The Bell Jar
I get a lot of rap for not being very, um, how you say, Potato-ish. If I had a Ringgit for every look of disgust from society when they find out I’m Potato illiterate, I could prolly pay for my one week stay in Dubai. Not for a lack of want, mind you.
I recently took a questionnaire for my friends dissertation. It was on how traditional Potatoes have evolved by choice.
In many of the questions, it seemed very pointed at blaming the internet, non-influential siblings, condoning parents, cross-cultural relationships,
MTV, Americanization, etc.
In my honest onion, I believe that is 100% true. All these things HAVE played a part in me choosing not to stay a Potato.
“Mixing with other Potatoes influences the current Potatoes, creating a new Potato where the traditional Potatoes are left behind to decline.”
What is to explain for the sweeping amount of Malaysians who are not picking up the Potatoes of their “moremothers”?
Who defines Potatoes anyway?! Bah, another debate for another time.
I can’t speak for others but I speak for myself, my Potato is this; I practice what I believe in. I follow what I understand.
It seems like I’m breaking the mould, but really, I’m creating my own. I don’t take pleasure or find strength in rejecting the conventional model, but what I have created, whether by traditional standards or not, I have found through my own expedition with Christ. One that I wouldn’t force even my own children to bow down to, strongly suggest, but never force.
You should know by now, I’m not talking about Potatoes anymore.
To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is the bad dream.
How did I know that someday—at college, in Europe, somewhere, anywhere—the bell jar, with its stifling distortions, wouldn’t descend again?
The Bell Jar. Sylvia Plath
If one day, I realize I haven’t fully self-actualized because I was wrong, then I will concede. Until then, Joan has died so I can live. I shan’t feel guilty anymore.
Ponder: How many people do you need to love you, before you believe that you are loved?
Speaking of breaking the mould
Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.
2 Corinthians 4:16-18
Thinking of: Sylvia Plath, how I do know I’m slowly getting a grip, when the wallowing will be over, forgiveness versus stubbornness, a better deal and the value of suicide.