We might as well...

Sometimes I feel as though I'm wandering in the fog, or sometimes, struggling against the wind and the rain on a vast field with green grass below my feet but nothing around me but the blanket of fog or the sheets of rain for company. My umbrella is leaking, my eyes aren't doing too good in the fog and my shoes are squishy from all the wetness. And I keep trying to find a straight path because that's what you do - you try to find a way across the field of uncertainty because the alternative would be to live in the middle of it and eat grass and drink rain to survive, which I find it to be a rather scant way to live. So, you forge on, trying to find something warm, bright, something that will fix your umbrella, and at the same time give you a pashmina blanket to warm you up.

I know, I'm feeling all riddly today. I been talking to friends, peers, of around the same age and I keep seeing that we are all in these jobs, we all work in these high rise offices and we lie to our clients and our bosees and our suppliers and worse, sometimes, we lie to ourselves. I mean, it's not that we are inherently unhappy in it, it gives us something to do, new friends to make, new things to learn and it covers basic nessecity like food, drinks and rent. But none of it really excite us. Perhaps in the beginning it used to - But the drone of the life in the cubicles, masked in our striped shirts, black jackets, white coats, and funky pumps, we want something more.

Typical of an 80's child, we want passion, we want excitement, we want to go further on the paths where our parents had forged to create openings for. We are also given choices, we expect for the choices we make to make us happy. We know we are lucky, because, unlike our parents who were given just wuther A or B; We have Cs and Ds. But somehow, we want E, F and G or at least, a D++++++. Because we dont know the meaning of life - except that it is to go past finding the meaning of life, but rather just to live.

And this, I think we have a problem doing well. We work too late, we try to please too much, we want the praise, we want the love, we want it to be perfect and we want it to be meaningful.

And yet we sit in these grey cubicles, shuffling papers, rushing off to meetings, doing things not described in the job description, doing things that does not warrant us with some sense of achievement, things that we don't get creative about, reading unneccessary emails about the fights within the company and we do it and we do it well, or shabby at times and we wonder if this is all there is. We talk to our friends about our boredom, we complain to our colleagues, we bitch about our bosses and their bosses and we ask ourselves what it is that we really want. Soon, we find ourselves in the field, with green grass underneath our feet, with a blanket of fog around us or sheets of rain with a leaky umbrella.

We might as well be called Generation Lost.