I just deleted about 30 posts from my blog. Many of them left me feeling self-indulgent and some were associated with a plagiarist that I was once again naive enough to trust. I loved some of the content, but I couldn’t in good conscience keep it published on my blog knowing that it was part of an elaborate scheme of deception, regardless of the motivation.

Betrayal is my weakness. More accurately, being betrayed is what deflates me more than any other experience in the world. I sometimes despise my old school values. It places a burden on me akin to juggling hot coals in my hands. It forces me to accept the wickedness in others, and constantly challenges me to suppress my ego in my efforts to accept and forgive, so that I can gather my strength to move on again.

I sometimes feel a strong desire to lash out and discard decorum in my efforts to expose the bullshit of the callous players that toy with the emotions and compassion of others. I never do, because I’m painfully aware of the reality that this world celebrates aggressors and tyrants and humiliates victims.

I needed to recalibrate my blog so that it is a reflection of me, and not of what I would like others to see in me. This is my ventlet to criticise the world for its bullshit and double standards. I smile sadly at the thought of those that find reason to lie about losing a loved one in order to gain attention, juxtaposed with the news that six family members died in a car crash under excessively tragic circumstances.

Society has a low self-esteem, and it’s reflected in the actions of the weakest amongst us. The attention-seekers, of which there is no scarcity, often succumb to self-pity and self-loathing, then express such emotions to a public audience, who inevitably pour out their affections in the hope of raising the spirits of one they identify with so easily, all the while dismissing the nagging realisation that they feel a sense of purpose only when they’re extending a hand to one they see as lesser than themselves. It’s easier to earn significance in that manner rather than to establish your worth through selfless fulfilment of your duty to society.

We have more consumers than we have contributors to the collective wholesomeness of society. The contributors are fighting the debilitating symptoms of compassion fatigue, while the consumers do nothing but cry foul and wait impatiently for their lot to be improved by someone else.

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