Sunday, January 28, 2007

R.I.P - Rest In Pandemonium

Ever feel that there are just way too many potholes on your road -- where it takes a massive amount of energy and effort to get out of it? And the worst part is, after you get out of it, you ask yourself "Now what?" I'm not sure if that can be classified as a crisis (quarter-life, mid-life, whatever, you decide) or just a horrid joke played on you by the gods.

Not that I'm anything close to being emo or gothic, but the other day, I found myself mulling about tombstones. It's an aftermath of falling into a gigantic pothole that would bring the Grand Canyon shame. It made me think about my life -- or whatever I can scrape off of it. So yes, tombstones. They're just one of those things that you know you will have... but have completely no control over. And the funny thing is, it will be planted there forever in your memory (in theory, at least). Does one include in a will what he/she wants in his/her tombstone? I mean, who decides? Is there some sort of template that these tombstone companies have? Like, is there a person employed full-time to think of cheesy blurbs to be engraved on one's tombstone? I would think, however, that if I were dying, thinking of what to write on my tombstone would be the last thing on my mind. After all, don't I have to figure out how to bloody get to the light at the end of the tunnel? Do I get a map or some equipment at least? Flashlight?

Anywayyyyyyy... off in a tangent again.

Tombstones, yes. I was thinking "What on earth will my family put on my tombsone?" The thing is, I don't think I'm particularly good at anything. And I'm not exaggerating, either -- I mean it! Sure, I was ace in school and academics and all that... because I was expected to be (Asian parents, remember?). Then school finished, thank God! Got a decent job -- the type that you aren't embarrassed to talk about during a party -- and pretty much sold my life to it in the name of financial independence and self-support (paving the way for less parental naggings, though it doesn't eliminate it completely; nothing does!). Ironically though, I'm still uncertain whether or not I like what I do. It's simply to pay the bills, what else? Oh, and it's also something to do -- keeps you busy! That's what jobs are for, no? There are people who like being identified with what they do. "I'm a financial analyst" or "I'm a neuro-surgeon" or "I'm a network administrator." I don't even know what I am... and when I find out, I'm not exactly sure if I want to be pegged down as that. It makes everything sound so, I'm not sure... certain? Permanent? Grown up?

As for talent, not exactly sure I possess that either. I've a disgruntled feeling God must've left me out when He sprinkled talent in heaven before He sent us all babies-to-be to earth. Or perhaps I was in the shower or fixing my hair, and the freaking cherub who was supposed to let me know was busy SMS-ing her boyfriend on her mobile phone. I can't sing (I only do so in the shower where I can delude myself into thinking that the good acoustics mask my tuneless singing), I don't dance (without being intoxicated), I can't act (I tried, believe me), I can't draw (my art extends to stick figures), I'm a horrible public speaker (though no incidents of tomato-throwing yet)... and well, you get the idea. Certainly the Jill of No Trades. Pretty pathetic, huh?

Good traits and attributes? Man, I would really need to not piss my immediate family off before I die or else they will only think of the devious crimes I've done in the past -- like stealing my sister's precious Barbie dolls when I was younger, or completely destroying my brother's action figures by jumping on it with much gusto. Or that day in 4th grade where I lied to my parents about my grades. The list is endless, I tell you, and they really do have enough ammo against me to ward off any man from marrying me. I'd like to think that I was a loving daughter/sister/wife (wishful thinking) at least once in my life. Then again, it's one of those things that I would have to leave in the hands of my loved ones. Would it be mighty narcisstic of me to leave instructions to my family that my tombstone ought to say "To an unprecedented daughter/sister/wife whose death makes us lose the meaning of our own lives?" Yeah, I think so too. I should spend the next years of my life buttering them up... after antagonizing them for the past 25 years!

That brings us back to square one -- my blank tombstone. Apart from my name, it would probably be left blank, indeed. I sure hope they spell it correctly, at least. Then again, good to have some mystery, right? Hmmm, not if one's dead, I reckon. That would come off as something utterly peculiar like I was the Grinch or Scrooge or something.

With regards to the potholes of the notorious Twenties Road, how many more to go before we get elevated to the speed bumps of the Thirties Avenue? Can I still make it? Who knows, maybe I'm going through my mid-life crisis already -- and that I will die when I'm fifty. Hmmm.

Well then... BRING IT ON!!!

(Quite some banter today really. I apologize for the incoherence... but was fun!!!)


Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home