Picture yourself as a pakistani immigrant working as an oil driller in oman. You have little to no contact with the outside. Your entire existance is working at the oil plant, practicing islam best you can and coming back to shore in one of these small "towns" nudged between cliffs so dry and barren they look like part of mars. The one thing uniting all of the various immigrants is islam, so these towns are essentially small mosques surrounded by the hovels of families. Everything comes by sea because the sheer cliffs are impossible for even bedouins to traverse so fish is the only thing native to the region.
So you are packaged and sent to supply the rig much like the food, and you arrive at the mosque to feel the warmth of humanity, maybe you have a very distant wife living in the town, maybe youre alone like many other men in this condition, maybe youre not even a pakistani but a hindu trying to mentally separate yourself from the sea of muslims you swim in daily. One night you see barefoot children playing football behind one of these mosques. The electric lights shine ontop of worn out cement walls, and as the settlement is so small and isolated, the night is pitch black. So the children playing football, the gravel and the walls look like the only thing that exists amongst an infinite abyss.
Do you embrace this existance? Do you see this moment of fresh air and sincere emotion as the most beautifull thing that exists in an empty universe? or do you deny it? do you obsess over the the things you read on the internet, the outside world, its wars and politics, and lament endlessly over your isolation from it all?
Who are you? where are you? does it even matter anymore? is there a God? is there anything beyond these mountains barely visible against the night sky? are your memories
real, or has the world only come to exist now, here, right now?
The night air is thick with the buzzing of electric lights. They're not a memory. Youre not there of course. Youre here. Reading this
Next, next. Theres always something next. But I've already told you what comes next, sleeping on a mattress on the floor, watching a phone or television wired up to a mess of extentions, a wife that may be just a pile of clothes on the floor. The day in the drill, doing and moving and carrying and using the machines.
Time
Always linear
Always redundant
Why dont you want to be a machine? Why do you value your precious soul? Why do you listen to the preacher, why do you believe in purpose, meaning, greater things still? Pointless philosophical and religious musings like this whole text. A cell needs not to know that it is part of a body. A chicken needs not to know that it lives in a farm. A human needs not to know that there's a God, a purpose, a meaning, an afterlife. But here you are. Wasting your time. Being alive. Someone else should do your job. Someone else should be stung by mosquitoes. Someone else should cover himself by the blankets and feel their worn out fabric rub against his skin.
I dont like this place. Dirt, theres dirt and sand everywhere. I want a better house. I want Purpose. I want Money. I want what they call decent living. You wanted to believe you're special, perhaps you believed a lot of things. Maybe you do believe them. Yes. You believe them. You are a muslim, unlike the others. You have a God, a purpose. You do what is right and avoid
what is wrong. You serve God. That is a purpose. That is meaning. Thoughts henceforth will be happy and great. Hopes will be born of your thoughts. Others who come lament will be inspired by your faithful response. Of course. Of course. Leave the irritating insults of the atheists and pagans behind. Leave the little device connected to the pagan world turned off. Of course. Of course you serve God. Of course you do as many prayers as you can. And God allmercifull will know you did.
It’s just that in school you were taught many things. A state needs professionals to prosper. A mother needs his children to become rich to sustain her in her old age. A father needs to be proud of a worthwhile son. A son needs a father to sustain him. A God needs,
nothing.
He doesnt need you.
Sleep. Finish your job. Finish your day. Stop. Let me be. Leave my head alone. Make my feet not hurt. Make the mosquitoes go away. I am not here. I am not him. I am not there. Its not that i am dreaming, I am simply not him. I am somewhere else, awake, another man, another life, assembling a fictional tale from feelings and emotions, from memories that are not those, of that man, of that being there. The day has another context, another man. Another religion; I was a christian going to a christian school in a christian country. I was still young and free of the future. But he was thinking too much, sitting too much, looking at the zanates coming and going across the trees. Doing all those things to pretend his own importance, sucking up attention by beating on other kids, getting empathy by crying at the sky and cutting his legs.
He didn't cut his arms though, because he was not like the other kids. We didnt fall into the same thing from imitating emos from the internet. Because we felt guilt for my actions, because he was a good christian, because he spoke at lengh very long things and very deep things.
Of course
Of course
I wrote a lot of poems about all that
It was just my mom that read them and maybe that guy in the street i handed out the poems, because i was self aware enough to know nobody cares.
I am a very smart kid, its just that I got hit by a train. Of course i didnt kill myself. I know it was a very stupid thing, God knows i dont want to die. Its just was pushed into the train by the crowd whilst waiting in to get in . Of course i shouldnt have stepped over the yellow line, I was really tired and wanted to get into the train as fast as possible, to get home and masturbate, of course God knows i was baptized and deserve purgatory but not alltogether hell.
It was very frightening and painfull when the train pushed me like a ragdoll spinning and then i slammed against the edge of the station tunnel. The baptists say it doesnt matter but the catholics say I shouldve repented before dyng. Of course i wouldve repented but its just that my organs went everywhere, of course I died. And all the families sent their condolences to the kid's family. Of course. And then they found the people who did it, and obviously they dosted them in gasoline and set them on fire, as is often happens, with the police just looking from afar. And it was to them satisfying to hear the kid be avenged, and it was satisfying to see them cry and beg for mercy whilst everyone was remembering of that video of them laughing that became viral. And i know it wasn't the same person,
but our nation and society is hurt by crime and wounded by tragedy, so these things are the way our nation lets out its frustration, as the people on the radio always say.
I don't know if the family kept on living after that. I was dead. I hope he wasn't their only child. I hope they healed around the wound of their dead child. I hope the parents told that story to their nephews at Christmas. I hope when his sister and brother grew old they called him a fun nickname, and always spoke of his personality and the weird things he did, and how some other young rascal of another generation is just like him.
The other kids would listen to their parents, to not be like him. And i would not lisent as intently, comparing it to a fairytale to scare them, and when i visited canada I would talk to the women and tell them how asian parents are always like that, and i would return here and say how americans are so vapid and careless and spoiled.
And I would study to become an english teacher but also excell at art as a hobby. And i grew up and became all the more hypocritical as is natural in all countries. And i would listen to other people’s stories about the ignorance and stupidity of the other countries as is natural in all countries.
No, you are cynical, you're a true individual, you agree with the goverment but not in everything. Because youre an skeptic, an atheist, living in an atheist country, a better country, who knows how to round up cultists and all those stupid people who think there's magical beings out there to protect them. A rational country who does things right but inept people try to gold it back. And everyone else is just lazy, and you do better than what people order you, and they can't deal with it so they
punish you with these dumb requests for special and absurd, subjective stuff they can pretend you did wrong.
So I will rise to be better than them. Because you're better than them, you will defend yourself when the inspector feels insulted by this text, because you know that,
You know.
You know more than them.
You don't.
You don't.
You dont know the answer to quite a few parts of this questionaire. So much so that i left question 125 blank at random because i just dont want to lie to you if i actually gave the right answer by chance. No youre not actually honest like that. Youre such a stupid worthless pile of shit. I wasted this whole time writing this and now i have some 15 minutes to turn it in. Im going to go get water and write something else. Its better to send this rant than to stare at you in the face and say “I couldnt come up with anything” after erasing two whole pages. It makes me angry how time goes shorter. Because i dont know better. I dont have time to learn it all. I am not of enough knowledge to tell you all these stories in a proper, non-insulting manner. They came to my mind, divine, they're too long, i know you wont read them. They're too long.
That will surely convince the person who reads them of your sincerity. He wont read all this and just vaguely remember the interesting premise
No
It won't.
Since i already know i will be scolded, i will explain myself: the exam was focused on many simple answers, complex in the case of math both precise nonetheless. As is ment to be in an exam. And then they suddenly want this stupid "write a story" nonsense. Some kind of philosophical musing. Some kind of esoteric nonse. Some kind of pourpose. To combat historical nihilism. To combat nihilism. Of course you're not a nihilist. You know there's a purpose, there's a God. Its just the stress of this exam that makes you think there's a God.
Who were we again?
Ah yes, the chinese student. We did all those things to see the different perspective of different people across the world, and the fact that they all have a similar something is supposed to be a message on society or something. Wasn't it seamless? Wasnt it philosophical?
I think not. Im writing thing after thing, i cant see your feedback in time. Dont think about that. I saving this text somewhere in case i ever need to give someone a story. Who knows. Maybe I'll even give it some profound message at the end. And Im copying and pasting it around from place to place. I hope so at least. Maybe I’ll forget about it and put it somewhere else without context. Then this part at the end will be very odd. Wich is funny. I hope someone actually believed this was a translation of something writen by a chinese english student.
Because it is.
>>24565361 (OP)>>24565364>>24565367>>24565375>>24565378>>24565380>oh my heckin postmodernism is that an open to interpretation fourth wall break ending?>AND it even is written from the perspective of wholesome POC thirdworlders?>this >is>WORLD CHANGING!!!!!
