My already disturbed mind has been continuously disturbed for a few days earlier. It got worst at nights. I have been losing sleeps for quite some time now that the I have started to experience the effects quite instantly. This could be an early sign of a coming depression -- the tips of an iceberg, the few flakes of snow before a deadly avalanche.
Life is sometimes puzzling. Most of the time, come to think of it.
There were days when I easily succeeded in everything I did.
There were times when I failed miserably.
Now, when inspected carefully, I tended to fail at the little things. In making up to this, I had myself successful in great things, just so that I could feel somewhat better for at least a stretch of moments. This was, however incorrect I was, my logic. It felt better when I thought of just how I failed at making sandwiches but I succeed in extracting valuable gases from almost valueless biomass materials.
But I never thought the otherwise.
What if, just what if, one day I tend to be only successful at little things, and fail in a many great things?
Even thinking of it drove me substantially mad.
Ever in the grim cloud of failures there is responsibility to take. Just like one is responsible for his winnings, one must be responsible for his failures.
Sometimes it is great to be a perfectionist. Sometimes it is just way too upsetting. But this is the factory setting that came with me since 28 years ago, and as days went by, it was perfected with time and experience. I like being a perfectionist. But it comes with a price -- I cannot accept failures.
Some have told me (sometimes by means of violent verbs and forces) that failures are a part of life. We fall down while walking just so that we could improve our steps. We get cuts just so that we pay more attention to our surroundings. And many other similar comparisons. And most of them, almost all of them, leave scars to remember. And it is these scars I try best to minimize, or at any time possible, avoid at all costs.
What's the point of being a war hero if you have taken a bullet in between your whitened eyes?
Each time I failed, what I did was to inspect the failure particularly to answer the question of 'what went wrong?'. It is not an easy task. It is not an enjoyable assignment. I had to take a great look into something that I had already despised much -- failure -- and finding the cause of it: the fail factor. It's like one who inspects carefully the wreckage of a motor vehicle that killed his mother. The devastating emotions.
And it was said that, 'the rewards for those who persevere far exceed the pain that precedes the victory'.
But I didn't make for it.
To sculpt a winning, a pre-meditation follows. All characteristics identified and maintained at desired conditions. Every possibilities taken into account. All Plan B's ready. Anti-fail mechanisms negotiated for. Cardinal evaluation. Maximum firepower. Military accuracy. Zero tolerance of error. All these to ensure a maximum possibility of winning; increasing the odds to top. I don't play for fun. I play to win.
But there are always those unexplained times when you've done your best, but still fail.
And that is the most frustrating thing of all. You'd be thinking and analyzing -- what went wrong? And after some time you'd be over-thinking and over-analyzing. The frustration takes a huge toll. It costs you your happiness, your solace, and most importantly, your motivations. After all the efforts and it ends like this.
When we fail, in order to ease our broken hearts we'd say that well we're just shit out of luck. But is it really? Luck? With all the calculated moves and and statistical approach, we fail because we're just shit out of luck? Well there must be mathematical expressions behind the losing, no? What was the factor of losing? What really did go wrong?
And then you'd question about the promise of rewards and fairness to those who try their best. And you'd find that the only person to blame cannot be the big guy up above but yourself. And then you'd realize that the more you try to reason, the more unreasonable you'd become.
And then you'd go crack about it for days and nights.
But let's look at the bright side of it -- if I fail at bigger things, I'd be sure as hell free from dwelling on the fact that I failed to make sandwiches.
"Come on Jack, the grass is always greener on the other side of the river."
So is the grass on top of a pile of dung. What's your point?