One Syllable, One Million Implications

It irritates me when people are against love. "It's something handed down to us. It's magic." Yeah, yeah. I'd jump in front of a train for you, I'd do anything for you. Of course you will. You love me because you're my mother. Or my father. 

It's those significant others you have to watch out for. For us youngsters, society leads us to believe that love is an integral part of life. It's simply "magnificent" and who wouldn't want someone to stay awake with them and to cuddle with, and stare at? It's just that teenagers are incapable of realizing that love at this time is better focused toward family, and themselves. Loving yourself is the first step to loving others, is it not? When people say they "don't believe in love," it's understandable, yet are they heartless idiots with no family? Or no sense of self pride? They "love" what society wants them to love. I personally have not experienced a sort of love one gives to a significant other, but I don't go bashing around others who might be falling into its obvious, inevitable trap. Being well-rounded and accepting of others' characteristics comes with doing just that: accepting. Seeing that people are all different, and, quelle surprise! So are you.

The media is good for one thing: brainwashing the younger generations toward a common goal. Sure, that's youth, is it not? But when adolescence passes by and adult responsibilities come with time, where is this poor child headed? What does he need to see the light? I say indie music should rule the world. And Doc Martens. Until, sadly enough, those become unoriginal, and then society is back to square one. 

Human influence: 1. 

Human intelligence: 0.

Whoops.

My Start

Currently listening to: She's Got You High by Mumm-Ra


Most say life is full of chances. Others contemplate that it's a justification of the risks one take. For me, life is about the simplicities, extravagances, and fulfilling conversations that come with being a teenager. School is my life as of now, and I would like to say that it has come to one thing: grades. "Striving for that perfect GPA will be worth it in the end," I tell myself day after day. But will it, really?

What if I end up in as someone who leads a horrible life? What then? I could have gone to Med school, why the hell not. Yet what if that God out there says "Oh look, Rucha's about to be happy. Better go get her."

Then?

What my true question to the world and myself is:
Will the struggles I go through now really turn out for the best, or is it just a mistake on my part to even go through with them in the first place.

I procrastinate. Trust me, I do. Any work I have quickly whisked away like sweat on a marathon runner's eyebrow. It's forgotten and more appealing things manifest in my mind. Short films, or perhaps a late-night watching of (500) Days of Summer will do the trick. As I sit here, the warmth from my electric heater radiating to bring life into my dark, empty room, I wish for the thrills of summer. The careless, humid nights where I could sit on my rooftop and sing songs and talk on the phone all night long, and nobody would care.

It was just me and myself and I.

But then school came along.

Maybe now is some time for Froot Loops and a cold glass of soy milk.