Of a trivial heated dialogue and cadaverous winds.
Last night, I was talking to an online friend of mine from Sweden about schooling and what path to take. I told him my current situation after my GSE A Levels and that I couldn't enter into the local universities and thus denied the chance to study Philosophy which I mentioned earlier to be my dream. He suggested me to quit whatever I am doing now and retake my GSEs in order to fulfill my dream and he added that since I like philosophy and a proponent of Nietzsche, I should live up to my ideals and pursue to it no matter what it takes. We argued for awhile, and I pressed on to how one should be practical, realistic and adaptable to its given circumstance (he referred this to being a puppet of the tradition and parents). Then he gave me the reply that very much bothered me. He said something like, "Nietzsche lived in a fucking cabin, rejected by his peers! Now, if you said you like Nietzsche [and refused to go ahead and pursue my ideals], then expect nobody to take you [which is me] seriously. Just like a Jew supporting Hitler."
I never ever uttered a hint of myself wanting to become Nietzsche.
I shall not ramble too much, I shall just quote a short anecdote that I think could help alleviate this emotional unrest of not being able to enter university. It's by an English monk, Ajahn Brahm
and it is entitled "Poor me, lucky them"."Life as a very junior monk in Thailand seemed so unfair. The senior monks received the best food, sat on the softest cushions and never had to push wheelbarrows. Whereas my one meal of the day was disgusting; I had to sit for long hours in ceremonies on the hard concrete floor (which was lumpy as well, because the villagers were hopeless at laying concrete); and sometimes I had to labour very hard. Poor me, lucky them.I spent long, unpleasant hours justifying my complaints to myself. The senior monks were probably so enlightened that delicious food would be wasted on them, therefore I should get the best food. The senior monks had been sitting cross-legged on hard floors for years and were used to it, therefore I should get the soft cushions. Moreover, the senior monks were all fat anyway, from eating the best food, so had ""natural upholstery" to their butts. The senior monks just told us junior monks to do the work, and never labouring themselves, so how could they appreciate how hot and tiring pushing wheelbarrows was? The projects were all their ideas anyway, so they should do the work! Poor me, lucky them. When I became a senior monk, then I ate the best food, sat on a soft cushion and did little physical work. However, I caught myself envying the junior monks. They didn't have to give all the public talks, didn't listen to people's problems all day, and didn't spend hours on administration. They had no responsibilities and so much time for themselves. I heard myself saying, "Poor me, lucky them!"I soon figured out what was going on. Junior monks have "junior monk sufferings". Senior monks have "senior monks sufferings". When I became a senior monk, I was just exchanging one form of suffering for another form of suffering. It is precisely the same for single people who envy those who are married, and for married people who envy those who are single. As we all know by now, when we get married, we are only exchanging "single person suffering" for "married person's suffering". Then when we get divorced, we are only exchanging "married person's suffering" for "single person's suffering". Poor me, lucky them.[sniped for brevity.]To think that you will be happy by becoming something else is delusion. Becoming something else just exchanges one form of suffering for another form of suffering. But when you are content with who you are now, junior or senior, married or single, then you are free of suffering. Lucky me, poor them!"
So what about the cadaverous winds? I had my anatomy practical session today and it's finally the turn to see real, dissected human parts. Well, first off, there's a weird smell to it, just think of the smell you encounter in the wet market, twice of it. I would like to announce that human flesh looks like the one of a duck, stringy and it does not look very tender or juicy, if you ever had any thoughts of consuming human flesh *gets reminded of Der Metzgermeister*, haha! It does feels surreal to know the pieces of meat and bones once belonged to a living human being like yourself, but that feeling quickly subsided when you are required to label the muscle and to identify the various bones and features.
We aren't allowed to stay in that room for too long so there weren't a chance to take photographs of the body parts. That was a pity. Otherwise, there's a human head with its base of the skull cut off with its eyes open, sliced brain and half a scrotum.
Now, I'd be reminded of that human flesh scent whenever meat is placed on my plate. Looks like I am unable to eat meat without difficulty anytime soon. Haha!
Geez, this entry is shit long.