What do I want out of life?
Ok, so I've got a major IB math project due tomorrow. And I didn't do it. Honestly, I couldn't get myself to. I tried with all my mind, I read the directions over and over, I looked over my data for hours but couldn't come up with anything. It was horrible. I've never utterly failed like this before.
Then I got to thinking: why am I like this? I realized that my own intelligence was my downfall. As an intellectual, people are always saying to me, "Oh, you're so smart, you're going to make such a big difference in the world some day" and other variations of the phrase boiling down to the same basic concept. So, I'm born with an above-average intelligence. Does this automatically mean I have to go out and write the next Gatsby, design the next lunar lander, sign the latest Constitutional amendment into law? People seem to imply that wherever I go. Those IB people at my school treat students like me as aristocracy; they elate us above the average-minded masses. My relatives are always saying, "Oh, you'll be so rich someday!" I always hear so-called "inspirational speeches" saying how people like me (i.e., the intellectually privileged) will spearhead humanity into the future. I've become the member of an abstract elitist society I never intended to join. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm all for progressive development of technology, society, culture, et cetera, but it annoys me how people always force the burden on the intellectual youth. They make us feel guilty if we don't attempt to ascend to such great heights; if we try to follow our own dreams, they tell us that we're just wasting our intelligence.
IB is just a mold. It gives you hardly any freedom in choosing your classes. It utterly ruins the American high school experience with international standards. My bloody essays, my bloody lab write-ups, my bloody history papers, all of it will be shipped all over the world to be graded by IB professors. To me, that just feels so cold. I've come--or rather, been dragged--all this way; what if some prick teacher in Morocco decides he doesn't like my writing style? BANG. There goes my grade. There goes my high school years, supposed to be the best years of my life. Oh wait, those years are already gone. Darn.
I don't fit into IB's bloody mold. I don't want to be rich. I don't want to be famous. I don't want to be influential. I just want to be a great husband, who'll become a great father, and who will support a great family. Sometimes, I wish I had a lesser intelligence so that people would just leave me alone; so that I could quietly pursue my own humble goal.
But alas, here I am, with an "enlightened" mind, trying--yet, in spite of my "gifts," failing--to explain what I want my life to be: simple.
Ok kids, it's metaphorical story time!
(By the way, I'm horrible at putting my thoughts into words, so if none of this makes sense to any of you, then I'm sorry).
I feel like a French knight during the Battle of Agincourt; clad in heavy armor, my superiors are rallying me to rush into the muddy swamp to rout out the English. We've got them outnumbered, how could we lose? Wait, the swamp is deeper than we thought. The armor is hindering my movement. The bloody mud is up to my waist. Well, I'm stuck in it, I may as well try to fight it out. Oh, blast, there's the English. And they've got longbowmen. And now I'm hit, falling into the swamp, sinking because of my heavy armor. Why aren't the English sinking? Oh, their soldiers are completely naked from the waist down. Humiliating, but they can move and therefore live. I continue to sink into the four-foot-deep mire. The armor prevents all movement. The mud is now seeping through my helmet. I begin to suffocate. I, like the other thousands of French knights in that battle, die.
The way I feel right now is while I'm up there, stuck in the swamp, right before the confrontation with the English.
I'm so confused.
By the way, if you took the time to read through all of my muddled thoughts, then I love you. If you didn't read it all, then I'll still love you. It's unconditional, see. I'm glad I'm not confused about that.
Then I got to thinking: why am I like this? I realized that my own intelligence was my downfall. As an intellectual, people are always saying to me, "Oh, you're so smart, you're going to make such a big difference in the world some day" and other variations of the phrase boiling down to the same basic concept. So, I'm born with an above-average intelligence. Does this automatically mean I have to go out and write the next Gatsby, design the next lunar lander, sign the latest Constitutional amendment into law? People seem to imply that wherever I go. Those IB people at my school treat students like me as aristocracy; they elate us above the average-minded masses. My relatives are always saying, "Oh, you'll be so rich someday!" I always hear so-called "inspirational speeches" saying how people like me (i.e., the intellectually privileged) will spearhead humanity into the future. I've become the member of an abstract elitist society I never intended to join. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm all for progressive development of technology, society, culture, et cetera, but it annoys me how people always force the burden on the intellectual youth. They make us feel guilty if we don't attempt to ascend to such great heights; if we try to follow our own dreams, they tell us that we're just wasting our intelligence.
IB is just a mold. It gives you hardly any freedom in choosing your classes. It utterly ruins the American high school experience with international standards. My bloody essays, my bloody lab write-ups, my bloody history papers, all of it will be shipped all over the world to be graded by IB professors. To me, that just feels so cold. I've come--or rather, been dragged--all this way; what if some prick teacher in Morocco decides he doesn't like my writing style? BANG. There goes my grade. There goes my high school years, supposed to be the best years of my life. Oh wait, those years are already gone. Darn.
I don't fit into IB's bloody mold. I don't want to be rich. I don't want to be famous. I don't want to be influential. I just want to be a great husband, who'll become a great father, and who will support a great family. Sometimes, I wish I had a lesser intelligence so that people would just leave me alone; so that I could quietly pursue my own humble goal.
But alas, here I am, with an "enlightened" mind, trying--yet, in spite of my "gifts," failing--to explain what I want my life to be: simple.
Ok kids, it's metaphorical story time!
(By the way, I'm horrible at putting my thoughts into words, so if none of this makes sense to any of you, then I'm sorry).
I feel like a French knight during the Battle of Agincourt; clad in heavy armor, my superiors are rallying me to rush into the muddy swamp to rout out the English. We've got them outnumbered, how could we lose? Wait, the swamp is deeper than we thought. The armor is hindering my movement. The bloody mud is up to my waist. Well, I'm stuck in it, I may as well try to fight it out. Oh, blast, there's the English. And they've got longbowmen. And now I'm hit, falling into the swamp, sinking because of my heavy armor. Why aren't the English sinking? Oh, their soldiers are completely naked from the waist down. Humiliating, but they can move and therefore live. I continue to sink into the four-foot-deep mire. The armor prevents all movement. The mud is now seeping through my helmet. I begin to suffocate. I, like the other thousands of French knights in that battle, die.
The way I feel right now is while I'm up there, stuck in the swamp, right before the confrontation with the English.
I'm so confused.
By the way, if you took the time to read through all of my muddled thoughts, then I love you. If you didn't read it all, then I'll still love you. It's unconditional, see. I'm glad I'm not confused about that.