‘Life is too short to be taken seriously.’—Oscar Wilde

I am serious about my life.

I mean, I try to be serious about my life, in my own sense of seriousness.

Subsidizing my undergraduate studies with two part-time jobs is being serious.

Quitting the lucrative private tuition job to go for a less-paying teaching post at a night school is being serious.

(Even though I didn’t mean to be a teacher in the first place) Staying in the teaching profession for the past five years is being serious.

Quitting the secure teaching job is being serious.

Pursuing a 2-year full-time Masters degree at almost 30 is being serious.

Being vegetarian (even though it’s just the lacto-ovo type of vegetarianism) is being serious.

Not being Christian is being serious.

Not being settled with just any one is being serious.

But what for?

Sometimes it’s just too tiring to be serious especially about life.

When even relaxation means maximization of life, it’s just too much.

Would I be happier were I not so serious? Is being happy what I exactly want? Is it good enough to be happy?

I want more from myself, that’s why I am serious. Or I am serious, so I want more from myself? Sometimes, cause and effect are woven into each other so deeply that they become each other.

I can’t afford to be weak.

But what for?

I am too tired tonight. It is one of those nights when I consume myself in thinking until it hurts badly; until I lose myself.