Red: Let me tell you something my friend. Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane. -The Shawshank Redemption
I know how this passage goes; I can see it from the first two sentences. It's a cry that so often comes from my own mouth. We are the people so guided by our hopes and dreams. The land of idealism is where our mind has stationed, and conquest is it's mission. Our lives are the results of our efforts to make these lands fruitful. Our hopes and dreams go into the farming of this land, but so rarely does it bear fruit. Yet we keep up our search for more land, in hope of tasting the fruits of our labor. We are the people who live on this dream, and we give everything into our dream. A farmer whose life depends on the land, hardly puts a fraction of what we put into our lands of idealism. Even in our failures, we maintain our efforts. In a battle, we'd lose thousands of our front line and still remain hopeful.
Sometimes, there are no fruits to our labor. We are stuck in a state of constant poverty, living a life of continual disappointment, and yet everlasting hopefulness. It truly is a cycle. Our spirits are almost invincible. Our optimism is the veil hiding our own reality from us. Our calm, emotionless self, is virtually nonexistent, as we never adhere to its wisdom. Surrendering to our disappointments is a task we never care to accomplish.
The only thing that ever changes, is the hopes and dreams we put into the soil; the image of our mind changes, but so rarely does it match the scene of reality. Hope is our Achilles heel, our tragic flaw, and yet it is our greatest trait. For when the land bears us fruit, it bears the sweetest and greatest of fruits: true happiness.
Well, yeah. And I'm sad. But at the same time I'm really happy that something could make me feel that sad. It's like... It, it makes me feel alive, you know? It makes me feel human. The only way I could feel this sad now is if I felt something really good before, so I have to take the bad with the good. So I guess what I'm feeling is like a beautiful sadness. - Butters(Raisins, South Park)
They say that you're not supposed to start a sentence with "I believe that." I believe that there is some bad in all good. "There is no free lunch." The reverse is equally true. This would mean that in every bad event in the world, there lies some good truth in the matter. It's taken a lot of pains for me to realize this, but, at the same time, it's relieved or placated a lot as well. It's also because of this that I appreciate a lot of pains in my life: family, relationships, academics, etc. I try to take the good out of all of them. I guess that makes me a more optimistic person, but it also keeps me at least satisfied with and accepting of what is in store for me. You might assume I'm pessimistic during the good times, but I don't think of it that way. If the good in my life were to give me bad, I know that it is all for my own good. I guess I've never been in anything seriously traumatic enough to render this belief. I've never found anything to be purely bad. My grandpa's death made my brother and I try and get to know my grandma better.
Moving along... now Fate. I don't believe that our lives are predestined and that my writing this crappy piece of "art" was definitively going to happen. Not having control over my own life is an idea I'm not quite fond of; you could call it a fear. But I believe in Fate in that everything happens for a reason. That our lives are all fully intertwined and that each event in life is supposed to happen. There is a purpose hidden in everything we do. Perhaps, whether or when we discover this purpose sets a path for us to find the next reason. So, I guess you could say I believe in little bits of Fate.
Perhaps I believe on Fate and just unwilling to accept my definition for it. A loss of control would be monumental in the outcome of my life.
It was spring, and there was this baby bird. He flapped his wings as hard as he could yet he couldn't soar. He hopped around flapping his wings, but his feet always ended up feeling the grass beneath him. And much like the other birds around him, he didn't stop trying. It was impossible for him to deny gravity, until one day. One extraordinary day, this bird shot up towards the clouds. He soared above all the others down below relying on their two feet instead of their two wings. He kept flying until he found a messy bakery, with bread crumbs pouring out of the it. He had found his home.
For many weeks, he grew, perched upon a nearby tree and enjoyed the fruits of his glory. He easily flew a few feet to satisfy his hunger, flew a few feet back home, and that was it for the day. The food was delicious, the life was comfortable, and the weather was warm.
Until Autumn crept along. The wind picked up, storms became recurrent, and it was growing colder. The bird was unaccustomed to and unprepared for this weather. He noticed a flock of birds flying south, and quickly flew up and followed suit.
The trip began easily, with this bird leading the others. After some time, he was closely trailing the flock. Soon, he was drifting far behind the flock. Finally, he realized he could not endure the entire trip; it was just too tiresome. His trek was over, and he would have to deal with harsher conditions and colder weather. As he said his goodbyes to the flock, which stayed on course for warmer destinations, he recognized each and every one of them: they were the very same birds he had soared above that first day. And while he had perched himself comfortably near that bakery, they had gradually prepared themselves for this trip to warm weather.
Emotional distress brings out the greatest writers in people. The greatest writers, the greatest poetry, came from a simple man/woman who went through trying times. Be it for love, for money, or for friends, they had problems, and they wrote about it. Showing that even at our lowest we can all come up with some brilliance.
I'm happy to say, I'm a pretty crappy ass writer today.
There's this turtle. He's a shy turtle, very rarely comes out of his shell. Besides munching on his favorite vegetables and sleeping, there is not much this turtle does. He once had friends; he doesn't anymore. It's okay though, he didn't like them very much anyway. They would always tell him, "you're too slow." Sometimes they even asked "why do you have to carry that huge shell around?" He always tried to impress them (telling them how cool it was to live in a shell or how much he likes his favorite treat), but they could never get past his weaknesses. Eventually, he just stopped talking to them.
The truth is though, he was lonely. But they were the only animals around, and he'd rather be lonely than laughed at. One day, he slowly trekked to the top of a hill. He'd never been to the other side; satisfied with his life, he just never had the curiosity. At the top of the hill, he admired the scenery. It was beautiful.
"BOO!" yelled a stalking serpent. "AH!" the turtle was so surprised he immediately hid in his shell. The serpent gave the shell a slight nudge, and the turtle slid down the hill to the unknown side. The turtle could hear the serpent yell, "You don't like us, we don't want you." That was the last he heard of the people he knew.
At the bottom of the hill, the turtle hid in his shell. For the first time in his life, the forest felt eerie to him. He stayed in his shell from afternoon, through night, until morning. Fear prevented even a minute of sleep. Finally, he decided to explore for his favorite treats back home. He couldn't find any; not even the red shrubs that he considered tolerable.
Suddenly, he heard a ruffle in the distance. He immediately hid in his shell, though peeking from the inside. It was a hare, hopping along with a carrot in his mouth; the hare bounced up to the shell and knocked on it, twice. "Is anyone there?" The turtle remembered the hare at home. That hare was a jerk. The turtle was always so nice to the hare, but the hare was always making fun of him for being so slow. He even beat that hare in a race, but the hare still made fun of him. This one's probably just like the one at home. The turtle didn't move. "Don't be scared of me," said the hare. The hare realized she had never seen this turtle so she kept going, "I'll introduce you to the whole gang." The hare called out to all her friends, and they all came galloping to her side. "What's going on?" "This turtle is new from the other side of the hill," explained the hare. "Welcome turtle!" "Welcome turtle!" they all yelled in unison. The turtle refused to come out of his shell. They're just like the other ones back at home. They won't like me. And they'll ignore me, no matter how nice I am to them. They're all so close to each other, they won't have enough space to befriend a turtle. He wouldn't dare show himself to these animals to hated for no reason. "You can't hide in there all day," said the hare, "you're going to get hungry eventually." Now that she had said it, the turtle realized he hadn't eaten in over a day now. He suddenly felt his stomach growling for food. Uh oh. What do I do? I'm so hungry. These animals probably don't care that much about me. They don't want to see me; they just want me for entertainment since I'm the new thing in the area. Oh man, it'll be so awkward eating in front of them too. I guess I have to fight the hunger. The turtle fought his hunger and stayed in his shell.
The fight lasted until night, when the turtle couldn't stand it anymore. He couldn't see anything, but he hoped all the animals had left by now. The turtle listened for movement, making sure no one was around him. He heard nothing. The turtle stuck his head out to find the whole gang watching him with eager eyes. "Yay!" exclaimed the group. The turtle was surprised to find that the group had brought him food, while he was struggling with his hunger. He couldn't believe it. Still, he wanted no part of this group. The turtle ate his food silently. The hare kept asking him questions, but he kept responding with one word answers. Why do they want to know this about me? I'm not even that close with these animals. My home isn't even with these animals. Suddenly, a beaver interrupted the hare, "Why don't you like us?" "I do." replied the turtle. The turtle was confounded by such a frank question as well as his answer. And then he realized something: these were the animals he wanted to befriend, these were the animals he had always dreamed of back home, and he was ignoring them because he was scared of being rejected again like he had been back home.
Then the turtle realized one more thing: he was finally home.
