I realized something today.

I spent the bulk of my day sleeping because I stayed up a few days to work diligently on assignments and projects before the semester’s end. When I woke, I woke up to some bad news.

My bright little brother obtained an undesirable grade in a class he had been struggling with throughout the year. As the caring eldest brother, it was my responsibility to compose a proper method for improvement and enforce a form of punishment that would both increase his grade and decrease the odds of obtaining the same results in the future.

It was hard, let me tell you. I was reminded that fathers, or rather parents have some of the toughest jobs in the world. 

You see, they have to make a very tough decision concerning their children at several point in their lives. Mothers too, I’m not trying to come across as sexist, but more often than not, it’s the fathers that have to make this sort of decision.

Often parents have to decide between doing what is best for their child or risk losing some of the love that child has for them.

They have to be the bad guy when the kid starts doing things they consider undesirable, like performing poorly in school.

Now don’t get me wrong, my brother is brilliant. He’s not failing all his classes, he’s just struggling with one. I don’t mean to misinform you or anyone else.

So here I am, attempting to recall what good ‘ol dad would have done. I would have been scolded pretty heavily, had all my privileges revoked, and possibly suffer some physical injury. 

These punishments, they made me hate him. I wasn’t a bad kid by any means, in fact growing up, I was pretty easily managed. I got the grades, I exercised routinely, and stayed out of trouble. But whenever I fell out of the plan my father envisioned, I’d be forced back into place. 

I resented him for it. Sometimes it was painful, other times unfair, most times it was just long drawn out lectures, reciting about one or two key details he wanted to drive home.

I realized that at some point in his life, he made the conscious decision of becoming the bad guy for my benefit. He didn’t care if I lost respect or love for him, he only cared about doing what had to be done, so that I would one day benefit from it later in life. 

It takes some fucking guts. That child, those kids, they’re probably their most beloved thing in the universe, but because they care more about their well being, they give up what good relation you could have had, for proper guidance.

You know how parents always say, “You’ll thank me for it later”? Well they’re not just talking out of their ass. You really will thank them for it.

And after you muster up the courage to personally thank them for all that they’ve done for you, you’ll get the chance to reconnect with one another.

My father wasn’t perfect, people rarely are, but he taught me to value the right things and I love him for that.

Oh, what did I do about my brother? I beat his ass!

I’m totally kidding.I wasn’t ready to have my own brother hate me, as his actions didn’t call for that. I simply devised a strict schedule that he has to maintain, cut down his computer usage, and factored in some time for reflection and studies. 

You will thank me for it dear brother. And when you find the courage to do so, I’ll be waiting.

I’ve done it, I’ve finally figured it out. 

I bet most of you have been trying for ages. Hell, if you’re anything like me then you’ve been searching the entirety of your cognizant life for the same answer that has eluded, not only you, but the entire the human race for centuries on end. 

I know you’ve asked yourself before. If you haven’t, then good for you. This world is better suited for people who are blissfully ignorant, but for the others, you know, the inquisitive beings that ponder the same question hoping to find an answer. They will find themselves asking;

“What is the meaning of life?”

I feel rather stupid now that I’ve solved the riddle. You see, all this time, we’ve been asking the wrong question. The question should have never been what is the meaning of life.

To ask that sort of question would be to imply that life and its meaning would be the same for each and every one of you. History has taught us that more often than not, we will find differences within ourselves in comparison to others.

These differences will lead to conflict almost 100% of the time because we have yet to learned to accept them. We like to assume that everyone is like us, that he is the same as me, that she is the same as he, and that I am the same as her, but in reality, as similar as they may be, they will never be the same as you.

The world has miraculously found a way to differentiate each and every one of us, but instead of accepting these differences, we try and mold everyone into versions of ourselves. That’s never going to work.

As malleable as people might be, they will never be something they’re not. In the same way a dog will never be a cat or a bird never a fish, a human will never be anything more or anything less than a human.

At this point you’re probably tired of my rambling and want me to get on with the answer, but like I said, we weren’t really looking for an answer. We were looking for the right question.

Maybe it’s because I’m an Asian descendant that I like to draw things out. I’m a pretty big pleasure delayer. You know, that whole Mr. Miyagi business. 

Anyway, the true question. The obvious question is…

“What gives my life meaning?”

Does that make more sense? And my god, answering that question has got to be the easiest thing in the world to answer.

What, stumped? Really? Give yourself a minute. It might be so simple that you may not have even considered it. 

The answer is you.

You give yourself meaning and how you choose to do this is completely and totally up to you. For the most part, you direct your life, at least you should. Sure, you might have some guidance from your parents, your friends, or religion, but ultimately, in the beginning and the end, the alpha omega, there was only you.

The time spent before your birth didn’t matter. The time spent after won’t matter. At least not to you.

It is the time that is spent living out your life, which matters. 

Now I bet some of you are pissed. Probably shouting things among the lines of, “Thai you condescending fuck, you promised us the secrets of the universe.” Now don’t get mad. I gave you the secret. And if you’re not happy with it then perhaps I can give you some more guidance.

You will spend your days searching for what gives your life meaning, and you will find it.

You will find things that you hate. Things that you love. People that you adore. People that you despise. A job that you enjoy. And a job that you loath.

In doing the simple act of living, you know, the part where you have to stay alive, you will figure all the answers that pertain to you.

You will come to a point in your life in which you are either:

A. Entirely content with the life that you’re living.

OR

B. Entirely discontent with the life that you’re living.

The proposed scenarios require very simple actions. You can:

A. Continue.

B. Discontinue.

If you want a more clear cut answer, how’s this?

You will find something you love to do.

When you get to the point in which you solve that for yourself, the next step is to find people who love doing that very same thing. 

With these people you will make amendments to the world, compose new history, and more important than everything else, share moments in time that can be revisited through the brilliant function of your memory. 

Maybe your amendments to the world will be children. Perhaps a picture or a painting. Some sort of construction, a building or home, even something as simple as your name changes the world.

That name lived a life that contributed to our world. I mean, that world still exists, so something went right.

Anyway, whether you planned it or not, you will create something. And when something is created, by definition, it exists. In the vast data bank that is the universe, you will have forged something from the pit of your soul into existence. 

That my friends, has been the answer all along.

So when you fret for the future because you don’t have all the answers, and nobody comes down from the sky to provide you them. You must remember that n the act of living, you change things. You can’t do that if you’re dead. If you haven’t lived.

So go on, live. Fight the good fight because we have yet to finish. You think you’re pressed on time? Well you are, but you have your entire life.

You dictate how long it takes for an answer to arrive. It could be today, it could be tomorrow, it could be thirty years from now, it doesn’t matter.

Take your time. Figure things out. Find those people. And leave a mark. What sort of mark you leave is once again, entirely up to you.

As the future approaches I find myself in a despondent state of gloom. Misery that stems not from fear of the unknown, but rather from the aspect of leaving things behind.

Forcing them to become fond memories of days past; in which one may never think of because they’re too busy living the life they’re in, to remember the life they’ve had. 

I suppose that realization is just now setting in. We’ve talked of my dreams and aspirations countless of times, but we haven’t, or rather, I haven’t, stopped to consider what it truly meant.

It means not being able to indulge in the comfort of my own room, mostly because I’d have to get a new one. And maybe that room would be just as sweet as the one I had, perhaps even better, but it will never be the same room that I spent so much time growing in. 

It won’t be the room I learned to become a writer in. It won’t be the room that I spent countless hours perfecting my gaming career in. It won’t be the room that my family, friends, and girlfriends spent so much time in.  

It won’t be the mess I made of things. It will be neat. Void of childhood memories. The memories that I hold most dear. New memories will surely form, but I doubt my immediate room will be anything spectacular. Likely just a quarter to sleep in. 

I won’t be able to walk next door and spend the bulk of my days doing absolutely nothing with the person I shared the majority of my teenage years with.

I couldn’t just come down to his basement, press a button, grab a controller and some soft drinks, and fight. No, the basement would have been redone. He probably wouldn’t be living there much longer anyhow.

I couldn’t walk into my youngest brother’s room and complain of utter lunacy and boredom. No, I’d be a stranger in what was my house.

I’d miss the bonding with my siblings, the guidance of my friends, the criticisms of my parents, and the calamity of our pets.

I suppose this is what experts refer to as, the comfort zone. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep or the fact that I have tons of assignments to work on before 8am, but I am completely and utterly depressed because I know I’ll have to leave these things.

A close friend of mine just sold away some of his childhood memories for some quick cash to a pawn shop. He didn’t have much other choice, but he made it without even thinking about it. Not until after he had given it away…and what was it worth? Roughly twenty dollars, American.

Relics of fond memories should be worth more than that. But there comes a time when you have to step forward, and sometimes you can’t do that without leaving things behind.

It’s gonna be tough. I’m gonna get homesick. You know, they did a great job spoiling the middle class and their children. But once you walk out of that door, you’re no longer middle class. At least, I won’t be. 

I’ll be worth next to nothing with nowhere to go, nothing to do, but climb. Climb towards the life I had shared with my immediate family. To forge a life of equal, if not, greater satisfaction.

The problem is, they gave us this taste of a comfortable lifestyle, knowing that we’d fall from grace, at least from the time spent looking for jobs after graduation, and yet we’re bred to be accustomed to instant gratification. 

Life isn’t like that. The only thing instant about it is how fast you can turn around only to see how much you never truly appreciated. That and how much debt you can accumulate.

History is important now. I must be getting old.

You know, it’s my youngest brother’s birthday today. I’ve written a bit about him before, maybe you remember depending on how long you’ve been following me for. 

You know the story. We used to be two peas in a pod. We did everything together. Taught him everything he knows!..but as he acquired his own life and ambition we started to drift. He became a teenager. I became an adult. More often than not, they have differing opinions.

You see, I’ve been trying to figure out the best way to teach him, about life. Most of the time it involves me spewing facts and secrets about the inner workings of the world during car rides. With the hope that he’ll keep them in mind as he gets older. Ideally giving him enough warning towards some of the pitfalls he might encounter. 

I realize from the way my father taught me, that it probably wasn’t the most effective method. Growing up and hearing advice is quite different from being grown and understanding advice. 

Hindsight is always 20/20. We can’t entirely blame youth for their lack of foresight. They cannot see things our way simply because they have not weathered as much as us. They had yet to endure life and all its qualms.  They’ve yet to understand that the blessings do not come without a little bit of luck and a whole lot of determination. 

It is the way in which you present the message, properly ensuring that the message was understood, which matters. More often than not we share advice that we fully understand ourselves, but only because of our past experiences, to other people. Regardless of whether or not they would understand it in the way that you intended. 

God, if any of that makes sense to you, I applaud you. Because that was fairly difficult to make proper sense of grammatically. Though I’m pretty sure it mostly sounds like rambling, there is a coherent point to it…somewhere.

Anyway, thus births rebellion. Those who either, do not agree with the message you hoped to send, or those who could not understand the message you sent. 

If your advice didn’t register, it was because it either didn’t make sense to them, or they didn’t agree with your advice. There was a conflict of understanding and nothing good ever comes from a conflict of understanding. Is that a real term? Should I copyright that?

So they have to find the answer on their own. As much as you hate that they will make the very same mistakes and subtle lapses in judgement you did, you can’t blame them. They don’t understand it the way you do.

We can only warn them. Hoping that by passing along small words of wisdom, somewhere along their path they may understand.

There is no arguing with rebellion. Not until that conflict of understanding is resolved. Usually that takes a while. 

So, dear brother. Try and take my words into consideration. It may make sense down the road, it may not. But at least you’ll know that I said it.

To protect and guide, as big brothers often do.

Happy birthday little brother. Happy birthday to you.

Chapter one is out there for people to steal/read. If you’re interested you can pm me for the address.

Take it easy on me, all these things are first drafts and more often than not, one shots.

I’ve got all these stories in my head and about an hour to kill before my next class, so I figured I would use this time to write some things down and make sense of it. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about how I became the way I am, if I was always this way or if some occurrence had propelled me forward.

Generally speaking, I had been this way all my life. Maybe I’m a bit colder and less wishful but who doesn’t experience doubt and insecurity at least a little when they reach an impasse? 

I decided to key into what makes me a so-called “writer”. Or better yet, a thinker who tracks his thoughts onto something concrete. Someone who often gets lost in his own mind either making sense of the world or fleeing from it.

Contrary to what the world would have you believe. You don’t need to spend a hundred grand on education to claim the title of a writer. Hell, I bet most of those people don’t even really obtain that title. Phonies.

No, all one needs is a pen and paper. Pencil would be fine, but then no one could see your mistakes, your growth, or your process. We’re not perfect beings, we just like to dream of perfection.

So, here are some habits that I have discovered that give me enough indication to consider myself an actual writer. One of the many titles I hope to possess throughout my entire life regardless what my career may entail.

1. Ink stains on the inside of my pockets.

See, I keep a pen everywhere I go. From a neighbor’s house to a bar and the pen might not see much action but one can never be so sure as to when he’ll need it.

Often times I lose the cap, or the pen clicks and it causes the ink to get absorbed onto my jeans. It’s fine because most of my jeans are of a darker color so it goes by unnoticed, but unfortunately this has ruined a few shirts and socks due to my washer but hey. Inkblots are in, yeah?

2. Books sprawled across my room.

I didn’t say I read them. You know I don’t read, reader. I’m joking. Sorta. I’ve got a bunch of books, mostly academically based occupying a corner of my room. I haven’t bought a book shelf because I don’t have a problem with them being there. 

3. I own several notebooks that I don’t use nearly enough.

I bought some as a gift to myself to keep recordings and the pages fill themselves very slowly. I have one that I want to keep as a message to my future self or my future children but I don’t feel as though my handwriting is perfect yet. A lot of people enjoy it, but I hate it too much to risk ruining the journal as of. 

4. All of my assignments, class notes, and whatnot have scribbles on them.

If I didn’t doodle all over it, I wrote something on it. Probably far from class related. It can range from my next big idea to the story I wanted to write based on a single occurrence I delt with that day.

5. I come up with hypothetical situations all the time. 

Literally. If I see a pretty girl and don’t have the guts to approach her because we’re headed to our classes and strained on time, I’ll imagine some kind of elaborate scenario. One that I know would entertain people.

For example, this one time I held the door open for this girl. Real pretty girl she was; and she said thank you in the most sincere, most beautiful way that I had ever heard. I shit you not, I almost fell in love with her over the way she said those two words. 

I never saw her again, but I kept thinking about her voice. She sounded so genuine, all I did was hold a door open, one that I needed open, a few seconds longer and she was genuinely thankful for it.

Naturally I decided to write it down in my notepad because I’m pretty sure I’ll write a story about it. Crazy right?

6. Not news to you, but my room’s a mess.

Apparently creative people are messy. I don’t entirely agree, but hey. I actually intend to function on a very categorized style of living upon leaving the nest. It’s easier to sort one’s thoughts and keep track of one’s things. I guess having a business persona doesn’t hurt.

7. As a kid I’d play with my action figures and create entirely different worlds. 

I think this is the main reason for my storytelling. I’d get the toys, whether they were from my favorite cartoon show or action movie or not, I’d play with them with entirely new scenarios and names. Often when I was done playing, or had to go somewhere, I’d continue the story and it’s plot directly where I left off. 

Most stories were action-adventure, sci-fi fantasy, but there were the occasional love disputes when Wolverine would be stealing the pink ranger from the blue ranger. Yeah I owned a pink ranger, what of it?

8. Gaming.

Gaming has taught me a great deal about plot, objectives, heroes, villains; essentially everything that a good story needs. A good game has a good story. Other than being wildly entertaining, my mind was enriched. I suppose the early on-set arthritis was worth it.

Seriously, my hand isn’t supposed to cramp ever so often is it? Pretty sure my wrists shouldn’t be snapping like that either. Go ahead you pervert. Make the joke. No comment.

9. I message myself notes on Facebook with detailed quotes, story ideas, and literally everything you can think of.

I don’t know if anyone else does this. I literally send messages back and forth to myself for me to read at a later date of witty quips, dialogue, and names constantly. I’ve done it forever. It’s mostly because it’s a lot neater than the app I have on my phone. I can’t navigate through the thoughts I left myself for the most part.

10. I’m very observant. 

Well, I try to be. I have learned throughout life that detail is incredibly important. When dealing with business or writing. Details and quantifiable evidence are what this world thrives from.

I can tell you that I’ve passed all those little tests that girlfriends give as to what they were wearing, what eye color they have, how they smell, you know the drill. Now if it was several days ago and it was just some obscure outing, and we didn’t have anything special planned that day, it fades from memory, but I do put a great amount of interest into what interests me. Make sense?

I’d love to ramble on but like I said. I’ve got class in 15 minutes and I feel like surfing the web for a bit. The only thing that disputes the fact that I may be a writer is that I don’t read nearly enough. I’ve only recently discovered some of the gems that kids were supposed to read in High School, but hey. At least I’m trying hm?

Oh yes, remember that story I told you about? Well it’s still within my notes and noggin, but it’s a long ways away from being finished.

However, I do feel that I will make that separate blog in which I’ll fill with short stories relatively soon. Then you can judge my shit for yourself. I just have to make sure that it can all be protected before I unleash it out to the public.

I can’t figure out an interesting way of saying bye so…later.

What’s this? An unprecedented double recording in a single day? To what do you owe this pleasure?!

I told you I wouldn’t be able to sleep. In fact, the game I play to pass time with went on maintenance so I literally have nothing to do aside from study and work on assignments. What fun is that?

If I’m not going to be enjoying rest, I should hope to be enjoying something of equal enjoyment. Hm, nice one Thai, it sounds less loserlike when you put it that way.

Here’s what I presume to be wrong with the younger generation close to six in the morning. In their defense, most of them are probably considered a part of my generation as well.

Reader, I hope you are familiar with the term Digital Native. I mean you should be, it’s kind of what you are. It’s what I am, sorta. If you’re not familiar, I’m won’t  try and impress you with my shorthand communications knowledge or recited Wikipedia definitions. Look it up.

Here’s what I’ve been absorbing from the younger generation. Specifically the new crop of teenagers flooding the market that we just left ranging between the ages of 12 to 18.

It’s a lot easier to understand them than it was us. They’ve all got detailed profiles. They’ve all got quantifiable evidence of their idiocy and immaturity. Hear me out. I understand that any readers I may acquire and hope to reach may very well be a part of this generation.

In fact if you’re reading this stuff you probably hate your generation. We all do, at first. Then you get older and develop pride and swear your generation was the best, got everything right, and the older generation was primitive and the younger generation is doomed. It’s the great circle of life. So let me rant about you stupid kids for a moment okay?

First off. What the hell? All I ever see on this damn thing are ass cheeks, and people whoring out their brands with terrible fashion sense. Often with no pants, because what would brilliant marketing be without ass cheeks? 

I get it. Girls are going to be pretty. That’s not changing anytime soon. But I can only look at digitally enlarged butts and expertly marketed horrid attire for so long.

And your fascination with obscure landscapes and scenery is so…redundantly annoying. I understand that you want to visit these places one day, I do too. But how many different pictures of the same thing can you stare at before you get tired of it?

I’ll give you a pass here because they are beautiful most of the time and you’re young so these things are all new to you. I can’t say that I haven’t been guilty of a few lightening encrusted skies, serene forests, and secluded islands assuming the role of my desktop background.

But then there’s the mentality of this generation’s average teenager. Perhaps it’s been the same mentality from generation to generation.

From what I gather, you just don’t give a fuck. Cause you know, you’re cool. I mean you’re all individuals…right? Oh brother. Here’s what your generation lacks. Values.

I mean sure, you probably have the basics and you probably treat your circle of friends and acquaintances with respect. At least I hope.

But look at you kids. Flashing the rebel finger to the world has been played out. I know you know what I’m talking about. You got  the finger stretched way up high and your thumb sticks out just as far as your tongue and you’re having suuuch a good time with that smoke cloud in the background and empty beer can.

It’s worse now more than ever. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll aren’t new to the teenage scene, but you pups advertise it to everyone. You have no concept of a private life. 

I look at you as a generation and see a generation of clones. Clones that the marketers and ad agencies of the generation before wanted you to turn into. You all think you’re expressing your individuality and creativity but you’re not.

You’re being pseudo-brainwashed. The best thing about it is that no one knows, no one is directly the cause. You chose it for yourselves. You’re ‘leading your own lives’. 

Think for a second about all the screens you deal with. For my generation, it was mostly television and towards the late part of the 90’s to the new millenia, computers.

You’ve got your personal phones that you begged for since your pre-teenage years, that we didn’t get until our late teens. Oh but you’ve got us one upped because yours happen to be smart phones.

Let’s not forget your iProducts. You’ve probably got a few of those. Then there’s your personal laptop, or home computer. Hell. You’re probably on your computer right now with your phone on person and your iPad/iPod not too far away.

All these screens hope to promote something towards you. They all seek to instill or persuade you in some way shape or form. And it works. It’s always worked. Propaganda has reached a new age. Easily accessible, unlimited, non-stop programming  whenever and wherever you decide to travel. If you decide to travel. Perhaps to one of those places you liked or reposted earlier.

Brilliant. Now we’ve taught an entire generation to not give a single fuck when we bend them over and take whatever we want from them. Welcome to America. The land of the presumably free and opportunity. You see why I’m worried?

My god please don’t tell me we were all like this. We couldn’t have been that fixated and easily fooled. We definitely couldn’t have been that stupid or superficial. Could we? Shit.

It’s just about two o’clock in the morning as I begin writing and I’ve got class in roughly six hours. How unfortunate.

Unfortunate because I’ve been bit by the insomnibug and haven’t got much productive things to do at this hour. Let alone when the clock starts trending towards four. You ever try looking for something to do at four am reader? There isn’t much.

Right so, we were supposed to bond weren’t we? Well let’s start. 

Everything that I have to complain about at this very moment.

Let me put this out there. I don’t like complaining. I really don’t. And I’m of the firm belief that complaining hardly solves anything. It really doesn’t. But you asked for it. You gave me the pass to bitch, so let the bitching ensue.

I hate being unemployed. There I said it. I love the free time, I really do, but I hate not being able to afford things. A job is kind of a must when you want some disposable income. Which brings me to my next point.

I hate not having money. I hate being restricted and money is the root of most restrictions.

I hate that I owe money. I hate that I loaned money. Once I’ve paid all my debts, I’m not dealing with that lending and borrowing crap. It’s all bullshit. You want money from me? If I’ve lent it to you, I’ve already made the assumption that I’m never gonna see that money again. Odds are, that person I lent to might have been a half decent person, but people forget.

But Thai! You’re an aspiring entrepreneur, you’ll have to borrow from people and deal with loans. Yeah, yeah. But a company is it’s own separate entity. Loopholes people. Loopholes.

I hate how utterly unorganized my room is. I’ve been meaning to clean it for the longest time. Stretching even beyond last year. I mean I pick up anything that people would traditionally call garbage. I don’t leave gross things in there or anything, but it’s so unorganized.

I have all these books stacked against each other in one corner of the room. A desk with a plethora of items that I deemed far too valuable to throw out scattered all around it. Several baskets for laundry so that I can differentiate between the new and old clothes. As if I even needed them because they all find their way to my floor.

A bed that hasn’t been made in ages that I want on the other side of the room but it’s far too big to move single handedly. A television with no stand. A dusty Playstation 3. I mean damn. My chess set has seen more use than that thing recently. And then all these papers and notebooks and relics of hobbies past sprawled in all the crevices that space can afford.

To tell you the truth. I hate my room. I’d probably throw most of everything away, but I’d rather stick them in boxes because who knows when I’ll need those things. 

You see, I’m a simple man. I would be completely content with a single room. I don’t need a bed. I don’t need a table. A table would be nice, but even at home I elect to use a box from a gaming appliance to prop my laptop on, but I definitely don’t need one. I don’t need anything but a solitary room, my laptop—no a new laptop—and some access to wifi.

Hell. If I’m gonna start asking for things, give me a camera while you’re at it. Anyway. If you just gave me a mini fridge to cool my shit, a place to cook with a proper place to maintain my own personal hygiene, I’d be happy. 

But no. We’ve got to maintain the living conditions imposed onto us because that’s how people live. I get it, I get it. Back to my complaints.

I hate not being able to sleep on a routine basis. It really gets in the way of things. 

I hate being behind. I shit you not, when I get all the things I need to get done. I will be the most high functioning individual you ever did see. But they have done such a good job slowing down my progression with these stupid constructs and requirements. Whatever. I’m going to get it all done. Watch.

I hate that my dreams are so big. I mean I love my aspirations but I have this fear that I painted such a big elegant stage for all eyes to see and I’m expecting them to call me up and they never do. Or what if they call me and I decide not to show up. How humiliating. When you tell everyone you want to change the world, it’s kind of a big deal. Maybe I do, maybe I don’t but I’m not an idiot with 100% confidence. I was never that lucky. 

I hate that I’m so unlucky. Do you know what a locus of control is? Well I am of the idea that you are able to choose your actions and receive the benefit or detriments of said actions. An internal locus of control. However it has been because of external factors, unforeseeable spontaneous third parties that have given me problems. I mean it always has been for the most part.

Other people will always be a part of the equation and you can’t predict them 100%. You can’t predict that the car ahead of you is going to be the utmost terrible driver you’ve ever laid witness to. You can’t predict that the other four members on your team during a project or game are going to perform as well as you. And you certainly can’t pretend to understand the scope and influence of all other people’s actions and it’s direct impact on you. You just can’t.

I hate that I’ve lost my appetite. Which can be linked to the lack of funds I have; which also attributes to my lack of a social life. I hate that I don’t regularly pursue a social life. I hate that it doesn’t bother me much that I don’t have a social life.

I hate that I haven’t met the one girl the world hasn’t ruined. Show me a girl the world hasn’t ruined. Or, you know what? Show me a girl the world ruined, but was strong enough to stand on her own. Because the world ruined me too but that’s not stopping me. Let’s seize it together. The ultimate payback. To be one of the very few people that enjoy life while they are living it. 

I hate that my youngest brother doesn’t seem to acknowledge my advice when I give it to him. I hate that he is lazy. I hate that I am lazy.

I hate that I didn’t do a good job teaching this family responsibility. This whole family is a mess.

I hate that my father and mother argue about things in a language that I can barely understand, but could probably guess. I hate that I can’t rid them of their problems.

I hate banks. I hate ebay. I hate yahoo. I hate bureaucracy. I swear to god. When I accumulate wealth and resources I’m going to perfect bureaucracy. It shouldn’t be as slow as it is. It shouldn’t be as hard to facilitate as it is. 

I hate that the internet and its inhabitants are starting to annoy me.

I hate the same posts, the same status, the same shit that everyone just keeps forwarding and posting over and over, ruining what it great thing it might have been. 

I hate stupid people.

I hate that my car needs a bunch of things done and can’t do it myself or afford the services it requires. 

I hate that the world that we are accustomed to teaches us to walk blind. Don’t you get tired of bumping into metaphorical shit? Because I’m sick of it. I’m going to solve these simple god damn problems. Soon as I get my own shit in order.

Look, I can complain about probably a hundred other things but then this list would never get finished. Life sucks sometimes. We know, boy do we know. But it doesn’t always suck. What will suck is trying to go through classes tomorrow because I’m sure as hell not sleeping. 

Until I get back to you. See ya.

As promised, a detailed reporting of my current lifestyle or lack thereof.

I am enrolled in what would be the final semester at St. John Fisher College. I am not currently working blue collar, but I am searching so money is even tighter.

So to those of you searching me to follow up on my background, greetings. I have nothing to hide and I do not mind a wider audience.

You will find that I am an intelligent young man with great aspirations and an even greater desire to learn. Maybe I’ll even connect with you on a genuine basis. I’d like that.

Let’s talk about now. It shouldn’t be of any news to you dear reader that my life has been along the lines of…mundane. That is the main reason for my absence. Boring, what do you mean boring? 

A typical day involves me struggling to wake up on time for my 8 am class. Yeah, I said it. 8 am. My god is it tough. Literally traffic alone is a drag. Never sign up for 8 am folks. Just don’t. Not if you’re a night owl. I literally have to set my alarm almost an hour early because I’m prone to slapping that snooze button a bunch of times.

Next I’ll heavily indulge in some caffeine and proceed through my scheduled classes, coursework, and assignments. Upon completion of that I’ll become anxious for graduation. Then get even more nervous because I have a lot of pending issues that need my attention, but so much demands it all at once.

And finally when my work is done, or if I procrastinate long enough, I’ll get to enjoying some free time sleeping or going online. Catch up on my YouTube news, play my various games and complain about lag issues. Speaking of which…

We have a family staying with us, which I don’t mind too much, but they have brought their son and his gadgets along which bottles up our internet access and it drives me nuts. I spend all my time in my school library simply because I don’t want to go home to shitty wifi. You can’t league with lag damn it. You just can’t.

Ah, I forgot to mention. I am a League of Legends enthusiast now. Screw it, I’m addicted. The world has my youngest brother to blame for that, those of you not cured of cancer or the common cold have him only to thank. I’m only kidding, but seriously he did get me started on it. 

We made a deal; that if he would play in my Fantasy Football League this year, I would give League of Legends a chance. A game that I routinely made fun of him for playing. 

Bear in mind, I’m an avid gamer but I just dabbled in various fighting games and First Person Shooters.

Let me explain this in terms that any non-gamer can understand. League was the kind of game that gamers like me would make fun of. You know, the Starcraft, DOTAs, WoW players that we kind of laugh at when we see them playing in the library. I guess I didn’t really have the right to criticize. I played Maple for years…and loved it.

League of Legends is a multiplayer online battle arena, MOBA for short. As I started playing League, I found it more and more enjoyable. .

It just so happens that games I get really into are mostly strategy or combat type games and this game put both those elements together.

If you want a clear cut explanation for why I’ve been missing our dates and chats. It can be directly linked to this game. But hey, it’s free and enjoyable and on my lack of a salary, I’ll take what I can. 

 That explains a bit of why I haven’t checked in more recently. I haven’t gotten into the gritty things involving issues at home or anything financially. And to be honest, I doubt I’m going to describe those things very deeply. It’s just an annoyance, plus it’s boring as can be.

Insert typical broke college student cliche here. Sounds about right. Man, life is full of so many cliche’s. Well, hopefully the pattern continues and I get the feel good conclusion towards the end.

This is getting kind of lengthy and I have to hurry to a class. I will complain about everything that is wrong with my life shortly! The other day my mother asked why I complain so much.

You know what I tell her? I tell her, because it helps people identify with one’s struggle. So that’s what we’ll do with our next meeting dear reader. We’ll identify with one another. How romantic.

Until then,

Yours truly.

I will inform you of the circumstances involving life and my lack of it when I get to it.

But to get you started, I enrolled in an acting class. I’ve been reading a bunch of different monologues and memorizing them has set me on a spree of sifting through dozens.

Why do I submerse myself so deeply into these little hobbies? We are taught and trained to excel at one thing and one thing only.

Where does that leave us, the ones that want to do everything? I’ll tell you. Utterly hopeless. The structure of this world makes it incredibly hard to be an aspiring, artistic entrepreneur with keen sense of speech and writing. One who possesses a knack for rhythm, a weakness for tragedy and never ceases to amuse himself with recreational activities and his gripping addiction for online gaming.

Hopeless I tell you. Hopeless. And yet, here I am, hopeful nonetheless. God damn I sound like a broken record. Hopeful that after I grow tired of my rejected applications, I’ll start my own business. It will be successful. So successful, that I can pay off the debt that I incurred and get to doing what I really want to do. Everything, without any worry.

And when I’m done with that, I’ll go back to school. Mom was right. I should have studied law. I’ll open my own practice and do a lot of good for people. Save them from the tricks of corrupt business and people. Then maybe I’ll run for office who knows where, maybe here. Make the changes necessary hoping to spare the next generation all the troubles that we face on a regular basis as a whole.

The structure hasn’t beaten all of the hope and aspirations out of me, not yet. Maybe as I grow, I’ll lose it. I’ll grow tired. They call it realism. I call it death. It’s a part of life they’ll tell you. Yeah, sure. But it doesn’t have to be. It never had to be.

We must rise. We have already been falling…and we’ve fallen enough.