Patience n Philanthropy

I’m beginning to understand what perilous spark creates that dystopian structure of someone’s mind when they’re young – that adolescent stage where they think they’re the only ones to feel misanthropic, misunderstood or entitled to a sense of martyrdom.

I know. This blog is testament to every sin I just listed. I guess that ‘someone’ is a lot closer than I’d love them to be. It’s fine and normal that people do feel that way. My heart goes out to the people who can’t fathom not feeling this way. Even more so my heart goes out to the people our age who can’t feel this way because, by the accident of birth, they are in the real world where they don’t have the privilege of being spoilt, able to tweet satirically about our fictitious problems. I’ve never had to deal with a single bombshell in my life. Neither have the majority of teenagers with too much internet connection and self-entitlement, no matter how much we fool ourselves into believing differently.


It’s not a new thing, and patience is a virtue, but people my age are feeling overexposed and overdeveloped when we’re these sickly sixteen year olds still acting like children who can’t wait for anything. Tomorrow feels like a lifetime away. 10 minutes? That’s forever! We forgot to outgrow these selfish impulses. 

Can I blame the internet? Or is that too hypocritical as I type these words? But, with all the enlightening ways to use the internet, it’s just fostered our instinct of needing everything now. We can’t wait. If you’re thinking that waiting for your laptop to wake up qualifies, then welcome to the club of online brats. It’s great – and we are lucky.

It becomes a segue of helpless impulse; I see clothes and lifestyles online, snippets of  inner monologue, people’s views and opinions on wonderful ideas with cohesive arguments and I’m impatient. I want it all to be mine.

Which is empowering: writing and self-publication is a step towards this, the whole ‘selfie culture’ of women being in control of their public image sends a strong message, and the only way I’ve managed to realise how sheltered, spoilt and straight up lucky I am is through internet campaigning and articles which speak of atrocities I can't imagine. Ironically, staring at my computer screen is making me less short-sighted. I can’t look at things I’ve said in the past, different personas I’ve had, or those ugly traits shared by others, without a sense of shame. We’re Generation Whatever and that worries me; albeit not to the point of unplugging my machine and swallowing the red pill. Expressing ourselves is a necessity and I advocate it... whilst wishing we spent as much time obsessing over important things as we do about the meaningless trivia consuming our spare hours, and that somehow we learn some form of patience to cultivate ourselves into better people. Or learn from our mistakes. I seem to always, without fail, choose the latter. 

(from elle's tumblr for flood victims and a good reminder)

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