First of all, as a member so callously cast out of society by their own choice firstly and by the ancient ways of living of their family far, far, far secondly, I have every single right to bash, slander, mock, insult and right down shove my ideals down the throat of society until it vomits itself out and vanishes from existence.
Or in more reasonable terms, it’s all basically miserable drivel.
Now, out of the many, many things I can hate society for like double standards, prejudgment, weddings at 1 AM and the invention of high heels (stopping for a moment here to quote Robin Williams when he said “If I find the misogynistic bastard that invented heels, I’ll kill him.”), I, and in a quite self-absorbed fashion, decided to tackle why I hate the twenties with such steady fury that I am now immune to every single Hollywood cliche I am subjected to.
I don’t know if it’s art, life, the evolution/biology/socio-psycho settings of man or societal mass idiocy that prompted men and women in their twenties to start up, light up and burn out all in the very brief course of 10 years.
A short description of the twenties of your life:
– At the age of 20 you’re a college student.
– Any time between 22 and 24 you have graduated.
– Some lost time trying to find a job.
– 25-26 you started your career.
– By 29, you would have found a suitable conjunction to get married (love not being a prerequisite), settle down and even reproduce.
Very frightful, isn’t it? I mean very frightful.
In those 10 years, you would have consumed every threshold your life will traditionally hold. A responsibility of not only carrying (floating about) yourself through, but also of starting up a conjoined life with someone who isn’t your mini you. Let’s not forget the mad hormones that will shoot up through your system every once in a while. If they told you it was a thing of adolescence, you refer them to the travesty they’re turning their lives into.
For some reason I do not claim to know, as human beings we were… burdened, I shall say, with feelings. Feelings that burn away through your last capillary, creating a massive cloud of black smoke to fog up your judgement. The aforementioned course is frightful on it’s own if viewed objectively; however, a subjective view with the aid of feelings will sharpen the specks of debris you’re progressively creating out of your life.
This morbid societal celebration of youth reminds me of a fallacy I once heard, that lemmings die by mass suicide; they push themselves one by one over a cliff till the very last one. To tell you the truth, we depict the scene more brilliantly, accurately and with more passion: we all jump off that cliff together.
Personally, and surprisingly rationally, I find it all to be too hasty (no shit, Sherlock). As a person who get-it-over-withes their life, I am more inclined to take this with a tall glass of iced tea. I want to leave something for my thirties, and more importantly for my golden age: menopause, before I find myself “rediscovering” who I am in Tibet. Take the discovery slowly, we thought Pluto was a planet.