(no subject)
I was talking on the bus today and found an interesting and sad piece of news: a singer from Hawthorne Hights had died earlier this week.
This got some of my friends and me wondering, "Well, what happens to those people who need this band?" It's true: there are many people that music, well, "saves". They depend on certain artists and bands to get them through the day, the month, the year...their lives, even.
"Emo" was the term immediately branded to these people on the bus this morning, but the truth rests that "emo" isn't a reality: it is instead a stereotype branded on those who dress a certain way, listen to a certain kind of music, and act in a certain manner.
Personally, I believe that there are those who dress how they believe "emo" people should dress, act the way they believe "emo" people should act and listen to what they believe "emo" people should listen to, and also I believe that the whole concept of "emo" isn't really applicable to humans--other than those who purposely dress in a way that they want to scream the label.
But I digress.
There are people who simply may not be able to get over the loss of the singer of Hawthorne Hights and who honestly might not be able to overcome the tragedy. I suppose I can relate: oftentimes I feel as though if music didn't exist, I might very well lie down in the middle of the road and die.
This led me to think about the people in the world who sit on their fat lazy butts and complain about how miserable their lives are.
There are many reasons for sadness to grip people, many reasons for the lethargic and pathetic state of many: people have been dumped, diseased, disregarded. They've been ignored, bullied, and generally put down. They've put a pet to sleep, they've lost a game, they've been backstabbed by a friend.
Then there are those people who, even knowing that their single cause of happiness is unreal, would rather cling to a false sign of hope than be left truly on their own.
I used to sympathize with this. I used to feel sorry for those whose lives had been so degraded by society that they clung to false hopes like a child clings to its mother; I felt such agonizing pity for those whose lives proved so pathetic that even knowing the one idea they believed in to be a fool's dream would hold it in their hearts anyway. I'm an empathetic person, whether I come off as one or not. When I see horrible tragedies on the news I feel pain in my chest and when I see beggers on the street I cry for their position.
But my heart has become hard; while I'll still cry for those destined to die in the dregs of the city, while I'll still feel sorrow for the many in unfortunate circumstances, I have made up my mind and my heart: I can not respect anyone who curls up in defeat, who will literally lie themselves down on the ground and die when hardships hit.
I feel no more remorse for those whose lives have been showered with many sorrows if they do not do anything to make their positions better. Those who cry "Defeat!" in the midst of trial are pathetic and do not deserve my attention.
Maybe I have not contracted a fatal disease; maybe I've never seen a loved one die; maybe I've never even put a loved pet to sleep. Maybe, just maybe, I really don't know what it's like to be so put down by life that the only thing I can do is cry, but I do know this for sure: I have so much respect and admiration for those who can pick themselves up from the downtrodden road of life and trudge and traverse on.
For those who would choose a life being fed comforting lies over facing the harsh reality and becoming a respectable person, I'm disgusted.
Life is hard, and there is no way around this truth:
No matter how downtrodden you are, no matter how much you've been kicked and pushed around; no matter how utterly hopeless your pathetic life is, life still goes on. The world will never stop for you.
The wheel in the sky keeps on turning.
I can only tell myself now that if I ever find myself in a bad position--if contract AIDS, cancer, some other disease; if end up forced to live on the streets; if I end up deaf, blind, handicapped--I can only tell myself: "Shit happens. It happens and still the earth revolves around the sun; still day turns into night, night into day, days into weeks and months and years. Shit happens, life goes on, and quite frankly, so must I."
You've got a good strong pair of legs...I suggest you use them.
This got some of my friends and me wondering, "Well, what happens to those people who need this band?" It's true: there are many people that music, well, "saves". They depend on certain artists and bands to get them through the day, the month, the year...their lives, even.
"Emo" was the term immediately branded to these people on the bus this morning, but the truth rests that "emo" isn't a reality: it is instead a stereotype branded on those who dress a certain way, listen to a certain kind of music, and act in a certain manner.
Personally, I believe that there are those who dress how they believe "emo" people should dress, act the way they believe "emo" people should act and listen to what they believe "emo" people should listen to, and also I believe that the whole concept of "emo" isn't really applicable to humans--other than those who purposely dress in a way that they want to scream the label.
But I digress.
There are people who simply may not be able to get over the loss of the singer of Hawthorne Hights and who honestly might not be able to overcome the tragedy. I suppose I can relate: oftentimes I feel as though if music didn't exist, I might very well lie down in the middle of the road and die.
This led me to think about the people in the world who sit on their fat lazy butts and complain about how miserable their lives are.
There are many reasons for sadness to grip people, many reasons for the lethargic and pathetic state of many: people have been dumped, diseased, disregarded. They've been ignored, bullied, and generally put down. They've put a pet to sleep, they've lost a game, they've been backstabbed by a friend.
Then there are those people who, even knowing that their single cause of happiness is unreal, would rather cling to a false sign of hope than be left truly on their own.
I used to sympathize with this. I used to feel sorry for those whose lives had been so degraded by society that they clung to false hopes like a child clings to its mother; I felt such agonizing pity for those whose lives proved so pathetic that even knowing the one idea they believed in to be a fool's dream would hold it in their hearts anyway. I'm an empathetic person, whether I come off as one or not. When I see horrible tragedies on the news I feel pain in my chest and when I see beggers on the street I cry for their position.
But my heart has become hard; while I'll still cry for those destined to die in the dregs of the city, while I'll still feel sorrow for the many in unfortunate circumstances, I have made up my mind and my heart: I can not respect anyone who curls up in defeat, who will literally lie themselves down on the ground and die when hardships hit.
I feel no more remorse for those whose lives have been showered with many sorrows if they do not do anything to make their positions better. Those who cry "Defeat!" in the midst of trial are pathetic and do not deserve my attention.
Maybe I have not contracted a fatal disease; maybe I've never seen a loved one die; maybe I've never even put a loved pet to sleep. Maybe, just maybe, I really don't know what it's like to be so put down by life that the only thing I can do is cry, but I do know this for sure: I have so much respect and admiration for those who can pick themselves up from the downtrodden road of life and trudge and traverse on.
For those who would choose a life being fed comforting lies over facing the harsh reality and becoming a respectable person, I'm disgusted.
Life is hard, and there is no way around this truth:
No matter how downtrodden you are, no matter how much you've been kicked and pushed around; no matter how utterly hopeless your pathetic life is, life still goes on. The world will never stop for you.
The wheel in the sky keeps on turning.
I can only tell myself now that if I ever find myself in a bad position--if contract AIDS, cancer, some other disease; if end up forced to live on the streets; if I end up deaf, blind, handicapped--I can only tell myself: "Shit happens. It happens and still the earth revolves around the sun; still day turns into night, night into day, days into weeks and months and years. Shit happens, life goes on, and quite frankly, so must I."
You've got a good strong pair of legs...I suggest you use them.