Recently I stumbled upon the private mind depositories (read: personal blogs) of some very very rich, but very very emotional not-so-young souls on the net. At first, the flawless execution of English and the beautiful artistic photograph inserts that accompany the short expositions on these blogs attracted me, but alas, as I continued to read on, the content, the tone, the constant dramatic soliloquys of sorrow, sorrow, and more sorrow got annoying.
Really, really, annoying.
And there are more than just one Mr or Ms Emo. There are many now, these little millenium baby-boomers, the offspring of an affluent generation, who're rich enough to afford their children classy overseas educations in the best of the foreign schools, branded apparel that're so pricey each piece exceed the average Joe's monthly salary, and the coolest gadgets and toys to get around town in .
So the resultant adult-child, Mr/Ms Emo, born into an absurdly rich family, has a blog that records the depressions of life as reflected in broken Jimmy Choos and frayed Louis Vuitton scarves. Recaps of Mr /Ms Emo's New Year's Day celebrations are really painful moans of how heinously disastrous the past year was because, alas, alas, it didn’t quite turn out the way poor little rich girl hoped it would. Life in Malaysia is akin to 'purgatory' because the streets of glamourous London or New York or Paris beckon them with the memories of 'true joy' they once experienced in a not-too-distant life they used to lead there (as parent-sponsored STUDENTS, mind you!).
Day after day, you can almost hear the gnashing of teeth from young adults like this, going on and on and on over how hopeless it is to live a life to pathetic existence in lousy Malaysia, to have to drive through the horridly potholed roads of Kuala Lumpur and Petaling Jaya, to have to survive with faulty Nokias or Blackberries, to have to endure horrendous English spewed from the mouths of less-educated Starbucks baristas who can't make a coffee as good as the ones they used to savor from the 'real coffee' bars of Manhattan.
Like, can you get over it already? Life isn’t designed to revolve around your sparkly coutured wholesomeness, not everyone speaks impeccable English, and yes this country sucks, but so does the rest of the world, didn't you already noticed?
So it's true. I have no space in my heart to understand and love rich kids who lament and sigh about life EVERY single day on their blog. It is hard for me to understand and be tolerant of rich kids who write fantastically, having the ability to spew verbal diarrhea at every turn; especially not when that diarrhea consists of complaints about how terrible this country is, how sad it is that they were unfortunately enough to tear a whole in their incredibly expensive cocktail dresses. I find it hard to shrug off such stockpiles of attitudinal holier-than-thous, translated into paragraph after paragraph of monotonous drone over how pathetic their lives are.
I sort of sense that kids like this, are trying to prove a point that THEY LIVE NORMAL LIVES, which they don’t. Rather, the truth is, from my window and where I'm standing, they're just plain weird, poor little rich kids who don't know how to appreciate what they already have. It’s like they’ve got everything going for them, with beautiful skin and lovely clothes that allow them the luxury of looking better than they actually look, thanks to visits to Sothy’s and the opportunity to dress up in the top of the range designer offerings. And yet these kids have no ability at all to look life in the eye and laugh at it, much less the ability to look in the mirror and take themselves less seriously.
What’s worse is their complaints always, usually, revolve around how sad it is that people don’t seem to want to take this world seriously.
But seriously, is there a serious point to taking this earth, this life, so rigidly serious? SERIOUSLY?
….
I'll admit it, since I have been accused once of being Ms Emotional on the blog, and now that I’m at this stage of my life, I think I can finally understand why so many called me annoying. Because being overtly emotional, or ‘emo’ in today’s slang, IS depressingly disgusting, and it drove people away.
Of course it also attracted people who came back again and again to read and shake their heads in disgust at the 'oh woe be upon me' drama I was displaying in full glory in this blog. Having said that, I really hope I'm long past that phase, because being 30 and complaining about the viciousness of life tires the pysche and definitely isn't healthy for anyone.
