I've been wanting to find a place to share some of my work for quite some time now... and what place could be better than a public forum filled with strangers? Anyway, sarcasm aside, I'd really love to have you all share in this experience with me. So, without further ado, let's begin.
A Personal Experience With Reality
When one speaks of reality, it is with great ease that the many intellectual beings that reside within our world, within ourselves, even, assume the realization of a not-too farfetched idea of a manic and finance-based world, wherein all that evokes our happiness can be obtained with a quick flask of a green note. This is, to some extent, the plight of the rich, plagued by power and variable quantities of spare time, both of which they are not greatly equipped to deal with. In equal measure such a thought, in its all-consuming efficacy, is inconceivable to me… or rather, it was. If the rich are to be plagued by time and power, should it not follow that the poor be irreconcilably deprived of such things? As a child, the day-to-day function of life ran on simplicities; a warm smile, a loving hug and simple, unexplained laughter, something a rich fellow could never hope to emulate with all the valuables he could muster. It had meaning. It made sense. Family was the primary source of fulfilment as a child, for only it could simultaneously nurture, love and teach in ways as unique as the individuals themselves. Family, too, was, in my opinion, a form of protection from the truest nature of the world, and the ways, both terrible and good, but never perfect, that the world kept itself from falling apart.
Time, that could fulfil all that I had hoped for as a child, in all its jubilant simplicity, runs drastically short for the poor, but even more so when the poor become poorer, and a family fractures from within. Divorce is not a topic often discussed publicly, nor should it be, for its raw nature both distracts us from our means of survival, and disheartens us from pursuing it. It is simply wrong by every form of the word, yet the right thing to do. An unfortunate by-product of such an act, as I have described earlier, is the calamitous restriction of time placed upon all involved, though it was the combination of a sudden urgency to fulfil the capitalist drive that sustains the world’s people and this horrid lack of time that forced my realization. My mother, tired at the hands of money’s cold necessity, returned to us every day to provide us with all that she could, and though affection, in the simple manner as it had graced us before, became somewhat scarcer, we fared no better and no worse because of it. It took time, but I finally realized that the simplicities I had so indulged in as a young child were not, as it seemed, self-sustaining. Laughter could not place food upon our table, hugs could not warm us by the fireplace. This was a truly miserable world that I felt appropriately miserable to be a part of.
As time passed, and the realization of my own realization became apparent to my parents, I became a strange mixture of a being they wanted plenty to do with, and something best left to their own devices. I do not begrudge them for this, for I am what I am largely because of this, though I cannot help wondering if I could be better. The realization of the significance of money as the centre of our worldly endeavours, too, resonates with my current being. My painful and uncompromising dedication to my studies is irrefutably a measure of how badly I now feel the need to do well financially to succeed, and I isolate myself, to this day, with trinkets of the world, monies that I hoard with the unfunny irony that I collect coins that, in this world, mean nothing.
When one speaks of reality, it is with great ease that the many intellectual beings that reside within our world, within ourselves, even, assume the realization of a not-too farfetched idea of a manic and finance-based world, wherein all that evokes our happiness can be obtained with a quick flask of a green note. This is, to some extent, the plight of the rich, plagued by power and variable quantities of spare time, both of which they are not greatly equipped to deal with. In equal measure such a thought, in its all-consuming efficacy, is inconceivable to me… or rather, it was. If the rich are to be plagued by time and power, should it not follow that the poor be irreconcilably deprived of such things? As a child, the day-to-day function of life ran on simplicities; a warm smile, a loving hug and simple, unexplained laughter, something a rich fellow could never hope to emulate with all the valuables he could muster. It had meaning. It made sense. Family was the primary source of fulfilment as a child, for only it could simultaneously nurture, love and teach in ways as unique as the individuals themselves. Family, too, was, in my opinion, a form of protection from the truest nature of the world, and the ways, both terrible and good, but never perfect, that the world kept itself from falling apart.
Time, that could fulfil all that I had hoped for as a child, in all its jubilant simplicity, runs drastically short for the poor, but even more so when the poor become poorer, and a family fractures from within. Divorce is not a topic often discussed publicly, nor should it be, for its raw nature both distracts us from our means of survival, and disheartens us from pursuing it. It is simply wrong by every form of the word, yet the right thing to do. An unfortunate by-product of such an act, as I have described earlier, is the calamitous restriction of time placed upon all involved, though it was the combination of a sudden urgency to fulfil the capitalist drive that sustains the world’s people and this horrid lack of time that forced my realization. My mother, tired at the hands of money’s cold necessity, returned to us every day to provide us with all that she could, and though affection, in the simple manner as it had graced us before, became somewhat scarcer, we fared no better and no worse because of it. It took time, but I finally realized that the simplicities I had so indulged in as a young child were not, as it seemed, self-sustaining. Laughter could not place food upon our table, hugs could not warm us by the fireplace. This was a truly miserable world that I felt appropriately miserable to be a part of.
As time passed, and the realization of my own realization became apparent to my parents, I became a strange mixture of a being they wanted plenty to do with, and something best left to their own devices. I do not begrudge them for this, for I am what I am largely because of this, though I cannot help wondering if I could be better. The realization of the significance of money as the centre of our worldly endeavours, too, resonates with my current being. My painful and uncompromising dedication to my studies is irrefutably a measure of how badly I now feel the need to do well financially to succeed, and I isolate myself, to this day, with trinkets of the world, monies that I hoard with the unfunny irony that I collect coins that, in this world, mean nothing.
Feel free to share your work, no matter how personal, as I have done with you. You shall not be judged, for the expression of our deepest pains and desires, regardless of how it flows from the tongue or from the pen, is a thing of beauty.
One thing, though. Please keep it PG.
