I just got back from a place, and I am quite lugubrious at the moment.
So I'm gonna get right down to the chase.
My expectations are very low. If I can breathe tomorrow, that's a fucking miracle. If I can walk, or take a dump, that's fucking fantastic. The fact that I survived this long in whatever industry, in whatever discipline, has always amazed me. And this is not some fake humility bullshit.
See, I come from a swamp. My kampung was, and still is, a motherfucking swamp. I'm a Swamp Thing, motherfucker.
My friends growing up, used to kill fucking snakes for fun. These kids, right, I don't join them that much, cause they're dirty and could never fully understand what the fuck I was talking about.
They'd go out, right, and they kill birds with slingshots. And then, despite them not having enough to eat, they'd come to my house, and offer me half of their dozen.
They grow up, and the only profession that is available, is to be a drug addict. A lot of my childhood friends ended up dead, crippled or simply fucked up. I saw that when I was eight.
So I was like, "I got to get out of here, motherfucker!" I don't want to end up dead at 22, or dribble all over my face cause I got into a motorcycle accident. I don't want to be 40 and have six kids I can't pay for.
So I ran. And I'm still running.
I left home when I was 12. Got into a full-residential school. Government -sponsored, right? I had clear and smooth sailing, right? WRONG! I had to watch my ass for five years.
You try that for a week, and tell me you'd rather be a KL kid with RM400 bucks in your pockets to buy fucking Yu-Gi-Oh cards.
I took insane risks. Made lots of mistakes. Learned and is learning from some of them. I lived in pain for most of my adult life. Worshipped pain. So don't you bullshit me about pain, motherfucker. I have been through some shit, and I have seen and heard people go through even worse.
WORSE!
I mean, the biggest annoyance to me this week was getting a call from my mother, asking me about the history of Planta Margarine. That, and another person asking me whether USB is the same as MP3.
Spoke to one guy tonight, and his main problem was that he lost his job. The fuck is he going to feed his kids with? The fuck he's going to tell his wife? Fuck, man.
Some of you might say, "Well, not my problem."
Correct. You are right. Not your problem. Not mine, either. But to empathise is one of the greatest skills you can acquire. If you understand, or at least have an inkling to how people work, then whatever you do in life, can be more efficient and optimised.
Thinking only of yourself, will get you nowhere. I saw people get nowhere, or find dead ends at the end of the rainbow. Why? Cause they thought being in pain is the surest way to success.
Ekkk! Been there. Done that.
Don't take my word for it. Even if you do, there is a difference between knowing, and living it. Somebody told me that years ago. It took me this long to understand what that meant. There is absolutely no course you can take and pay for, that can substitute for real life experience. And it is not the years, but the miles that matter.
That being said, knowledge is power. Books, courses, philosophies, are great because your turnaround time can be faster. When ideas - when those images in your head - gel with what's actually happening, you will know what to do. You will know how to react, or how not to react.
The greatest lesson I have learned so far is very simple. Be happy. Not fake happy. Just, happy. And it is a choice. Unconditionally happy.
I know it's damn near impossible for you fake fuckers out there. You fucking pain-worshippers. You fucking creatures of Desire.
And one more thing. Dreams are everything, but Desire is poison. Never get trapped in that quagmire. That bullshit. I have seen good men fall into its bleakest, blackest pit, and they never come out. For Desire's twin, is Despair. No matter what you lust after, in the end, you will face Despair. Disappointment.
Even in victory, that bullshit is never satisfied.
And you don't have to tell me that I'm right. I KNOW I'm right.
