generativity vs. stagnation
It just occurred to me that I missed a lot last weekend.
It was through no fault of my own. (Ok, fine, it was my fault! I just didn’t realize that it would mean that I would miss an entire eventful weekend.) But there was a disjointed feeling of unbelonging, as if I crashlanded on alien lands. Or rather, I sucked out into alien lands and crashlanded back to earth on a Monday. Imagine how disorienting that would be.
I missed a lot of activities I would have enjoyed. All of them are petty, yes, and I know I can live without them. But this yuppie life, this stable limbo, it promotes boredom. Yes you are fulfilled, but somehow, it’s still not enough. So we need the useless, petty idiosyncrasies we call our momentary passions. We pretend that what we do is important, that it is a big thing, that it means the world to us.
But if you think about it, it is a small preoccupation. None of these idiosyncrasies ever means a damn thing.
Yes, this is quarter-life crisis talking. Yes, this the Freudian Intimacy-vs.-Isolation thing. Or maybe it is Generativity-vs.-Stagnation. What can I say? I’ve always been too old for my age. (Sometimes too young, but well, it kinda doesn’t fit the situation.)
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Last Thursday, the Former President Estrada was granted Presidential Pardon.
I have never been so ashamed to be part of this decade.
In history class, we have often read and discussed the lives of heroes, of these people who changed history. These people did noble things and they lived in a time that was significant. More importantly, these people had the integrity to stand by what they believed in and changed things because of it.
Us of this decade, what are we doing?
I am ashamed because I know that we do nothing. I do nothing.
My president has gone back on justice. Is politics really the only thing important now? What about justice? What about credibility? What about honor? What message are we sending? Is this something we can be proud of? There was a time when being our own citizens was worth fighting for. Is there anything left to fight for?
My heart cries because in reality, I cannot do anything. In reality, we are to suck it up and endure. We are to stuff our lives with things unimportant. Commercial things that we pretend means a lot, but really, they’re just junk. And when we finally pull our heads from our pi-gus, we find that the world we live in is not one we’d want to live in. And it is my fault. I am one of the thousands programmed to complain, and yet do nothing.
However, I am not arrogant enough to claim all the blame. This is our fault. My generation’s.
We will not go down in history as noble. We will come off as irresponsible, superficial and bubble-headed. Generations to come will discuss how stupid we are and they are going to ask the future us, “How could you let this happen?”
And we, all wrinkly and desperate would sadly reply, “We don’t know.”
It is only my hope that the generations to come will be better than us.
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On the birthday front, I will be turning 23 in 9 days. Huh. And as usual, the birthday glum has set in.
I don’t really know why every year, I find myself looking at my birthday with both elation and dread. Histrionic me wants special things to happen to me on my birthdays, while the other me keeps a firm grip on the reality that for the rest of the world, November 8 is just a normal day. Nothing special at all. (Though for once, a small flicker of joy blooms in my heart at the thought of someone finally remembering when my birthday actually is, and that he said he would set aside all other important things he should be doing just to celebrate it with me. I can’t keep him on that promise though because it would be a folly to act on that.)
Anyway, back to the birthday funk. I’m thinking of ways to celebrate the day, but since I’m short on budget and time, I know I can’t. I’ll be working that day, with the world oblivious. There might be cake and carbonara (courtesy of my mother) but it still wouldn’t dispel the thought that I am in so need of the greatness I was promised. Huh.
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It would be better if I was in love. But I’m not. And that causes complications.
Because if I was in love, it would be easier to live with myself. Because I will have an excuse for wanting the things I want. Because then I would have a valid excuse for taking the things I take. Because then I would have a reason for feeling giddy and ridiculous.
But I am not in love. This is the first time I lamented the thought that I am not. I’ve always ranted about the fact that I can’t, or that I am and it sucks. I thought it would be easier if I never fall. But now that I don’t, I find it sad.
Not that I am choosing to fall in love. Rather, telling myself that will be just pretending. It won’t mean a thing. The truth is I’m not and I just have to live with it.
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None of it means a damn thing.
-Mal Reynolds, Firefly episode “Objects in Space”
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