Each level of primary education is its own circle of Hell, especially in the public system (my school’s architect also designed prisons, which have the intentional psychological effect of hopelessness). The administration torments students; teachers torment students; students torment students; students torment themselves. No person will emerge unscathed.
The intelligent are often held back. The struggling often receive no aid. Most students will become jaded in one way or another. They will be reluctant to pick up a book of their own accord because they’ve been forced to pick up so many the teachers themselves disdain, but respectfully abide by the curriculum in their instruction.
What is a better option, though? What can be done to truly change and improve the system? Private institutions are not solutions. Their sheltered products enter the world and degrade themselves in overindulgence. Parents won’t be willing to teach their own children. Few would have the commitment and abilities to teach themselves.
Regardless of what many choose to believe, society is advancing, and education has been one of the most important facets involved. The education system may be heavily flawed, but, for now, there is no better alternative; we all must suffer through it and hope to come out alive.
My English teacher’s first assignment for us was a “culture bag:” five items, one bag. The point wasn’t to bring in pasta sauce and talk about how you’re from Italy. The items had to be a symbol of some deep characteristic of self. My fifth item was a mistake: I didn’t even know we needed to have five items. I thought we only needed four, so that’s what I arrived with.
Disparaged and hopeless, I, naturally, looked down. I pondered my options as I peered into my bag. My first consideration was to use the bag, itself. Initially, the solution was a cop-out, but meaning found its way into view later on.
Earlier that morning, or the night before, I picked up the bag, heavily weighted with the other items already in it, by one handle. The paper of a single side could not take all the weight and subsequently ripped. The bag was the perfect size for my items and one of the very few in my house that didn’t have a brand name or logo on it, so I taped the tear and made a mental note to be careful when picking it up.
I didn’t have to think very much about what I would say; the symbolism glowed. My bag was my mind—any mind, really.
Mind holds all the elements of self, but then life happens. Mind becomes battered, beaten, ripped, torn; emotions fall to shambles. Mind must pick up the spilled pieces of self and repair the damage dealt by life. Sometimes, mind cannot hold all that it did before, and it must let go.
The bag held symbols of myself. When it tore, all the items fell out. I had to fix the rip and put all the parts back inside.
People face many hardships in life. They are hurt and betrayed by their friends, family, acquaintances, and foes. The weight of existence, complimented by these pains, stacks up over time. No man can hold the weight of the world—let alone the burden of his own being. People break down, lose themselves, but they have to find as many fragments as they can and bring them back together, stitch them into tattered articles of clothing to wear proudly to the world.
I walked past a woman and a man discussing another couple. From what I gathered, the other couple had no children or descendants, who might be subject to gain from the couple’s post-mortem wishes, and was considering an investment in a large house or something of the sort.
The woman thought the couple’s lack of children to mean they have no future and subsequently stated, “Why invest when you don’t have a future?” (Although that is actually a question, she gave it as a statement.)
Besides the fact that I think we’ve transcended Darwin’s definition of “fit” in regard to child-rearing and “having a future,” I couldn’t help but respond in my head with, “Why not?”
Does any of us actually have a future? Does the human race even have a future? In a previous post, I touched on the certainty of the universe’s ending. I’ve come back to elaborate on it.
Keeping that in mind, there is no point to life. There is no meaning. Not only do we all die at the end of our personal lifetimes, but so will the entire species and all others, too, yet we are still given these lifetimes. Each generation lives and breaths with the goal of progressing society, a society that will be nonexistent.
What can be made of a life with no true and lasting purpose outside of itself? From my understanding of existentialism, the general consensus among its followers is there is no point to life, and, thus, each human must create his own meaning. Even in an internal regard, I still don’t think there is any meaning, so the title to this piece is, actually, incorrect.
What can be made of a life with no true and lasting purpose inside of itself? The answer doesn’t matter because the fact is that we have this life. Why not simply live to be happy? Don’t turn this around on me and say, “What if being happy is the meaning of life?” There is no reason to be happy; there is no purpose for being happy, but why not?
I have an extreme fascination with nothingness. Nothing seems to be the only reality. If a woman tells you she loves you, you cannot be sure of whether or not she is lying or infatuated. If a woman feels nothing for you, you can be sure it is true.
If a man is dying but there are still treatments left, the doctors cannot be sure if he will die or not. If there are no options left, they know he will die.
When nothing is left, when nothing is there, you are forced to accept that reality. Somethingness is vague, foggy, obscure, and subjective.
I do not necessarily want to live in nothingness, but I can depend on nothing.
As I was walking through Barnes & Noble, searching for various books on writing, a book titled Spunk & Bite by Authur Plotnik caught my attention. I am familiar with William Strunk Jr.’s and E. B. White’s The Elements of Style and noticed the play on words between the title of the former and the authors of the latter.
Curious, I picked up the book to see what Plotnik would inevitably have to say about Strunk and White. What I found was a denouncement of the supposed strictness developed by them. Unless Plotnik was simply following the ideology I am about to write on, which I doubt based on his language, he is one of the many people who do not understand what goes behind making a strong point.
Although it may appear otherwise, most people who have made powerful lasting statements probably realize that their statements are not absolute. However, a concept must be presented as if it were absolute fact if it does not wish to appear weak.
Imagine being told, “red might be better than blue,” as opposed to, “red is better than blue.” Which has a stronger impact?
There have been and there are still people who speak as though every word from their mouths is of unquestionable truth, but when it comes to someone great enough to have been revered for decades, I think it is more than likely that such a person knew he or she was not undeniably correct but bit the bullet of falsifying arrogance in order for the world to hear him or her.
What makes someone or something great has many subjective aspects to it, but that is a discussion for another date. The following text will be based off the vague concept that a great person is one who has the chance to affect the world in a positive manner on a relatively large scale outside of himself.
A problem that many great people face is the so-called limitations of self. I am referring to the irrational psychological roadblocks, which, admittedly, stem from the rational, that humans create for themselves. We fear failure, criticism, pain, and much more. It causes many to buckle under the pressure of society and not share their gift with the world.
A few, however, have the ability to overcome the personally afflicted limitations of self yet not live up to their full “potential.” Such people have, instead, found contentment and inner happiness in lives that others may call simple.
I applaud such people’s ability to find enough joy within themselves that they can feel fully satisfied, their ability to need no praise from a large scale audience. These people are not selfish. They still give all they can to the people they directly know who directly give back.
Some of the greatest people are those who are the greatest to themselves. All the universe will eventually end, and everything created on a global level will be no more. It is not to say, however, that any and all human accomplishments will be meaningless. No one can truly decide that.
Why should there be a necessity to strive for global productivity in order to satisfy the self and die with meaning?
tumblrbot said: WHAT IS YOUR EARLIEST HUMAN MEMORY?
I was around two years old. I woke up to find that I had dropped my pacifier over the side of the bed, which I either could not reach or was too afraid to try. At the time, I had a stuffed monkey in the likeness of baby that had a pacifier attached to its hand. I decided to use the monkey’s in lieu of mine for the night.