To my family and friends, I appear as a Ferris wheel broken away from the carnival. A surrogate native son, possessed by his shoulder strapped drum; singing, walking backward to his own rhythm.
Therefore, often times, I contend social membership as being burdensome and mystifying. Formal social obligation pierces my heart with an arrow from a master archer.
I steadfastly refuse to subscribe to the traditions of organizations. (e.g., Schools of Education, Social Clubs, Fraternities, Religions) Gleefully, I detest the measures and requirements one must acculturate to acquire association to these groups. They also are exhausting and leave me predisposed to depression at times. I am, without further ado, diagnosing myself as a socially challenged indigenous boy.
Play or Work
The regiment of organizational membership I perceive as a threat to my vast imagery of foolishness. In for instance, I love humor. It makes me feel witty and outgoing. My feelings are similar to the butterflies I would get for my first grade teacher, Mrs. Jones. I melted each time she was near me, I am in love with laughter.
I laugh a lot; albeit alone at times, however, often with family and very few friends. Also, old boy; I love funny people. Sincere humorous people are as small rain drops upon the head. Touching our being ever so lightly, they are as great musicians to the heart.
Consequently, humor-possessed individuals undo my anti-social persona in seconds. Even more so, funny women, they are amazingly influential in helping people relax. Nothing can match a sincere humorous confident woman. Wait, maybe a bike, yes, Ok I think a bike could match her. (You silly boy!)
In sum, this short printed excursion describes a native son’s dilemma. He must decide his career path, one of laughter influenced by written words or organizational membership. Freedom or structure?
What does one do in this dilemma? What decisions would you make?
Not knowing its strength,
The mosquito sucked too much blood to fly.
Don’t covet what others value.
You’ll pay for it someday.
– Naong Haegun (1320-1376)