Success - Haters Gonna Hate

 

The heavy hush is deafening as the professor makes his way down the rows of desks. Result after result is slowly  handed back, drawing out the painful wait. A stifled scream in the back row. A relieved sigh in the first. Some just stuff their papers into the depths of their bags and quickly hustle out. You hear his heavy footsteps before you even notice his eyes centered on you, picking you out amongst the hundreds. You watch as he places the stack of sheets on your desk, paralyzed with fear or shivering in anticipation. Is it actually bleeding red ink, or is it just you? Don’t even look him in the face, lest he lure you into a false sense of security... or impending doom. What will you do? Open it? Leave it until later? Shred it altogether? Try to ignore it, but everyone knows their Facebook Newsfeed is (even as they think) being flooded with posts of carefree consolation and outrageous outbursts. You’re going to find out some way or another. As you walk out, you overhear a classic conversation: 

 

“Oh man, that one kicked my ass.”

“Tell me about it. Gun-fellatio anyone?”

“Count me in.” 

“Oh yeah. How’d you do?”

“I’m so sick of this shit. A-, man.”

“Are you kidding me?! I barely scraped a C!”

 

What follows next is no secret. Mr. High-Achiever is mercilessly railed on for being an ungrateful git and an asshole. His friends tell him to shut his mouth and proceed to ignore anything he says for the next few minutes. Clearly, his only intention was to make them feel absolutely rotten about their marks and promote his own sense of pride and achievement. Right?

 

Wrong. Newsflash: Not everyone is equal. If that were so, I could as easily model for Sports Illustrated as Kate Upton - fortunately, bikinis just don’t do my curves justice. Each of us has a different set of standards, and we hold ourselves accountable to them. You came to school to study, to excel, and to (hopefully) do something you love. There will always be classes that you intensely dislike - even hate to the very core of your being - but are required to take nonetheless. Students face this in different ways. Either, “I’m going to do whatever it takes to knock this out of the park”, or “I’m going to do whatever it takes to pass and get it out of my way”. Whether you know it or not, you’ve adopted one of these mindsets. 

 

Some may tackle this hypothetical class aiming for the highest grade they can achieve. They may not come out of it with an A. Maybe not even a B. Whether or not this outcome was their fault is another discussion entirely, but what this proves is that people are not equal. So why should we expect them to hold themselves to the same standards? Furthermore, why should others trash them for achieving either higher - or lower - grades? 

 

On that note, I’m not vindicating these Mr. and Mrs. High-Achievers. There are definitely a fair number of them who take some sardonic delight in watching others feel miserable about their own marks, by promptlessly broadcasting their success to all those within earshot. No, this is instead a cry-out to more modest high-achievers: students who needn’t feel horrible about succeeding where others have failed. 

 

Please, for the love of curved-classes, keep your marks to yourself unless otherwise asked. Keep them quiet, because they are for you and you alone. At the same time, if you do ask someone about their grades, don’t self-righteously come out and attack them because they performed better than you. You asked for it, so move on. It’s the plague of all successful people, whether they’re ‘Good Guy Gregs’ or ‘Scumbag Steves’: Haters gonna hate.

 

How Dumb I've Become

School's not cool. Whoever said that?

Must've been a fool, some smart-ass brat.

Books, studying and wide-eyed nights.

Already wishing for my own last rites.

Missing the summer, the clear warm days.

The good times, great times, now all a haze...

And yet here I lie, awaiting the sun.

To hear some black-tie tell me how dumb I've become.

Who Are You?

Who are you? No, I don't mean spoon-feed me your SIN, driver's license and health insurance card. On a deeper level, times come when we consciously reflect on the kind of person we've become. Yeah, we've always had that role model in our lives - mum, dad, Ghandi, Erin Brockovich, Harry Potter - and I'm not entirely sure about you, but I don't just scratch my head and stroke my beard at every choice or decision asking myself: "What would Jesus do?" (Those orthodox christians have us ALL fooled).


Fact is, these role models are generally subliminal. Their characters, personalities and personas are something we've tried to parallel, but try as we may, they're simply not who we are, trait-for-trait. Admiration is rarely overrated, emulation is often excessive, and worship is always unnecessary. But, from time to time, we do find ourselves at the end of a decisive moment, wondering how we came to that verdict or choice. Was it according to our beliefs? Our opinions? Our values? Was it honourable? Just? Fair? Honest? And then things get complicated - we start wondering "Where did I set out from in the first place?" We try to remember what it was we had tried to model ourselves on, and then groan in agony as we see our mistakes, or beam with satisfaction as we realize our success.

But do we really see ourselves as well as anyone else? I mean, c'mon, be honest with yourself. If you've even the tiniest bit of sense, you'll admit that you've a serious bias. And it's not just in one direction either - there are those of us who enjoy being a little lenient with our ideals, and those who insist on cracking the whip a little too much. Do we then turn to those around us? Are those judgements, the juvenile gossip and wide-spread-high-school-reminiscent stereotypes all far more accurate and honest than our own? Maybe so. Maybe you really are the brawn-over-brain jock who'll end up a balding, 50 year-old living in your mum's trailer still wearing that ratty old football jacket from senior year. Maybe you are that womanizing jerk who'll end up slapping ass and taking names for the rest of his life... playa. Maybe you're that computer dweeb who never leaves home without his graphing calculator and will likely never get laid. OR alternatively, you could be that modest, nice guy who everyone appreciates and respects - but hey, who wants to be him? That's just boring, right?

We can't objectively step out of our shoes and see ourselves without bias, but in the same way, we can't fully put our faith in those close to us to offer a clear and honest judgement. Ulterior motives are everywhere. So, then what? You can spend your entire life trying to shake off a stereotype, to free yourself from that gossip-born ball & chain - regardless of how it came to be - and still be burdened with it for the rest of your life. Why? Because that's society. That's the power of social interaction. We, humans, are creatures of communication, completely dependent on it to retain our sanity. We feed ravenously on its fickle ability to put us in the spotlight and give our fragile egos that boost they need so dearly... To be in the limelight, the centre of attention, to nurture and feed that image we crave so badly in an effort to escape our own dreary personalities - is it worth it? Instead, our directionless efforts either dig us deeper into that hole or throw us headlong into another. Even then, can we ever truly know if anyone knows us as well as we seem to know ourselves? A vicious circle; the more we try to be understood, the further from the truth (if one can even call it that) we seem to stray. We're then the puppeteer, the master, the mind orchestrating our own image - almost unconsciously.

The hunger will consume you, leave you powerless and debilitated with as much rational sense as a frenchman in a brothel. Who are you then? The creature of your imagination, the monster of the social body or a terribly wonderful mix of the two? Perhaps neither? And here's the sinker: Is it really up to you?