We all deal with loss, death, in widely different ways. Some pragmatic people can objectively view death as an inevitable event in one's life, and that mourning is not only pointless, but self destructive. Some are just the opposite, creatures driven by emotion. These are the people you see kissing cadavers, bawling heavily, falling into crevasses of sadness, self-imposed. While I like to think that I am somewhere in between, everyone is driven by emotion to some extent. Hamlet, for example, is almost entirely driven by emotion. He mourns his father's death heavily, holding bitter resentment towards his father for being so selfish as to die. However, when Hamlet learns of his father's murder, all those useless emotions evolve into a new beast. One of anger, one of plotting, one of proposed madness. This impetus was critical to impregnate Hamlet with a revenge baby, yet these rogue emotions have their own effects. While they began as helpers, pushing Hamlet to an unfortunate end goal, they sooner consumed and forced him to lose sight of himself, and even of his goals. Which is why logic and pragmatism must prevail over emotional bigotry, all too prevalent in this day and age.

WHEN I heard the learn’d astronomer;
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me;
When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them;
When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick;	5
Till rising and gliding out, I wander’d off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars. In life, people search for contentment. What fuels their twisting, turning gears, what posts bright smiles on otherwise bleak face, what stirs deeply and wordlessly, what radiates warmth throughout  body. Some search for such feelings in their work, thoughtless dedication to knowledge and advancement. Others find serenity in the quiet moments alone, with blank face and mind, just as the speaker above. The charts and diagrams glaze over his eyes, the stats and figures bogging uninterested mind. But when he looks up into the night sky, silent, surrounding, all is right, in that single, fleeting moment. The only thing one can hope for is to cherish these timeless moments, and try to make the feeling last.

“To be, or not to be: that is the question: 
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, 
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep; 
No more; and, by a sleep to say we end 
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks 
That flesh is heir to, ’tis a consummation 
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep; 
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub.” 
― William Shakespeare, Hamlet


Is it not the most curious thing, that while Shakespeare and I share the same language, it sounds as if we speak different tongues entirely? It's as if the English language had its hay-day many hundreds of years ago, and today we babble the skeleton, the outline, of a once beautiful and archaic language. Even those most well versed in the English language could not hope to speak a thread of Shakespearean language without intense, focused thought. Each word, each pause, used to hold as much meaning as the statement itself, and today, we choose the shortest, the tersest words, to convey our point in the most basic, understandable way possible. It's quite a sad sight to watch such a regal language tumble into muck and disunity, especially so in the texting age.

  Prepare to be Haiku'd 

Ow, stop stepping please

My life is tires and feet

Being sidewalk sucks

Fat butts on my face

All day, I eat what you have

I'm a sad toilet

Everyone pokes me 

And expects me to answer

Their dumb mathematics

(life of a calculator)

As we edge ever closer to graduation, the quandaries that face us shift. It's a strange transition, certainly. Our worries no longer lie in the backhand whispers of the hallways, or the cute girl in your math class; our worries are actually becoming relevant in the real world, and to some, that's rather unsettling.
No more petty worries of trivialities can haunt us; instead the daunting future cackles, looks at your plans and giggles. The decisions we make now will affect us the rest of our days, and the comfortable safety nets sturdily strung below us since birth tears wide, and the wind is blowing vehemently.
Some will be hauling off to college, some are joining the ranks of the military, some are working their fast food jobs, and many have no damn idea what they'd like to do with their lives.

Graduation is like the emergence of a sprout through soil; the wind (parents) may try to impose itself upon the innocent young sprout, blowing wildly one way, and it may even bend the virgin stem whichever way it pleases. The weak sprouts will bend and grow with the direction of the wind, happily submissive to a seemingly omniscient force. But the strong will peer at the wilted weak, and decide to grow their own direction. And it will be damn hard to grow against the wind, but the strong would rather grow a healthy, independent inch on its own, then growing a foot, twisted by the haughty winds.
So please, separate your desires from those of your parents. If there is any right time to be a little selfish and think about what YOU want, now is the time. Opportunities peer from every fissure, every door, every window, and following the extended pointer finger of your guardians helps no one in the long run.
So don't isolate your mind from the endless possibilities of this curious world. Not knowing what you want is okay; just remember to march to the beat of your own drum, because at the end of the day, you won't be happy because you did what people told you to do.

LOOK UPON MY WORKS YE MIGHTY, AND DESPAIR

"Ozymandias" is among the most powerful of poems I've had the privilege of reading. The vivid imagery and powerful diction creates an eerie sense of the eternity of pride, the main theme of the poem.
The scene is a barren dessert, with "lone and level sands that stretch far away." And in the center of such immense emptiness lies a crumbling idol, a testament of power long since eroded by the sands of time. And yet, despite this mysterious civilization and it's ancient death, the pride of the ruler, of Ozymandias, of the king, lives on.
As humans, we lose many things with age. Mobility, creativity, happiness, but one thing people are desperate not to relinquish, is their dignity, their pride, as once those qualities are relinquished, there's really nothing left.

In human history, women have always pulled the short stick since we became "civilized."

In standard hunter gatherer communities, sexism just didn't make sense. Though men typically endeavored the more treacherous tasks, such as hunting, women really did most of the work. Pregnancy/childbearing, crafting of clothes, tools, homes, and utensils, nearly always fell on the back of the women. In many communities, the wife of the leader was respected just as much if not more than the male leader. So when did this enormous fissure between the sexes begin? Essentially since we became a sedentary species, choosing to stick in one place farming, rather than living the dynamic life of nomads. 

As technology advanced, the sheer amount of necessary labor reduced, leaving free-time in the people's lives for the first time. 

Now, here's what I don't get: where was the decision, conscious or not, that women ought to be the ones to sit out? From then, the fissure has been growing immensely rapidly, where today we've formulated some sort of sick algorithm which defines women as women. Your pants must be this tight, your hair this long, your teeth this white, oh and if you don't wear these shoes, you might as well grow a mustache and change your name to Demetri. 

In my opinion, things won't change unless we are able to entirely shatter these misconceptions of what a man is, or what a woman is. Hell, why is a man considered a 'little bitch' if he sheds a tear in public, or a woman a 'slut' if she enjoys sexual contact more than your evangelical neighbors?

Until we decide to place down these ridiculous preconceptions of gender and simply view people without a hundred societal filters clogging our minds, the fissure between the sexes will grow deeper, larger, until all our confused accusations and queer assumptions overflow, drowning in our own ignorance.

Isn't it the most curious thing that a thousand people can witness the exact same event, and yet every individual will have a unique experience, a series of thoughts never thought before? This is so because of our perceptions. Though we may witness the same events, eat the same foods, watch the same television, the feelings, thoughts, and actions it provokes are as unique as the audience. 

Everything we believe, detest, adore, has been formulated in our minds through a series of filters; culture, upbringing, environment, allows people to view the same events, and while some may vomit in disgust, others might bring their hands together in celebration.

In the beginning of Tess of the D'Ubervilles, we encounter a man who many view as sodding rubbish. A drunk vagrant, from his description. He himself believes the perceptions of others. However, once he came into knowledge of his royal background, his entire perception changes. Alas, no longer is he a drunkard, nay, he is but a king in celebration. No longer is he a vagrant, he is a kind lord attempting to relate to his people. 

Nothing really changed after his discovery of his lineage, however. He is still a drunk pauper on the side of the streets, in worn and tattered clothing. However, none of that matters now. The vagrant now views himself as royalty, and since perceptions are truly our only fashion of understanding, he may as well be a great lord in some high up castle. 

The point is, everything we believe is affirmed only through our perceptions. Therefore, if one can assume control and consciousness of their perceptions, they are nearly limitless. Without pre-conceived notions of what we should be or what we are, one attains the only true freedom; freedom from self.