Saturday, July 8, 2017

Carry On, My Wayward Son Part 1

Well, here I am. Back in the blog business. Honestly, I never thought that I was gonna be back in the habit. As a matter of fact, the main reason I've typed ANY of these posts was because I was being goaded by my parents to be a more “productive” child and whatnot (I'll whine more about that in a later post). Anyway, as much as I would LOVE to bitch on about my many minor and insignificant complaints about life in general, let's start off with a little story that never fails to make me smile and rejoice about my current position in this weird, weird life (totally unrelated, I got the title for the post from the song I'm listening to right now as I type this very sentence. You'll find that it's also rather fitting for the upcoming story I'm about to share with you guys).

Have you ever felt that your life was boring? Have you ever felt that horrendous feeling of not being able to enjoy your time in your own home, even with the countless amounts of gadgetry and entertainment scattered around the house (if you're a milennial like I am, you can probably feel my pain. As for every other person in the audience, apologies if you don't understand how I feel)? Well in THAT case, let me share with you people a story that ALWAYS makes me feel more grateful for the shit I have. It goes something like this...
Several months ago at school, my entire year level was scheduled to go on a camping trip to Jogjakarta (for those of you who don't know what the fuck Jogjakarta is, all you need to know is that it's a city in Indonesia. If you wanna learn more, open another tab on your browser and search for the details yourselves). The year level spent weeks, maybe even MONTHS to prepare for the trip. We learnt how to cook food with a portable stove, we learnt how to rig tents, etc, etc, etc. You get it. Point is, this trip was really hyped up. People looked forward to the prospect of being able to spend a week with each other in the mountains, stuff I guess (sorry, couldn't find a better word to describe it)

Except for me. Because duh. For those of you who aren't frequent visitors of this blog, lemme just make one thing very, very clear: I am not, repeat NOT a chatty guy. Or at least I'm not a chatty guy when I'm around people who have little to no interest in hanging around hermits. Don't get me wrong; I've known communities where I blend in perfectly fucking well, but more often than not, the community is filled with a bunch of alien (hold on a fucking minute here, aren't YOU the alien? They ARE the majority, after all...) dipshits who haze me to the point where I feel like I'd rather lock myself in a shitter than be anywhere near a bunch of people who speak in a completely different language than I do (as in, almost everyone else in the school speaks in Indonesian. I personally favor English, most likely due to my oh-so-coddled upbringing...).

On the day of our departure, everyone had their shit prepared, and we all got on the bus to Jogjakarta. I WOULD'VE been dreading the perils that awaited my fragile ass over at our destination, but apparently my exhaustion was stronger than my fear, and I feel asleep rather soundly, dismissing my worries and temporarily forgetting the fact that I was gonna get royally fucked the second I set foot on the camping grounds (by the way, I also managed to befriend several guys on the way to Jogjakarta, but alas, our friendship would only last for so long).

Fast-forward to the moment when we actually reached our destination. By the time we got to Jogjakarta, it was still dark out, so if there was any consolation, at least the trek to the camping grounds wasn't done in sweltering heat. Of course, the act of getting out of the bus and walking in the dark was only the tip of a GARGANTUAN iceberg. Within the next few days, I found myself dealing with a LOT of things: militaristic group leaders, sleeping in tents covered in sweat WHILST it rained outside (and having to share that tent with at least three other sweaty motherfuckers, no less), arduous group activities, defunct toilets and bathrooms (thus forcing me to hold in my shit AND not take a single fucking bath throughout the entirety of the trip)... Oh, and did I mention the fact that the only close friends I had during this entire fucking ordeal consisted of a grasshopper, a pencil and a brown notebook (isn't it amazing how insects and inanimate objects can sometimes be more sociable than a bunch of people I wanted to have NOTHING to do with? Being a freak can help you realize that fact at times)? Neither the grasshopper nor the notebook lasted very long, by the way. After all, I'm not very known for my (nonexistent) skills of responsibility.

But for now, I'm gonna leave the story at the trek through the dark, dreary roads of the mountain, and tell you guys the next part of the story in an upcoming post. Oh, and just so I can end today's post on a cheerful note (just skip this bit if you aren't the type of dude who enjoys spoilers), *SPOILER ALERT* this story has a happy ending, and makes me feel MUCH more grateful about my life, and continues to do so every time I look back and remember that one time I had to undergo a certain, um, less-than-satisfactory (and that's putting it nicely) camping trip. *SPOILERS END NOW*

After all, as a wise man once said (man? Woman? Was this quote even recited by a person who could be considered “wise”? Ah, fuck it, you get what I'm trying to say here), “suffering builds character” (actually, it's coming back to me now. The “wise man” who said this was probably Calvin's father from “Calvin and Hobbes”. There you go. Happy now?).

Well, that's all the time we have for today, soooooo, yeah! See you guys until the next post, assuming you actually DECIDE to read the next post. If not, then goodbye for good. You get what I mean. The next post will be up tomorrow, at best. At worst, well, I'd rather not talk (or think) about it. Peace out, everybody.

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