Equity is a Utopian word to mask the inevitable truth of society; that equity does not exist.
It is not of an unduly, pompous attitude from which the topic of equity will be discussed in such a manner. Perhaps it may be an overwhelming and unapologetic turbulence of emotions that have seeped their way onto the keyboard. Though such a style sparks a sentiment of strength, of some solid ground spurred on by solitude (its reasoning can be saved for another overblown oratory).
Too much has the headline been on financial inequity and the like. Perhaps equity in terms of education, or healthcare, and access to government services. But there is another problem that is often ignored. Intelligence can easily take the place of wealth. It is all too enticing for one to ignore, its beaming light shining at all our egos. It is asymptotic yet we believe there is always hope, that every new day is a new day for learning and intellectual growth. Through the lavish decorative coating of optimism is the dark truth of such growth: its pace varies for different people.
It is a truth that causes much vexation and annoyance. The constant lack of aptitude in academia and social relations has proved to be a constant source of resentment. Some say mistakes are permissible, so long as a resolution arises. Though here’s a bummer: there is an infinite number of mistakes. Even under the perfectly logical assumption that all resolutions are employed to their fullest extent and no same mistake repeats itself twice, the infinite number of possibilities covers a person for life. However careful one can be, mistakes are inevitable. Though these mistakes are the building blocks of experience and accumulating well-formed resolutions from such mistakes will masterfully sculpt one’s wisdom, for some, the word mistake is absent from their vocabulary.
There exist those who need no mistakes to formulate a master plan of life, an ornate, intricate plan composed with such artistic ingenuity it poses an aura of structural elegance. There are two generalities regarding life to be discussed. They are generally regarded to be the two most primordial pillars in living life. They are part of our innate desires and as a consequence, our animal-like lust for success in such topics are brazen yet a commonality in our society.
One of them is work. Continuous struggle never seems to quench the itching fury that is improving the self. Without pre-reading, reviewing, and pushing myself to do homework, disaster would have been imminent. It is not a possibility for the lack of effort to translate into any positivity, a notion which seems perfectly logical. The capitalist mindset of rewards matching effort is met. However, such due diligence is foreign to some. Following due diligence is at the core of my trek for without it, I am without a compass. Though for some, their mind is better than any navigation system there can be, maybe even rivaling that of the armed forces. Though the map and compass is all that I have. They are soaked in the rain, battered by the winds, torn by the countless times on which I have depended. Yet, there are those who need no map, who need no compass. Their innate abilities allow them to function without them. Of course we all make progress. But consider the rates at which we are all progressing. There is a clear mismatch between effort and reward and it cannot be helped for such is in the hands of biology.
Perhaps the most striking argument for such a bitter perspective is the concept of virtue in academia and learning. Education is ultimately for the betterment of man and the enlightenment of the soul. Paradoxically, the presence of such people without the need of a map and compass is for certain darkening the landscape. They have destroyed the virtuous foundation of learning by flaunting their high profile lassitude. They have shamed education by cheating the system and treating educators as Americans treat foreigners: diabolically shocking. Superficially, they demonstrate a sensible character of nobility and dignity. Though such characteristics are exactly their guild that covers their true character: a psychological vagabond.
The second one is relationships. Exposing the self to vulnerability has the scratching agony of a perpetual desperation for eternal solitude. Though some risks are rewarded, mistakes are inevitable. Or perhaps such a declaration is only applicable to the miserable author of this miserable work. Repeated failures have made possible the formulation of many theories regarding social behaviour. Though I have reached the upper limit of my permissible mistakes for I have successfully failed at a similar situation twice. The hope was overflowing, and perhaps it is hope that drowned me in my efforts. The layers of effort that I invested have proved to be fruitless for the fruit is hidden behind closed doors, its blinking lights have stopped flashing. The four-way flashers turn on yet again as I pause on the freeway for calm in all this calamity.
I seek not perfection yet I dream it.
The perfection of any social interaction with intent is clearly not feasible, given its vagarious nature. Perhaps it is exactly that why my efforts have proven to be detrimental rather than constructive. I am trying to shape a cloud in the sky and left forever in dismay at the prospect of failure, the inevitable eventuality of failure. I am trying to sculpt the waters, to iron it when its rough and to excite it with its still. I am trying to be a bird, only to be thrown in the pit of pitiful truth that not all humans are birds. Through all these fantastical attempts I have discovered the catastrophic evils of society. We are all subjects of the ecdysiastic behaviour society. Society is its own mask in pernicious immoralities. To live with one another is to keeping fooling until one can be fooled no longer. Then the said parties will no longer live with one another. And the cycle repeats with yet another person.
To be kind, you mustn’t be lighthearted.
A vacancy often wafts over me as it momentarily taps into my mind with such effortlessness. I drift in and out of consciousness, unable to steer my mind in my guided direction by map and compass. I turn on the shower faucet and a constant rhythm occupies the room. I am met with the same water which I tried to sculpt, the same water I tried so desperately on which to float. I realize with striking clarity at my isolation and vulnerability. There is no perfection. I stroke my dreams of living in solitude by the ocean, detached from the barren lands of society. As I trudge alone along the well-trodden path of civilization, what would it take to be detached from it? Maybe I’ll feel less alone by myself. That’s a nice start.