I take my coffee over-milked.

Back, after two weeks of ringing in the Fourth Quarter, in a three-city trip, with a backpack that (quite literally) weighed a ton.

And realising that after two decades spent social-actively in the advertising/ marketing/ fintech-content/social-context-design industry, i have a perspective that had earned both the consternation of the pop-icon-embellished (mostly hipster-fatigued) digital generation, as well as the wavelength-respect of what traditional societies called the well-heeled, and old-schooled.

Pardon the inapplicable (we all know these evolve by the second today) terms. I confess, we can’t keep up.

The rate of catching up is to a +C speed-of-light scale that would be in a grid unimagined, when your bandwidth (the span of what we learn today onwards), had exceeded process (what you learned and the incessant bred-ingrain of needing a macro space to span evaluations from).

In frustration, i realise that some people’s creativity are not at all happenstance (i intended it - i actually majored in Art or whatever), but on the other hand, what are the odds that an economics major actually exceeded the expectation and had mind-boggled expectations, and rose above the very rigidity of a grid, or a carefully impounded structure of social-academical existence in a national scale.

Was it attributed to my race or passport, that i was to not perform to my ability or capacity? Or to my attitude? No one can answer this to my face, not even to this day.

But still, i pay for it. On the daily. Without real reconciliation or explanation to its moroseness or disfigurement of my actual achievement - is it just? Not in the least, all things ceteris paribus, that is. Does it happen? Now, we know it is very home-continent-colonial likely.

The inactive pursuit of the elusive freedom, is not as quick as the movement of the traipse to find the elusive equality.

And, not even in merely, the Creative sense.


Now read this

Life, as a wave.

(#3LAAD): The Series of Life. In the timely tradition of writer trait of un-punctuality, these articles defy the characteristic poignancy of ironic defiance to format, as very needy aesthetes. I am having a brownie as i write this. And i... Continue →