I haven't updated my blog in quite a while (since my birthday anyway). Which is quite ironic since so many things have happened since February. Why do I have this penchant to want to record events when nothing of import is happening then become too lazy to write when too many things are happening in my life?
These past two weeks I have done things which would have surprised even me, and I felt that I have crossed over the boundary of optimism and pessimism and went straight into the travails of cynicism. It is almost funny that these days, I harbor no hope at all of things getting better for me, of growing as a person, of meeting that One Great Love, of finding that life Treasure, of following my own dreams and ambition. It is as if somehow I have come to realize that that kind of existence isn't for me, that that it isn't my reality at all. And with this realization came a quiet acceptance that this is as good as life gets. If it gets better, then well and good, but I don't really expect it to.
I've been reading two of Paolo Coelho's books lately (courtesy of eileen) and its tragically funny to note the dissonance between what he is saying in his books and the events happening in my life. Instead of doing my one great passion, of finding my dreams and doing what I am born to do, I am now stuck in life's rat race. I am in a profession that wasn't even part of my childhood aspirations, doing something everyday that does not really add to my sublime happiness. The promise of a lifetime of epiphany does not really become a reality for me.
Yet what is more funny (or more pathetic) is that when I am asked what I want to do that would make me really happy, I really don't have an answer. I have this sudden impulses to become a writer, a journalist, a documentary filmmaker for Discovery channel -- yet that is what they all are. Sudden impulses. I have no burning childhood ambition, no long lost dream, no visions of what I can do to radically change the face of humanity.
So maybe I am just this pragmatic, shallow, superficial, materialistic individual reduced to living life on earth to fulfill basic survival instincts. I could apologize for being that kind of person, but I am not. I can pretend to be profound and deep and say that I have always had this burden of being blah blah blah, but I cannot. I prefer practicality over dreams, of survival over visions, of the present instead of the unknown future. And thus I sadly declare that I am doomed to a lifetime of perfect mediocrity.
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