• Namiinste

The Magicians, the Grinders, and the Hopefuls

Anyone that has lived to become aware of worldly affairs, he who has grown out of his adolescence would be no stranger to stratus in society, akin to different sized boxes attempting to squeeze and bind the individuals in it.

The first box would be the smallest one, made of glistening gold. Gatekeepers guard it in shifts, denying entry to strangers, in which who is “stranger” is determined by the ones already in the box. The typical story heard from this box would be that they cut down trees, pollute water sources, exploit resources, but yet try to keep a clean and sane facade, hiring workers to silence those that act against their interest. People in this box possess superpowers too. More gold ingots, the stronger one becomes. Their powers enable them to manipulate minds and kill off enemies in their stride.

The second box would be an enormous one, made of wood. Often, someone would leave in an attempt to squeeze into the first box, only to be kicked out by the all-so-mighty gatekeepers. They fall back into the wooden box, demoralized by their experience, but continue their daily grind, in hopes of obtaining a ticket to enter the gold box. The typical story heard from this box is that they spend their whole lives chasing after gold ingots distributed by the gold box in exchange for their expertise, only to realize that instead of chasing, creating ingots would have given them a better chance to live a better life. But this realization came all too late.

The last box is made of plastic, a by-product left behind by previous boxes. Time to time, gold ingots fall into the box, the people inside then scramble to get their hands on them. They would then spend it on lottery tickets and leisure, praying every day that a savior would come and get them out of their predicament. Their typical story? Not recorded. No one gives them their attention, many oblivious to their presence. But it is known that these people live hand to mouth and some are successful in entering the wooden box.

Should we resign to our assigned boxes? How do we escape these boxes, possibly creating a new box that welcomes individuals filled with love, goodwill, and hard work?

It is not impossible. In fact, we have already seen forms of change driven by meritocracy, Non-Governmental Organizations, and in petitions for justice against the unscrupulous. But it is still not enough. We, the new generation have to possess a moral compass while we continue to hustle about our individual journeys, and never give in to the insatiable human greed— the root of all evil, for we will come to realize that the Gold box, filled with dirt and gore amidst its luxurious facade, may not be the ideal place to wind up in.

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/Find me./ . (Red memories.) . The red in her eye glints in the silver of his blade, maniacal and the warning of pure danger. The danger is in the way she grins too, red stained lips parted wide into