Death.
This is such a terribly, terribly, morbid title. To fit a terribly, terribly, morbid week. Here's a list of terribly, terribly, morbid events to compliment the mood.
Steve Irwin: Crocodile Hunter unfortunately hunted down by giant stingray. Oh, the irony.
Yew Zhi Hao: Died of mysterious cardiac arrest. Nobody really knows him, but everybody's really sad.
Random Individual in Obituary: Died miserable deaths. Relatives grief over him and spend bomb pasting his black-and-white picture in the Straits Times.
It's just so strange how people tell us that life is important, but only really decide to respect him after he dies.
Hmm. I wonder why.
Steve Irwin has bouquet after bouquet of flowers dumped in front of his home, and people plastering virtual turtles next to their MSN nicks, only when he decided to get stung to death by some stingray's poisonous barb, but not when he had the balls to pounce on massive crocodiles or wrange with vicious pythons.
Then Zhi Hao, who has legions of individuals dressed in the white of RI pouring in to pay their respects to him only after he is killed by a cardiac arrest, and not after he won the PM's Book Prize.
And then we have all these old people who have their pictures plastered all over the newspaper, only after they die of some unfortunate disease, but not when they were alive and working their butts off earning you some dinner.
Hmm. I wonder why.
It's amusing in a very convoluted sort of way, perhaps, that we people only realise that the people close to them are important and significant when they decide to leave us altogether.
Whenever our loved ones are getting on with their lives and doing something for us, we ignore their presence -- like they're a mere, inanimate entity to be disregarded. Yet, somehow or another, when loved ones decide to lie in their graves and not do anything, we decide to respect and love them with all our heart.
Hmm. I wonder why.
Suddenly, I'm beginning to realise that our world is a terribly, terribly, morbid one. Strangely enough, we seem to respect death more than we do life, respect uselessness over usefulness, inanimate over contribution. The dead command honour and respect that all us living mortals can only dream of.
In fact, it's no wonder that the Romans enjoyed watching gladiators getting mauled and killed by lions. Maybe they figured he'd be better honoured after he was dead than when he was alive. And maybe Osama was really a good man, because he decided to murder all those people in the World Trade Center because he wanted them to be honoured for heroism beyond their dreams.
Maybe, if I became some form of high-ranking official in the UN, I would possibly make suicide a legal course of action for poor, neglected individuals. After all, why slog your ass off trying to become the prime minister when leaping off a building earns you just as much attention?
Damn, the world is a terribly, terribly, morbid place.
Hmm. I wonder why.
Steve Irwin: Crocodile Hunter unfortunately hunted down by giant stingray. Oh, the irony.
Yew Zhi Hao: Died of mysterious cardiac arrest. Nobody really knows him, but everybody's really sad.
Random Individual in Obituary: Died miserable deaths. Relatives grief over him and spend bomb pasting his black-and-white picture in the Straits Times.
It's just so strange how people tell us that life is important, but only really decide to respect him after he dies.
Hmm. I wonder why.
Steve Irwin has bouquet after bouquet of flowers dumped in front of his home, and people plastering virtual turtles next to their MSN nicks, only when he decided to get stung to death by some stingray's poisonous barb, but not when he had the balls to pounce on massive crocodiles or wrange with vicious pythons.
Then Zhi Hao, who has legions of individuals dressed in the white of RI pouring in to pay their respects to him only after he is killed by a cardiac arrest, and not after he won the PM's Book Prize.
And then we have all these old people who have their pictures plastered all over the newspaper, only after they die of some unfortunate disease, but not when they were alive and working their butts off earning you some dinner.
Hmm. I wonder why.
It's amusing in a very convoluted sort of way, perhaps, that we people only realise that the people close to them are important and significant when they decide to leave us altogether.
Whenever our loved ones are getting on with their lives and doing something for us, we ignore their presence -- like they're a mere, inanimate entity to be disregarded. Yet, somehow or another, when loved ones decide to lie in their graves and not do anything, we decide to respect and love them with all our heart.
Hmm. I wonder why.
Suddenly, I'm beginning to realise that our world is a terribly, terribly, morbid one. Strangely enough, we seem to respect death more than we do life, respect uselessness over usefulness, inanimate over contribution. The dead command honour and respect that all us living mortals can only dream of.
In fact, it's no wonder that the Romans enjoyed watching gladiators getting mauled and killed by lions. Maybe they figured he'd be better honoured after he was dead than when he was alive. And maybe Osama was really a good man, because he decided to murder all those people in the World Trade Center because he wanted them to be honoured for heroism beyond their dreams.
Maybe, if I became some form of high-ranking official in the UN, I would possibly make suicide a legal course of action for poor, neglected individuals. After all, why slog your ass off trying to become the prime minister when leaping off a building earns you just as much attention?
Damn, the world is a terribly, terribly, morbid place.
Hmm. I wonder why.
posted by Jumbiez at
6:39 AM
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