When I was young, I believed chasing perfection was the route to utopia. The route envisioned a dream of productivity towards seizing the day.
Perfection was supposed to be the result of learning. But learning was all about the preparation for exams, and scores were the manifestation of how far I was from that utopia. That made the yearning for learning a bit meek.
However, the pursuit of productivity would leave no ground for other pursuits to follow, as it would lead to a personal dystopia. That dystopia could make my senses meditate, but trailing them, I learnt, would lead to the death of the pursuit of productivity.
The pursuit of productivity was really a pursuit of perfection in disguise. What could be more perfect than a machine? I started chasing the calculator, then its evolution, the computer and then the mobile phone.
Creators of the machines could not sell science or even a machine, so they sold dreams.
While we were chatting with each other, they told us we could chat with each other from far away. Now we sit in the same room but do not chat anymore.
I know the best part of everyone's day, but I haven't spoken with them for months.
I can see others enjoy themselves while glaring at a screen, but I can't be with them.
The dream of the machine was for me to work less. Then why do I find myself on the computer from morning to late night?
When machines were not mobile, I was. When machines became mobile, so did the office. It now sits next to my pillow.
When I was told of a Global village, I felt I could be everywhere, like I had been everywhere in my village. But now the whole world feels a little worse than a caged zoo. I can see, but I can't sense. Now it doesn't make a lot of sense.
By the click of a button, I can call for food, select a date or watch any movie. Choices are instant, but I still don't choose. I sit alone for an hour choosing a movie to watch as the food that I ordered gets cold. Some days I can't even steal a chance to interact with anyone the whole day. Well, that is the choice I made when I chose the machine.
Were these dreams I was toiling for? Some of which were actually achievable. Achievable nightmares I ultimately fathom.
The prowess of productivity was strangling, smothering and choking the pursuit of happiness.
Instead, now, I embrace my instinct that the dream of utopia was a cloaked nightmare. And now I choose my personal estranged dystopia.
