By: Reyshimar Arguelles
LET’S take a break from the usual programming and discuss a different topic: me. Yes, it’s that kind of issue where I get to gloat and reveal the iconoclast for what he really is deep down. But this is also my way of taking a much-needed breather from writing boring, redundant, and vapid pieces about politics.
If anything, politics has to be the easiest topic to write about. Not an inch of it comes across as profound. It’s a world that’s devoid of reason. You don’t need to understand what politicians do. You just have to watch them make fools of themselves and see if you can find something that’s worth the few brain cells you have left to write a 600-word piece.
I am not so much interested in politics, but it’s something I just couldn’t avoid, like getting stuck in a traffic jam along Diversion Road or watching a movie while some kid is sobbing three rows behind you. You just have to confront it like any well-meaning citizen would: with ridicule.
But then it gets exhaustive. You begin to realize how utterly hopeless it all seems. And that’s coming from the cynical part of your psyche. You’re rational part, on the other hand, wants you to rest your weary eyes and let the world run its course. Insulting politicians won’t do any good. You can call them names and admonish them for the lack of intelligence they all seem to possess. But they’re in power. You’re not. You could write a scathing deconstruction about this nonsensical issue about changing the country to a Federalist state and it still won’t make a difference.
Columnists are just wasting their time pointing out what’s obviously wrong with the country. You could be so elitist and pompous to talk about things that people could easily detect using only common sense. Social media has killed off the last remnants of decent journalism as people assume their civic duties by way of sharing memes and discussing issues that really matter (a prime example would be Gerald Anderson’s knack for dating shampoo endorsers). There’s just too much noise and whatever you say, however hard you try to express a brutal opinion about the way things are, you could hardly make a ripple.
But what’s most frustrating in all of this is the fact that your brain is running dry of ideas and you’re wallowing in despair. Some might say writing is therapeutic, and I would agree, considering that it’s the only craft I am moderately good at. But there are times when I think about trying out a new career. Something that’s exciting. Something that gives value.Something that will let you sleep and keep you safe from bouts of overthinking.
There are times when you can’t help but ask yourself, “What if I had taken up carpentry instead?” “What if I had chosen a more meaningful path that doesn’t require the ability to churn out drivel and give me a sense of false pride?”
Compared to others, however, I am relatively well off. I don’t get to exert so much physical effort to sustain myself day in and day out. A lot of people my age are doing things that are more meaningful than what I do. This is something I couldn’t brush off. The fact that you want to contribute to something that’s socially and personally and spiritually significant will dawn on you and you begin to wonder why you’re making the effort.
And then you realize that you are only underestimating the potential of your being human. You can wax sentimental about your inadequacies, but there’s no way you can escape who you are and what you can do.
All I can do is write. But I don’t know what for at this point, but what I do know for certain is that I’m happy with what I do and I couldn’t feel any other way.
We’re all rolling boulders after all. We just have to find a way to make the most out of this inescapable condition. In my case, I should look for a different approach to attacking the meaninglessness of our current political culture.