Brilliant

8640 people died yesterday. Approximately 12,622,770,400 people have died over the course of human history. And most importantly, I got 39 points for the International Baccalaureate program. Oh woe is me. 39 points. Darkness, so cold. I feel like I’m falling deep into the broken, drunken sea of black tar that is my soul – and the match that lights it flicking off my feet as they prepare to dance a hempen jig on empty air, beginning t- Hey! Latest issue of Deadpool is out! Fuck yeah, life is great.

Apparently, I’m devastated and near-suicide, but I guess I didn’t get the memo.

Yesterday consisted of receiving my results, looking at them and contemplating them for a few hours, then visiting the comic store and playing Dota 2. People were trying to console me with the fact that 39 could get me into almost any university I wanted, that I did not have to feel like a failure and all that jazz, but it really wasn’t necessary (though it was touching to see how much friends care for you).

I failed. In accordance to the Benjamin Mok rubrics and marking scheme, I failed this time round. Now before you turn away from here in order to prevent exposure to long-winded emotional outbursts and self-gratifying wallows in the filth pits of despair, or worst of all, badly-written poetry, don’t worry. I’m not going to do that. In fact, I’m taking this extremely well. You see, there’s two extremes I can go to now. First, is the obvious one, sinking into long-haired cryptic wall posts on Facebook.

Second, and this is the reason why I’m rejecting the consolation of others, is self-denial. No, I’m not gonna soften the blow of this by labelling it as anything else other than a failure. I did not achieve what I wanted, so I’m not gonna say it was a success – my heart’s desire deserves better treatment than that. Doesn’t matter if it’s good enough to get me into the university I wanted to, it wasn’t what I wanted, and that’s the end of it.

Am I sad? Fuck yeah. I’m quite disappointed. I’m not afraid to admit it. But I’ve been able to distance myself from this emotion, noting in the information that has been given to me, processing it and finally realizing that the time has finally come. People who know me have always known me to give long-winded lectures on the meaning of life and the meaning of living to the fullest. Now it’s time to walk the talk, to practice my preaching. An excerpt from my previous words to someone else:

“Don’t discount the power of failure. Don’t ignore the power of yourself. First, ask yourself, do you fulfill these conditions – 1. You’ve failed. 2. You’re alive. If the answer to the first is no, then either you don’t need to read this, or you may want to reconsider. If the answer to the second is no, then DIE ZOMBIE SCUM. But if the answer to both is yes, then you have once course of action left to you, the same one everybody can take. Keep striving, keep running, don’t stop to look back.

Don’t start the first page of the next chapter with tear-stains on your ink. Don’t start the first painting of the next series with blood on the canvas. Take your failure, process it, learn from it, and then just fuck it – keep walking.

Because the alternative is inaction, is apathy. And that way lies the destruction of all that makes you human.”

So, it’s finally time to do this for myself. And I’m proud to say, I have. I haven’t fallen into self-denial and have rejected neither my emotions, nor my failure. But I haven’t fallen into whinging despair either. I’m still me, I’m still alive. Look back to the start of this post, and you realize, in the same day as me receiving my results, approximately 8000 people can no longer say that. 8000 or so people can no longer strive in this world, they can no longer pick themselves up without the help of a necromancer’s unholy resurrection, they can no longer push forward past the boundaries of themselves and the world.

People tell me, “Be thankful that you don’t live in a third-world country, that you aren’t starving every day.” I think that statement is wrong. I should be thankful for even more than that. I should be thankful that I’m alive right now to continue my journey, that I can keep making footprints in the sand before my time is up. I once told someone else that a person’s circumstances, his wealth, his abilities, his achievements mean nothing to me in comparison to his attitude. To the way he sees life.

Does he give everything for his heart’s desire?

This applies to me too. I will only respect myself if I follow my own principles, and that’s what I plan to do. When I said I will give everything for my heart’s desire, this means even the luxury to wallow in self-pity begging for the sympathetic consolations of others. No time for that. So much to do, so much to experience.

(Doesn’t mean though, that I’m not going to watch cartoons while hugging my tub of Ben and Jerry’s. Nobody, no high-minded principles are gonna take that away from me.)