Friday, December 10, 2010


Days ago, I was tweeted by one of my boss, asking me to sign in to this website and vote for her favorite Korean singers/bands. Seeing that it was my boss, I was kind of "under orders" to, but seeing that it takes just about 3 seconds to do so, I didn't really mind. More importantly, I didn't mind because if I were to ask people sign for an online "Bring Leyton back in OTH" petition, I would really appreciate it if not only would they be okay in doing it, that they wouldn't mind as well.

There's a mirror in people that makes it probable for everyone to respect the other. For me, that's passion. I love everyone who has it and I loathe anyone that doesn't. That's why even if one of my best friends constantly blab about cars and robots all the freaking time, and one of them talks about India and I pretend to keep interest, they have my respect. Because in the pool of a million blah people, sadly some of them resides near my spectrum, a buzz of passion is most welcome.

I don't care if your ultimate goal is to decode the world's lengthiest CMS text, or if you go 24 hours without shutting up about Anarchy in the world, and even if you dedicate your whole life to collecting Edward Cullen memento, I would respect you, because there's nothing sadder in this life than to live it without so much an ounce of passion.

I grew up being passionate about certain things at certain times, some were short-lived, some have stayed with me from kindergarten to now, some I cringe about, some I'm proud of, but if I die, and if someone were to write my Obituary, he will have a lot of material because 0f all the things I didn't have, I had passion.

So if you talk to me and rave about the one thing I hate but sound passionate about it, I will guarantee you I will listen. I'd probably be shouting "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP" in my mind, but you'd be able to keep a record that will last for as long as you hold the heat. And as long as you remain the person whose eyes light up, and whose heartbeat increase dangerously faster by the mention of that one thing you hold ever so dearly, you remain the person whose life mattered.

It explains my addiction for Singing Contests. Everytime there's a soundbite of someone saying how they waited their whole life to be given the chance to do what they absolutely wanted to do, and how their world would fall apart if they come short, I relate too much that I could feel myself cry. I get the passion they dreamt their dreams with, and for that, I can identify. Plus, I love music. But still, I like America's Next Top Model for the same thing even if I absolutely have no inkling towards modelling. I love it because it says a lot about how this life is too short not to risk breaking your heart for that ultimate chance to make it complete.

I have a cousin who draw like she was born just to draw. Unfortunately, no matter how she tried to, her mom could only send her to an IT school. This is a girl who didn't have the choice to follow her heart even if the directions were blazing, but she keeps a drawing pad and would take out her pencils everytime she sees anything that was worthy of drawing. And she keeps her dreams alive just by keeping that pad, so even if she becomes an IT person and hate the world of it, she will forever keep that spark.

Months ago when I was looking for a job, everyone kept telling me to work somewhere else, some place where there's money, some place where I'm absolutely sure to excel in, and I kept explaining myself along the lines of "No I'm chasing my dream." Not everyone got it, most of them just found it laughable, some blamed me for being picky, some said I was too idealistic. It was a hard time, the hardest time actually, but I kept going because those people were the kind of people who didn't know one thing about having passion, about finding what you love doing, and wading through hell just to be able to do it. I wasn't about to start listening to them, because in my world, they don't exist.

I'm blogging this because I've gotten a lot of crap and watched people take crap from people for being passionate about something, and I watched people stop being so engrossed because they wanted to fit in. They wanted it most not to stick out in an otherwise flat, boring, mediocre world of these people who spend their waking mornings having no kind of passion at all. Like it was a duty to love something, like it was such a crime to commit yourself to something that bad it makes you crazy sometimes.

I've had dozen of conversations consisting of the most awkward silences ever because the other end offered nothing but the most stupid, dumbest responses ever uttered in mankind.

I mean come one, do you even fucking care about something?

Please care. About anything, about anyone. And when you do, make sure you're its biggest fan, because even if you're not, the fact that you are trying to makes you matter. It means you count. It makes you visible, it makes your mark.

It makes your Obituary colorful and so brilliant your mourners would be confused whether to laugh or cry. And it would be the best funeral ever.

Make your death count. Make this lifetime be worth something.

No comments:

Post a Comment