are they then filthy and evil? That's not for us to judge, for we're all filthy people, just that some choose not to hide that part of themselves, while others like you and I, keep that prostitute in us,
hidden within our masquerade.
Sounds familiar? A specific task done as part of the routine of one's occupation - sex.
Now on to the bigger issue.
On one hand, people view prostitutes as immoral, filthy whores; but if you think about it, they're just taking advantage of human weaknesses.
I pose a scenario: If a wife catches her husband patronizing a prostitute, who is at fault, the husband or the latter? Far too often, housewives blame the latter, they say it's their fault that the husbands go astray. Is that really the case? If an employer is caught stealing from the company's safe, does the manager blame him or the money that's sitting there?
Prostitutes can be characterized along with money as Temptation. When a person falls into sin, it's not the fault of the sin for being there, but the person for succumbing to temptation. Similarly, the husband is clearly at fault for being weak-minded and not the prostitutes for trying to entice him.
Secondly, consider this; many of us today want to make it big, we take up corporate jobs hoping to climb all the way to the top. Many of us dream of big houses, fast cars and a jet-set lifestyle.
Some of us will eventually climb to the top, but hardly by honest means. Backstabbing, bootlicking, sabotage, spreading gossip, bribery, corruption; just to name a few. If anything, these acts are worse than what prostitutes are doing, for in their case, the patrons choose to sin, but for us, WE choose to commit these acts. That said, how are we any better than the common slut?
We sell our conscience too. We're like the corporate prostitutes; we sell our souls for money.
In conclusion, am I condoning prostitution? No. Are they immoral? Probably. Are they then filthy and evil? That's not for us to judge, for we're all filthy people, just that some choose not to hide that part of themselves, while others like you and I, keep that prostitute in us,
hidden within our masquerade.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Highway 6
I'm in a daze.. don't know what happened, or what's going on..
My head hurts, and I can't see what's in front of me. The silence down in the abyss is deafening.
I only recalled my parents telling me to stay clear of the highway, not to be drawn to it by the gilded pavement or the jet black gravel; not to ogle the fast cars whizzing by.
I think I listened.. kinda. I slung on my luggage and trudged ahead. It took me several days, though it seemed like every ounce of energy had been drained from me. Feverish and exhausted, I stopped in my tracks. There, right there, ahead of me, stood the beautiful highway. I was blinded for a moment, and when I thought it was due to the glaring rays of the sun, I saw a hint of glitter.
So the legends were true, the bridge existed, the gold was real.. and the people, boy did they worship the damn pavements. People, from all walks of life, practically kissing the floor. Some tried to hack at it, hoping to take some gold home. The pavement would not budge, and they grew weary from the wasted effort. I took my eyes off the people and saw all types of expensive cars at full speed, weaving through each other like an urban wave. The path was straight, perfect for me.. but I remembered my parents' warning, and I turned right.
The path in front was daunting. Narrow and rough, I tripped right on the first step and scraped my knee. Blood oozed out, but I got used to it; after all, that's not the only thing draining away from my body. As I traversed the difficult terrain, I realized that the path was directly below the highway. Looking up, a drop of black, oily substance hit my face. Gasoline, tar, the vehicular waste was mocking my choice. Underneath the highway was its true nature; the dirty yellow paint was peeling and filth inhabited all of its corners. All of its splendor was replaced by a grim layer of deception.
After what seemed like hours, the path finally turned, encircling a hill. A waft of fresh air embraced my senses, freeing me from the deadly stench of exhaust. I deliberately walked at a slower pace, hoping that this temporary grant of freedom would last.. but as the last patch of nature slipped away from sight, I found myself looking at the end of the path..
and screamed in anguish. What seemed like the light at the end of the tunnel led right back to the highway. Some people saw me and laughed in scorn.
"You fool! You should've taken the highway!."
More people joined in the mocking, pointing fingers at me. I looked down, regretting all those times I foolishly followed what I thought was right. Below where I stood was nothingness, an endless abyss. Perhaps...
I lept; the fall took forever.. the last thing I saw was oncoming darkness as I closed my eyes and waited my demise.
Wait, back up, I remember now. The people who laughed at me.. they didn't have faces, just hollow sockets and pitch black lips. And their skin.. the lifelessness of it frightened me. It was like, they had no soul. Perhaps that was the 'filth' I saw underneath..
And it dawned on me; I'm free, free from the cackling ghouls, free from the shackles of unholy pleasures, free from the weakness of the flesh, free from the route to death, and even as I breathe my last, I know I'll open my eyes to a better place. I'm free,
free from Highway 6.
My head hurts, and I can't see what's in front of me. The silence down in the abyss is deafening.
I only recalled my parents telling me to stay clear of the highway, not to be drawn to it by the gilded pavement or the jet black gravel; not to ogle the fast cars whizzing by.
I think I listened.. kinda. I slung on my luggage and trudged ahead. It took me several days, though it seemed like every ounce of energy had been drained from me. Feverish and exhausted, I stopped in my tracks. There, right there, ahead of me, stood the beautiful highway. I was blinded for a moment, and when I thought it was due to the glaring rays of the sun, I saw a hint of glitter.
So the legends were true, the bridge existed, the gold was real.. and the people, boy did they worship the damn pavements. People, from all walks of life, practically kissing the floor. Some tried to hack at it, hoping to take some gold home. The pavement would not budge, and they grew weary from the wasted effort. I took my eyes off the people and saw all types of expensive cars at full speed, weaving through each other like an urban wave. The path was straight, perfect for me.. but I remembered my parents' warning, and I turned right.
The path in front was daunting. Narrow and rough, I tripped right on the first step and scraped my knee. Blood oozed out, but I got used to it; after all, that's not the only thing draining away from my body. As I traversed the difficult terrain, I realized that the path was directly below the highway. Looking up, a drop of black, oily substance hit my face. Gasoline, tar, the vehicular waste was mocking my choice. Underneath the highway was its true nature; the dirty yellow paint was peeling and filth inhabited all of its corners. All of its splendor was replaced by a grim layer of deception.
After what seemed like hours, the path finally turned, encircling a hill. A waft of fresh air embraced my senses, freeing me from the deadly stench of exhaust. I deliberately walked at a slower pace, hoping that this temporary grant of freedom would last.. but as the last patch of nature slipped away from sight, I found myself looking at the end of the path..
and screamed in anguish. What seemed like the light at the end of the tunnel led right back to the highway. Some people saw me and laughed in scorn.
"You fool! You should've taken the highway!."
More people joined in the mocking, pointing fingers at me. I looked down, regretting all those times I foolishly followed what I thought was right. Below where I stood was nothingness, an endless abyss. Perhaps...
I lept; the fall took forever.. the last thing I saw was oncoming darkness as I closed my eyes and waited my demise.
Wait, back up, I remember now. The people who laughed at me.. they didn't have faces, just hollow sockets and pitch black lips. And their skin.. the lifelessness of it frightened me. It was like, they had no soul. Perhaps that was the 'filth' I saw underneath..
And it dawned on me; I'm free, free from the cackling ghouls, free from the shackles of unholy pleasures, free from the weakness of the flesh, free from the route to death, and even as I breathe my last, I know I'll open my eyes to a better place. I'm free,
free from Highway 6.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Source of Joy
Sooo, here's part two of my boredom at work.
I've done some math which will actually delight my soul.
I present to you, the numbers that will pave my way to freedom!
*Assuming I go to work whenever I'm supposed to: a.k.a full attendance
Total duration of my internship (including holidays and weekends):
116 Days
2784 Hours
First, I shall deduct all weekends and public holidays from the total.
I will then have:
78 Days
1872 Hours
Now considering that I reach the office everyday at 8am and leave at 5.30pm from Mondays to Thursdays and 5pm on Fridays, I officially have to work for:
733 Hours
And essentially,
30.5 Days (rounded to 1 decimal place)
Finally, after deducting the days I have already worked, I only have:
422 Hours
17.6 Days LEFT
*Additional Notes if you'd like to calculate yours too
Assuming you operate on the same semester as me, which runs from:
24th October 2011 - 16th February 2011
6 public holidays
(17 * 2) - 2 weekends (17 weeks, excluding week 17's weekends because we end on a Thursday)
A 8 - 5.30 shift equates to 9.5 Hours/day.
CAN YOU GUYS SEE HOW HAPPY THIS MAKES ME?
Just this once, Math is all I need to be high as a kite.
Have a good day!
I've done some math which will actually delight my soul.
I present to you, the numbers that will pave my way to freedom!
*Assuming I go to work whenever I'm supposed to: a.k.a full attendance
Total duration of my internship (including holidays and weekends):
116 Days
2784 Hours
First, I shall deduct all weekends and public holidays from the total.
I will then have:
78 Days
1872 Hours
Now considering that I reach the office everyday at 8am and leave at 5.30pm from Mondays to Thursdays and 5pm on Fridays, I officially have to work for:
733 Hours
And essentially,
30.5 Days (rounded to 1 decimal place)
Finally, after deducting the days I have already worked, I only have:
422 Hours
17.6 Days LEFT
*Additional Notes if you'd like to calculate yours too
Assuming you operate on the same semester as me, which runs from:
24th October 2011 - 16th February 2011
6 public holidays
(17 * 2) - 2 weekends (17 weeks, excluding week 17's weekends because we end on a Thursday)
A 8 - 5.30 shift equates to 9.5 Hours/day.
CAN YOU GUYS SEE HOW HAPPY THIS MAKES ME?
Just this once, Math is all I need to be high as a kite.
Have a good day!
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Benjamin's Last Stand
For all those who did not already know, I'm holed up in some place doing my internship,
a.k.a wasting those hours which could potentially be used to hmm, I don't know, be productive.
I know I have been blabbering about how I fucked my end-teenage years by picking the course I grew
to utterly hate within the first week of its commencement. (you may laugh now.)
-But really, when it comes to looking at things from another angle, boy did I learn a great deal from those
three years.
People often make the mistake of taking things at face value instead of examining the deeper, unnoticed but more
important things in the background, only visible to those who bother to look. Take my case for instance: On the surface, I seem to have wasted those years wallowing in self-pity while vastly adding profanities in my vocabulary as I secretly chanted for my lecturer's head to go. Those who say that you can be good at ANYTHING so long as you try hard enough, should be stoned to death. There are reasons why people specialize in things instead of trying to be the jack of all trades. While I probably didn't give a flying fuck about those damned lines of codes most of the time; but when I did, I crashed and burned, thus concluding that I've learnt absolutely nothing, right? WRONG; in fact I've picked up more valuable lessons and skills than those taught at school.
Friendship
We all make friends at some point, but to actually value them takes a lot more than building sandcastles and playing tag while rolling in pits of mud. Some people marvel at the fact that I've passed all my modules, and my friends are the main reasons why. Taking pity on me, they let me on their project group and carried me with their good grades, instead of leaving me for dead on the pavement. I don't think assignments remembered to factor in that very friendship into the grading criteria.
EQ
I strongly believe that no matter what your college promoters say, it's a haven for many socially destructive mongrels. Making friends can either be very easy or extremely tricky. In college, people all appreciate a little sense of humor and charisma. Don't be emo and hide in a corner and you'll be a-ok!
" insert clichéd saying repeated by (parent's/relative's name) like (any number over 9000) times"
Silly as it sounds, yes it's true. You see endless opportunities to put that into good use. In this generation, we're all pampered brats, whether you'd like to admit it or crawl into a hole and die.Perhaps out of rebellion, you choose to follow the norm, but norm is what kills most people in college, not socially, but emotionally.
Though I graduate academically, the syllabus for those lessons will continue for the rest of my life.
Now tell me you can find them in a chapter somewhere in a textbook.
a.k.a wasting those hours which could potentially be used to hmm, I don't know, be productive.
I know I have been blabbering about how I fucked my end-teenage years by picking the course I grew
to utterly hate within the first week of its commencement. (you may laugh now.)
-But really, when it comes to looking at things from another angle, boy did I learn a great deal from those
three years.
People often make the mistake of taking things at face value instead of examining the deeper, unnoticed but more
important things in the background, only visible to those who bother to look. Take my case for instance: On the surface, I seem to have wasted those years wallowing in self-pity while vastly adding profanities in my vocabulary as I secretly chanted for my lecturer's head to go. Those who say that you can be good at ANYTHING so long as you try hard enough, should be stoned to death. There are reasons why people specialize in things instead of trying to be the jack of all trades. While I probably didn't give a flying fuck about those damned lines of codes most of the time; but when I did, I crashed and burned, thus concluding that I've learnt absolutely nothing, right? WRONG; in fact I've picked up more valuable lessons and skills than those taught at school.
Friendship
We all make friends at some point, but to actually value them takes a lot more than building sandcastles and playing tag while rolling in pits of mud. Some people marvel at the fact that I've passed all my modules, and my friends are the main reasons why. Taking pity on me, they let me on their project group and carried me with their good grades, instead of leaving me for dead on the pavement. I don't think assignments remembered to factor in that very friendship into the grading criteria.
EQ
I strongly believe that no matter what your college promoters say, it's a haven for many socially destructive mongrels. Making friends can either be very easy or extremely tricky. In college, people all appreciate a little sense of humor and charisma. Don't be emo and hide in a corner and you'll be a-ok!
Silly as it sounds, yes it's true. You see endless opportunities to put that into good use. In this generation, we're all pampered brats, whether you'd like to admit it or crawl into a hole and die.Perhaps out of rebellion, you choose to follow the norm, but norm is what kills most people in college, not socially, but emotionally.
Though I graduate academically, the syllabus for those lessons will continue for the rest of my life.
Now tell me you can find them in a chapter somewhere in a textbook.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Technological Humour
The internet is a funny place these days.
Gone were the times when I could play a simple game without coming across an ad for a porn site, and gone were the times when I would not click on those links. I can't deny that the internet has become a staple of my life; even as I'm typing this, I require internet access to do so. It's a little bit ironic, that I would renege on the very tool that gave me at the very least, a decent amount of satisfaction over the years... and here is my reason:
Online Communities
Don't get me wrong, I love making friends, and some of my closer ones actually had origins from the internet. However, like any other double-edged sword, there's always a downside somewhere. While I get a magnified view of my peer's lives, I also get the same enlarged peek into the stupidity of others. Facebook, for example, has become a tool to legalize e-whoring.
If you have seen the following:
A person with several thousand friends
That same person posting things such as:
"Like if you're awake."
"30 likes and I'm pretty."
(I would like to add that this only applies to people posting it for the likes)
"roflololmao I just slapped my mother."
" Please like the picture, not the link."
Chances are, that person is an e-whore. Oh dear, is it wrong to laugh at these people, I was told making fun of mentally-challenged people is wrong. Anyway..
I don't think people need to be told to like something, because if I, for instance, like something simply because I was TOLD to, then I'm not really liking that certain something. This often happens when someone is competing in a contest. Out of the blue, I'll get a message, and then getting really excited because I haven't talked to that person in aeons. Instead of a "OMG HI HOW R U!", I get a "OMG LIKE MY PIC PLZ HERE R LINK:".
So why give inventive names to these contests when in actuality, it's nothing more than a "how many friends want to get in your pants" thing?
My point is, advertising should be regulated. Posting your work on the internet is alright, and if it's good, people will automatically like it. You don't need to spam mails and messages to perpetually pester me for my approval.
Next up, love quotes. Sometimes you find a good love quote, and you want to share them with your friends. That, is completely normal. I'm talking about the ones who continuously post quote after quote to sound deep and get their five thousand friends to like it and go, "Oh my this person is so insightful, so thoughtful, so emotionally beautiful!!11"
I can tell the difference by the way, when your usual grammatically poor statuses are suddenly replaced by ones that are correct. Also, sympathy will not be given to those who claim to be going through a rough patch as I will think you're still an attention whore. When one is down, he/she either a) talks to a close friend about it or b) keeps it all in. You do not post shit on your wall to get likes, because if you're well enough to obsess about how much attention you're getting, then the problems you have are obviously not serious.
I think that pretty much explains my random fits of laughter whenever I check my news feed on Facebook because half those statuses are exactly as I have mentioned. I guess it works both ways though, as much as I find them ridiculous, I still need a source of laughter after a long day at work and 9gag is really getting old.
Funny how the internet works, isn't it?
Gone were the times when I could play a simple game without coming across an ad for a porn site, and gone were the times when I would not click on those links. I can't deny that the internet has become a staple of my life; even as I'm typing this, I require internet access to do so. It's a little bit ironic, that I would renege on the very tool that gave me at the very least, a decent amount of satisfaction over the years... and here is my reason:
Online Communities
Don't get me wrong, I love making friends, and some of my closer ones actually had origins from the internet. However, like any other double-edged sword, there's always a downside somewhere. While I get a magnified view of my peer's lives, I also get the same enlarged peek into the stupidity of others. Facebook, for example, has become a tool to legalize e-whoring.
If you have seen the following:
A person with several thousand friends
That same person posting things such as:
"Like if you're awake."
"30 likes and I'm pretty."
"roflololmao I just slapped my mother."
"
Chances are, that person is an e-whore. Oh dear, is it wrong to laugh at these people, I was told making fun of mentally-challenged people is wrong. Anyway..
I don't think people need to be told to like something, because if I, for instance, like something simply because I was TOLD to, then I'm not really liking that certain something. This often happens when someone is competing in a contest. Out of the blue, I'll get a message, and then getting really excited because I haven't talked to that person in aeons. Instead of a "OMG HI HOW R U!", I get a "OMG LIKE MY PIC PLZ HERE R LINK:".
So why give inventive names to these contests when in actuality, it's nothing more than a "how many friends want to get in your pants" thing?
My point is, advertising should be regulated. Posting your work on the internet is alright, and if it's good, people will automatically like it. You don't need to spam mails and messages to perpetually pester me for my approval.
Next up, love quotes. Sometimes you find a good love quote, and you want to share them with your friends. That, is completely normal. I'm talking about the ones who continuously post quote after quote to sound deep and get their five thousand friends to like it and go, "Oh my this person is so insightful, so thoughtful, so emotionally beautiful!!11"
I can tell the difference by the way, when your usual grammatically poor statuses are suddenly replaced by ones that are correct. Also, sympathy will not be given to those who claim to be going through a rough patch as I will think you're still an attention whore. When one is down, he/she either a) talks to a close friend about it or b) keeps it all in. You do not post shit on your wall to get likes, because if you're well enough to obsess about how much attention you're getting, then the problems you have are obviously not serious.
I think that pretty much explains my random fits of laughter whenever I check my news feed on Facebook because half those statuses are exactly as I have mentioned. I guess it works both ways though, as much as I find them ridiculous, I still need a source of laughter after a long day at work and 9gag is really getting old.
Funny how the internet works, isn't it?
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