Me as a commodity.

I am commodity.

And as much as i hate the thought of falling into the Singaporean society’s norm, i can no longer deny that i have become the very thing which i resist.

My whole life has been the manifestation of a factory assembly line – add a program here, spruce up exterior there. Placed upon a conveyor belt, barely moving as the government assembly line adds the fixtures which they feel are necessary for economic potential.

After the mandatory assembly, we are placed on display, one-by-one. Occassionally we are required to expound our qualities, but incessantly feeling the need to add on more frills to make ourselves more attractive.

This feeling of need escalates to desperation as the number of people who have successfully been marketed increases.

Why does everything boil down to being so darned mechanical and pragmatic in this world?

What happened to all the impracticality and wonder with which our lives used to be characterised?

Now all  I want to do is escape the unforgiving world we exist in, and the only way I can even achieve that is through fantastical manifestations in the form of books or shows.

This is my only window out to a world where only love and unreal problems exist – an oasis from our reality.

It used to be the thought of fanciful holiays in exotic locations which brought joy to my heart, but now the idea of having weeks of nothing to do appeals to me even more.

I feel so suffocated.

Like life has wound its umbilical cord around my neck and slowly, deliberately tightened its hold till my breath comes out in bare whispers.

Am i the only one who sees the irony in life?

The very thing which gives us the opportunity to learn how to think and feel is the very thing which equips us with the ability to realise that this is the source of all pain and frustration.

~ by babbleksh on 2 November 2006, Thursday.