Yesterday I turned 26 amidst a flurry of meetings with my research team and some subtle pressure from my dissertation supervisor, reminding me that time moves in a linear fashion.
It almost did not feel like a birthday, except for that one instance of confusion in the corridor where I was presented with a card, a gift, a gigantic famous amos cookie and a birthday hug from a new-found sister. I appreciated the hug most.
So here I am, past my socially-constructed mark of youth, thrust into a world of future career prospects and annual medical check-ups. (You're supposed to be past your physical prime after 25 and advised to go for check-ups every year, or so I was told) I don't feel my age physically, old only in soul.
2 nights of sleepnessness induced by Bertrand Russel and Karl Marx can only intensify my feeling of emotional age.
To re-affirm my Marxist tendencies, circumstances have proven that religion is truly the opiate of the masses, although the internet has somehow become the new source of class consciousness. Yes, shrill voices of dissent do rise now and again, gently rocking the boat upon which the elite sit. However, I do not forsee much trembling among the ruling classes.
Perhaps one of them will fall into the water, for the sharks to rip apart? Surely the ones who peer over the side and make snide comments about the fish swirling below lose their balance the fastest.
Ang Heng
