PRAGATI: Talkin' About My Generation
Maybe The Who were onto something when they wrote their evergreen song, “My Generation,” at least I think they were. Of course every upcoming generation is met with raised eyebrows by the generation that precedes them, it is only natural. However, being someone who is existent within this current generation- of technology, ambition, pretense- I can’t quite say I’m excited to exist in this time and space. Maybe I’m living in some sort of a fools paradise, or maybe I’m incapable of wrapping my head around how godforesakenly horrendous people are these days.
Nothing is pure anymore; nothing is sacred. The mere pulse of humanity has been broken down into cents and dollars. We exist, not to serve ourselves, but to serve an all-consuming entity: Capitalism. We look, not to find, but to critique. We breath, not to live, but to exist. It’s all wrong, but we never seem to question the flow of things. Instead, we simply slap on a smile and hope for the best.
It is not simply money matters that have affected us; this underlying greed, this pointless competition we seem to have with ourselves and others, has infiltrated every aspect of our existence. So we use people, and get used. We cry and make people cry, and it’s just an accepted phenomenon. The problem exists not in the idea that we’re selfish or materialistic (although we are) but in the fact that we are so god-damned entitled. People these days expect awards for simply getting by. We do nothing and expect the world. We want the world handed to us on a silver platter, but we want it while we sit on our asses and do absolutely nothing worthwhile. We lose ourselves in a whirl of moving-pictures and mirages, forgetting to step out to breath every so often.
Technology has made us so impatient. If every relationship in our life isn’t as efficient as our wi-fi, we drop it. If everything isn’t picture perfect, and in high-definition quality, we scream and cry. For what? Are you really so comforted by a screen that can light up?
Of the many reasons that I wish I were alive in a different time period, the core reason would have to be the conversations. I miss talking to people. Not texting, not Instant-messaging, not Skyping, not calling. TALKING. Remember when that used to happen? Remember when that was what we did instead of walking around aimlessly in air-conditioned malls, whining about how much our life “sucks?”
I’m not saying ulterior motives are an invention of the 21st century, god knows we’re not that smart. However, we seem to have realized whole new ways of going about them. It’s to the point that nothing, no action, can ever be considered as being pure in its nature. We only give so we can get. Forget being selfless, or even nice, we’re so disgustingly consumed that we don’t even realize it.
The irony is that we create all these problems, and then stick a huge “S” for Superman on our chests and try to solve them. Why do we have to meddle with things so much? Can we not just exist? Instead, we have to discover things we have no business discovering. We upturn the nature of things; we upset Mother Nature. We swirl the pot and then act oh-so-surprised when all this pretentiousness blows up in our faces.
Loius C.K. voiced my opinions to the tee, “Everything is perfect, and no one is happy.” We attach happiness to such fickle and fleeting things; we are really so empty, it’s pathetic. No wonder our parents always tell us “I told you so.” There must be a reason they act like they know so much more than us, it’s because they do. They might not have had color television, but they had so much more. They had conversations. They had real music, played on instruments, not concocted via a computer software. They went outside, they sweated, they walked around, stumbling into things. They experienced life more than we ever could.
I suppose I’ll simply have to wait around until time-travel becomes an accepted practice. Should be coming up, right after holographic phones and computers.
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