50 and white flower

50 might just be a number. 50 is a concept, 50 is intagible, 50 exists only as an extension of thought. 50, 50 doesnt exist. 50 is a lucky number, 50 is not a lucky number. 50 means nothing.

today they returned the ct1 result slips, and i here find that i might be in the 50th percentile for econs. im quite screwed, really. econs is da bomb. 50th percentile might mean nothing to many people, apart from being ranked at the middle of the rj econs cohort, but 50th percentile means a lot more to me. rather, being in the middle of the rj econs cohort means a lot to me.

it means i am bullshit. econs is my favorite subject. and i suck at it, so bad. i have deteriorated so much. from when i was placed in the mid 90th percentile all the way till im in the 50th percentile. while everyone has improved, i have shown a marked deprovement, if there is such a word. 50th percentile easily translates to being lousy. it reflects a lack of achievement. it reflects that half of rj is better than u. it signals mediocrity. and we all know that in continuum sorting games, mediocrity is bad. mediocre fools are sandwiched in the middle, neither good enough to receive the higher payoff nor poor enough to point to miracles at success. mediocrity is only ok when there is a pooling equilibrium at p>0.5.

and in the world that we know today, there is no such pooling equilibrium. i know it might just be a screw up, but nobody else gives a damn. nobody else would care that u were down with rotten luck that day. nobody gives a fuck that thats not ur actual performance. everyone just sees that ur a pussy, and u dont deserve scholarships or even places in good universities. and then u cannot signal to ur prospective employers that u r able, cos seriously ur signal says ur not, and ur not.

im fucked. i detest mediocrity. meritocracy is th nemesis of mediocrity, and singapore and most of the world subscribe to meritocracy. meritocracy whips educated fools like me the hardest, because educated fools like me know about how it feels to be among the best, and now how shit it is to be mediocre.

im getting tired of this kind of life. i want to be a monk. i want to leave all this behind. we are all just in a never ending rat race. everyone is just competing, competing, competing. at the end of the day, most people will lose, and most people would not be better off. we are stuck in a prisoner's dilemma as we keep going round and round and round. we all herd and we all chase. like rats chase cheese, we chase results, we hanker after glory, we gay around.

an eventuality is that u come out tops in the rat race. but even if u come in first, ur still a rat. but this is not why i want to leave the race. if i were to be a top rat, why not? im a pussy who would rather be massive in a small pond than small in a massive ocean, even though size for size i might be bigger in the ocean. it is nice to be at the top. it is nice to breathe the stratified air. u might feel lonely, but the feeling of looking down on all the idiots below is gratifying to a degree far greater than that that can be derived from surfing porn.

i chuse to leave not because i wanted to not be a rat. i chuse to leave because i am sick of racing for dear life to achieve mediocrity. as haroldau said today during the ns talk we had for civics, there are pacers who will pace u for the different marks, and then u will push urself. i know i dont push myself as hard as others push themselves, but i still feel like im struggling to keep up with the bottom half of the pack. and everytime this part of the pack reaches the 'destination', all the benefits to be gained just disappear completely. maybe the top half has consumed all and left nothing. not that im blaming them, cos im all for the survival of the fittest, the best and the brightest, even if it were at the expense of noobs like me.

i empathize with all u pussies out there. i feel like im trapped in xeno's paradox, except in this case the common properties of summation do not set in. i wont claim to be fast as achilles, and im not racing to surpass a turtle, but a line drawn in the sand. everytime i get so close to reaching it, the wind blows the line away, and a new line is drawn, further away. i again have to travel a great expanse towards the line, and then when im near it, a new line is drawn.

i feel weak, powerless, useless.
i feel victimised.
i want to leave.

i live dangerously, but nothing has yet come to snuff my last breath out of me. death might actually be a deliverance for me. a deliverance from having to run these races, a deliverance from being a complete loser, a deliverance of me from myself. and yet im too much of a pussy to kill myself. im afraid of dying, and of death. if i were to burn in hell forever, then i would rather bade out more time in this never ending maze in search of unfulfilling cheese which i never get to savor.

i read in calvin and hobbes that crooks are underpaid, not evil. because we pay politicians a lot so that they may not corrupt. well i find deliverance by surfing porn and getting a high. this high is a point, spiritual, ephermeral high, but it is still a high nontheless. it is not a high as high as the high one can get from high scores, but its still a good substitute, nonetheless. i am not immoral, just deprived. i respect women, but im just deprived.

and i hope to be a monk, to leave, to let go. to remove myself from the race at once. i want to give up, i want to go. almost every single packet of positivity in me has been driven out of me. all i can think of is waking up to a miserable day in school, where i get suanned, where i pay more attention to the clock and the bell that the lecture or the tutorial. and then i cram in the library, and then i cram in the classroom, and then i hope for the best. but the best has never come. and im quite sure from past experience, that the best will never be. it is better if i lose my hopes my dreams my aspirations. it is better if i expel any idea of dalliances with hot girls. it is better for me, if i become a monk.

and then i shall sit, and then i shall pray. i will appreciate the white flower that crossed my homeward path. the delicate beauty of the white flower, the pure white flower, that remained white despite having fallen onto the dirty gray sidewalk and having grown of a tree by the road. the white flower that captivated my imagination just now would live on forever. in my mind the image i will capture, in my mind it would stay, even on the saddest day, and i will remember this white flower. the imperfect white flower with brown spots, the imperfect white flower on the ground, the imperfect white flower which a cyclist fucking rode over and smashed. i love the white flower.