Making Mistakes

I was told, “If you never make mistakes you don’t learn much.”

If I never made mistakes, what’d I have to learn? Is learning really an end in itself? I learn so I don’t make mistakes.

The journey, not the destination

I have read in quite a number of places (especially often religious-oriented or self-help books,) that we should “take note of the journey, not the destination”.

However, thinking this way, the journey becomes the destination, which defeats the purpose. You’d be wondering to yourself all the time, “so this is the journey they’ve been talking about. So what now?”

Would it not be better to take note of the destination, get so focused you really hate life when you can’t get there, then suddenly realise you have the “admiring the journey” to fall back on?

The absurdity

Ever wondered about the absurdity of crossing the street? All these people driving around in metal boxes: “where are they going?!” Everyone going in different directions, each with their own agenda.

Start fast-forwarding time. While looking into these people’s cars, you wonder how many of them will still be alive in ten year’s time. How many of them won’t own the same car. In a hundred years time, these people will probably be dead. And so will you. And the absurdity of people rushing to nowhere starts to hit you.

Know Your Enemies

“I will bring you down even if it means dragging you down with me.”

Some enemies I do not mind making; the rational ones. The enemies who do not cause trouble unless you start it first. Enemies whom I share a mutual hate, but also a mutual understanding that we should just leave each other alone.

But enemies who are intent on causing trouble; enemies who do not rationalise — the ones who intend to drown while holding your head underwater — those are the ones who are truly dangerous. The ones who may have everything to lose, but are willing to lose it all for you.

Know who they are, and stay away.

Graduation

It was the graduation ceremony today. Wasn’t at all what I had expected. Then again, I don’t remember expecting anything. There were a few hundred people present there, maybe more. Half of them graduands, the other half probably proud parents. My parents weren’t there. I do not find a polytechnic diploma anything worth mentioning.

Martin was there too by the way, and even spoke as valedictorian — happy him. That was probably his highlight of a largely dull affair, in what seemed like two hours of watching dry paint get dusty.

Perhaps I should add that I wasn’t really paying attention to the speech. Half of me wanted to go home; the other half thinking I should have been the one giving that speech. I was strangely satisfied that the speech was given near the end of the ceremony, when most were restless and stopped listening eons ago.

This ceremony wasn’t a ceremony made equal. It was for the elite, those at the top, to celebrate their victories, and bask in their glory. Those below were there to make up the numbers, to lend weight to a largely insignificant event.

When you’re as conceited as I am, it’s hard to keep emotions in check, and I was upset I wasn’t the one receiving the awards and kudos.

My highlight of the day was, instead, sitting next to a beautiful girl, and behind her equally beautiful friend. They rescued my day, more or less, from being a downright downer. I have no idea who they were, or even what they’re names were, knowing only they were beautiful people.

I was literally begging myself to start a conversation with her (the girl beside me). To complain to her how boring this whole event was, what wasted time. But I didn’t, for fear that if the conversation didn’t go well, I was stuck with her for a very awkward who-knows-how-long more hours. I had a host of other excuses for not talking to her, including the “she might have a boyfriend” thought, but that was my best.

It was when a speaker, not sure who it was, perhaps Martin — said something in the vein of this graduation being a beginning as opposed to an end — that I reallised I didn’t have thoughts about a girl like I had about her since three years back. Friendships and relationships when not annulled indubitably have a very fuzzy edge to them, and you never know whether or not to proceed with new friendships/relationships.

But this time, I think I’m over her, the girl I’ve been writing about so much lately, for good. Everytime I’m in the hunt for new prey, if you’ll forgive the anology, I tend to pressurise myself into making the first move, though I never do. I did this back then, I did this just now, never doing it in-between. It’s a signal that I’ve moved on — and it feels great.

Is That Really Me?

The mirror is a wonderful thing isn’t it? A piece of glass that shows you exactly how you look. Or does it? Have you ever just stared at the reflected image of yourself, and realised suddenly, that that person might not even be you?

Perhaps God put our eyes fixed into your head so that we’ll never see who we really are — to do so might be considered cruel, for without the confirmation of seeing ourselves for who we really are, we always have a benefit of a doubt to its answer.