Our goddamn lucky selves never had to worry about it.
Never had to sweat about utility bills, about rent.
About school fees, about handphone bills.
About making ends meet, about paying your dues.
We always had an allowance.
$30 a week, $40, $50...the loaded assholes may even get up to three digits. Or some luckier ones just get cash put into their wallets whenever they run out.
And if it isn't enough, you can always plead with daddy or mummy for a few extra ten dollar bills.
Especially on those class outings.
It's been a while since I had that kind of luxury, though.
Freedom and Independence both come with a price.
Earning your own money comes with added responsibility:
I now have to pay my own phone bills and school fees.
When I go out, eat out, or play outside, I pay with whatever I have earned.
EZ Link top ups, new clothes, new underwear.
Lunch for my family members from the nearby hawker centre.
Even the laptop I'm clickety clacking away on came out of my own pocket.
Independence, means not a goddamn cent from mummy or daddy.
Independence, means relieving mummy or daddy of the burden you weigh upon their shoulders.
I am still not fully independent.
But hell, I've lightened their load a little. And boy, have I learnt a lot.
You learn to save.
You learn to plan.
You learn to bargain and source for cheaper.
And it hurts, whenever you have to fork out those orange dollar bills from your wallet.
I finally understand the value of money. Some what.
For the Deep Thinkers, the KI Enthusiasts, le Philosophers:
When the cashier hands you your change and receipt, you hastily pocket those gold and silver coins, and grab the plastic bag of whatthingummajig you just bought, you pause.
You pause and then you realise the irony-
That freedom isn't free at all.
And then the emo kid in you starts thinking...Hey...
Reality is a load of bullshit.
"Freedom having a price.
Fighting wars to achieve peace.
Executioners sterilising the needles for lethal injections.
People toil at desks from 9 to 6 for money they'll never be able to use to enjoy.
It's sad ain't it?
We believe in FREE WILL. But only because we have no choice."
.
.
.
I say fuck reality, I'm gonna live life.
I'll work 9 to 6, and be goddamn thankful I'm not retrenched.
Freedom ain't free? I'll deal with it.
Long hours on my ass in front of an LCD screen will increase cancer/diabetes/high blood pressure risk? For the sake of my stomach-be-hungry-and-no-house-to-sleep-in-itis, I'll take my chances.
Shit is mediocre only if you concede so. Be humble.
I realise that after I've been in Raffles, I came out always expecting to start out at the top.
One of the more negative elitist traits.
Nothing wrong if you're a Rhode's Scholar, but that attitude won't do well for you if you start working from the bottom, like say, join some one's company.
And please, don't take life too seriously - no one gets out alive anyway.
Random? I guess.
Yours till the butt cracks,
Sumo
sumo signs off.It's a daily routine now.
Wake up at around 7.30am.
Prep up, go for training.
Toil for an eternity of a three hours.
Go to RJC, shower, dump shit in locker.
Change into business casual.
Leave for office. (Lunch optional, depending on time available.)
Work at laptop for the next 4-5 hours. (The work can be pretty interesting.)
Go home.
It isn't 9 to 5.
But it's routine.
I hate routine.
But ah well. At least I learn much.
Training? Gets easier once your the oldest.
Be it the years of experience, or the fact that the only challenging sparring partners are your own batch mates, you feel much more at ease at the top.
And thank God, I'm starting to save again. Halfway to my goal.
Money's fricking awesome.
Speaking of which, it's time I head off to Serangoon to tutor Bastian.
All in a day's work, eh.
Hoo-ah?
sumo signs off.
