What Hath Come Of the World?!

<insert dramatic face here>

I always complain about how my parents don't understand me because of the major generation gap. They don't understand why I am always on my phone...or laptop...or iPod...or anything really. They always ask me to make use of my time and do things constructively. Use time productively. Having aims and goals in life.So on and so forth.

I hated those long lectures. It's bad enough I have my own philosophical thoughts going on in my head, with my parents yapping away on the other end about reality of life.

But today, as I was reading an article about how one should live in their 20s (it was directed at the male audience, but I think readers are sane enough to generalise and adapt some of the points to our situation...or in this case, gender), I realised how correct my parents were.

What's stupid is, it was an article that made me realise this. What's sad is, we have people writing articles to tell us how to live. I mean, I don't think my parents, or their parents, or their parents' parents read articles and lead life. And they turned out to be perfectly fine!

Which is why I generally do not appreciate the media and technology. They influence our thoughts waaaaay too much and we start to have this weird cyber personality. I can talk a shit load here on my blog and on Facebook and Twitter, but stare at you like a wide eyed raccoon in person and say nothing.

Having said all that, it's ironic. Because I am a media student. And this is technology that I'm using to convey this message. What hath come of the world? Where it just goes around in circles? The quest for answers hath lost its meaning. There are no answers. Just circular journeys. 

Aging

A few more months and it’s all over,

I am so young, so sober.

Everyone around me dances and sings,

With alcohol in their systems,

Unaware of the danger it brings.

I looked around at my tidy room,

Everything had its own place; Even the tiny broom.

When did everything run by so quickly?

It seemed just like yesterday,

When my mother used to do things for me,

As I sat there, looking sickly.

An immature kid I was.

Running around like there was no such thing as danger.

Today I sit at a desk,

With pen and paper,

Writing this ridiculous poem,

About something that is yet to come.

3 more months; the countdown begins.

This is so nerve wrecking!

People say, “Age is just a number”

And to them I say, “Well, you couldn't get any dumber!”

3 more months, I will no longer be a teenager.

Oh well, let the mature shit begin.