This is ridiculous question, really. I have no idea what I will be doing in ten years. Hell, I have no idea what I will be doing in ten weeks. Life is unpredictable and the Universe has a much better imagination than I do. Ten years ago, I would not have guessed, even in my wildest dreams, that I would be where I am at now. Who’s to say the same won’t be said for my predicament ten years from now? I may be living the dream. I may be living in the streets. I may have a great job, or I may have a shitty job that pays spectacularly. I may own a home, or I may still be renting. I may be married with two kids, or single/dating without any thought of children. Who the fuck knows? Certainly not I.
What I can plan to do with my life in ten years (if I am, in fact, still alive) is enjoy the hell out of it. Like any other animal on this planet, only the tough are allowed to call it home. I’ve made it this far, so I’m planning to enjoy the rest of my stay, no matter how long that may be. No view will go without a glance, and no great experience will be passed up. This is my life, and I intend on living it, even if it goes against what everyone is expecting of me. In the end, I’m the only one who has to live with myself.
Of course I can, though to an extent. I can understand a Christian believing that there is a fantastic afterlife, and that an omniscient being is watching, making judgements on where one will go when that afterlife comes. I can understand a Buddhist who believes karma is a real thing, and that you go through different lives, basically “levelling up” with karma points as you progress. I can understand a Muslim who believes a woman is so precious that her body must remain hidden like a lovely jewel. I can understand a lot of things.
What I cannot understand, however, is the hatred someone with a certain religion can possess, claiming it is based on their religion. I cannot understand a Christian who believes all homosexuals will rot in hell, or believes one who engages in sex before marriage is the utmost tragedy. I cannot understand a Muslim who believes a woman should be stoned for expressing herself, or believes anyone not of their faith should be slaughtered.
I cannot understand hatred in general. Though I especially cannot understand it when it is rooted in religion. Religions were meant (I would assume) to give people peace, both of mind and of body. I always saw religion as a sort of safety blanket; something that helped someone sleep at night when the thoughts of death, mortality, and what lies beyond the grave haunted them. I always saw religion as a way to help someone feel less alone; a person could feel like their cries of anguish, thanks, and need of assurance were actually being heard and listened to, and by a being that could actually have the power to do something about such things. I never thought religion was created to be used as a tool of hatred, at least not at first. Some would argue that of course that’s one reason religion was created, but … I like to think that faith’s original purpose was to bring comfort. Not malevolence.
Honestly, I truly believe that I am. I’ve noticed some people answer questions like this in a pretty odd manner; they get quiet and shy, and essentially belittle themselves as they claim that they’re not so great, nor are they vain enough to consider themselves the ultimate friend. That makes me sad. Do these people really believe that they are not good friends? They can’t possibly think that, or they wouldn’t be friends with anyone. What has been told to them that makes them believe that to say you are a good friend is considered narcissistic?
I think I’m a great friend. I am extremely supportive, loving, and often times humorous to be around. There is no shame in admitting that you are a joy to have as a friend. Most of my friends are almost like me in some way or another, since I cherish things in friendship that I practise.
A friend needs help? I’ll be there. If I can’t be there physically, you can bet your life I will try my hardest to be, and if I can’t, I will definitely be available in some other way. I am always doing everything in my power to make sure my loved ones are feeling comfortable, happy, and cared for, not to mention extremely loved. I let them know that I love them without hesitation. Sometimes my compliments can be met with a little awkwardness, but I think they really are happy when I tell them I love their laugh, or that they’re beautiful and have the best eyes. It’s the truth, and the truth can be the highest compliment because it cannot be argued.
An extremely successful professional life is desirable because it implies that you will have enough stability and finance to do what you want. However, the “tolerable yet unexciting” home life implies you won’t be doing what you want. Why have a good time at work when you have to go home to something that is simply “tolerable”? Do you know what tolerable even means? It means something that you can endure. You know what endure means? To put up with something. Why would you want to “put up” with your life? Unless you plan on making your entire life your work, that sounds utterly depressing. Imagine that. You go to work for eight hours (let’s assume) and have a great lunch. Go to some meetings, get free food, make great friends (who you presumably don’t see outside of work, otherwise your life would not be “tolerable and unexciting”), make great money and feel great the whole time.
Then you come home and you’re just doing things that you need to “endure.” For sixteen hours a day (twenty-four on holidays and weekends), you experience a life that is unexciting and simply tolerated until you can go back to work. Sounds horrible.
Flip it the other way around. You go to work for eight hours and you’re fairly unhappy with your job, but it’s tolerable. However, you then go home to an amazing life. What adventure will you do today? You will likely have great adventures, stories, and memories that don’t revolve around one particular building, one particular labour.
Then think about this: At some point, you’d have to retire. Then what?
Depends on when “evening” actually starts. Some people say it starts after twelve, and some say it doesn’t start until five.
Let’s say that “evening” starts after noon. Here is what would be great!
Have some late lunch at some outdoor place, maybe a beach, or a park. Preferably with friends. Spend time at a friend’s place with games, maybe drinks, laughs, reminisces, and catching up. Later in the night, grab some food and dessert, maybe go to a bar or club for a little while. Watch a good movie, or show, perhaps. Make love. Take a nice, hot shower. Sleep while snuggled up in a warm blanket.
If “evening” starts at five, just jump to the grabbing some food and dessert, after maybe hanging out a bit beforehand.
I don’t know. I had to really think about this one. It’s a mixture of relaxing and social. I don’t think too much about what a “perfect” evening (or anything, for that matter) constitutes. I wonder if people really think about these things.
When I was younger, I used to be like any kid my age. I yearned for Pokémon to be real. I dreamt about travelling the world and collecting them just the way Ash did. I wanted this so much that it sometimes physically hurt me to know that it would never happen.
However, now I don’t want it nearly as much as I did as a child. In fact, it’s off-putting. The travel seems fun, but everything else just seems depressing. You’re not the one fighting battles and being victorious … your Pokémon are. They’re the ones having to suffer injuries to the point of collapse and knockout when you’re the one who wants to fight. Not even fight for self-preservation, but to fight for the sheer fun and glory of it. Imagine that for a second. These are your friends. Your pets. You grow to love them. So what do you do? You force them to fight for no real reason other than for you to be the best. Our society now looks down on cock-fights, dog-fights, and other such animal cruelty … yet at the same time, many of us so terribly wished for this world where that sort of thing is glorified to the point of being the only thing anyone should even think about doing.
Then think of it this way: Pokémon are intelligent enough to communicate with humans, know how to fight, and know how to deal with different situations. With that intelligence, you think they don’t realise that when they’re minding their own business in a field (feeding, or just relaxing in their home) and you come along and capture them, they aren’t aware that you’re essentially enslaving them?
You have literally abducted them. You caught them, maybe beating them down first, by enclosing them in a small capsule and taking them away from the home they knew. Maybe they had family. A litter. You don’t know. Then, something seems to happen where it seems they just accept that they’ve been captured by this human for the sake of fight, and become friends with them. Possibly the most animalistic case of Stockholm Syndrome ever.
It seems really sad when you really think about what’s happening in Pokémon. They’re fictional, so it’s obviously okay to enjoy the show, but if it were real, it would be really sad. Then you have to think about all of the activist groups who would be constantly fighting for the rights of Pokémon. If you think there wouldn’t be any, you are deluding yourself.
So no, I don’t really wish Pokémon were real. It’s nice as a game, even as a real concept as a child, but it’s not something for reality. I’d rather fight my own battles with my own skills, rather than get another to do it for me.
No question, I would retain the body of a thirty year old. I don’t even mean that in a vain sense. I wouldn’t retain it because “Yeah, I’m sexy for the rest of my life!” or any of that nonsense. The thing is, dementia, Alzheimer’s, or any other mental dystrophy does not run in my family and so I doubt I will suffer too much if I retain my mind the way it will stay as I age. However, I have seen my grandparents struggle with arthritis, painful joints, and swollen feet. I would hate to have to go through that, especially considering how much I love to travel, exercise, and move around with ease. When it comes to dangerous situations, I would hate to be unable to escape due to pain or sheer inability to do so. Someone wants to pick a fight with grandma, what am I going to do with twisted, hurt bones? I can’t fight them off. Not easily, at least.
To me, safety will always be my priority. You live longer that way.
I think this sort of power is too great to lend out to any human. To err is human, and life is too precious a thing to put into the hands of one person. Some people don’t even trust God with life. If I were to get this power, I would want something that required more commitment than saying “Good-bye” twice. Two times is nothing. Two times is too easy. Two times can be said much too quickly in a moment of anger. Maybe if I needed to say, “I kill you” twenty times, while looking at them or something, I’d be willing to consider accepting the power.
There are definitely times I could see myself using this. If someone hurt a person I care about, I’d do it. I don’t mean “hurt” like they broke their heart, or accidentally tripped them; I mean “hurt” like they killed, raped, or tortured/abused them. In those cases, I would see no problem in using that power to destroy someone.
There have been times when I genuinely wanted to kill someone because of the terrible things they did. The only thing really stopping me was due to factors too great for my control, not to mention the fear of losing my own life to an institution or retaliation. So there are definitely situations where this power would be applied. It could even be useful if I ever end up being attacked, or chased by a maniacal killer. Think hard enough and the threat would be gone. Seems simultaneously horrible and amazing.
I truly believe that women have it harder in our culture. In fact, I’m willing to say it’s not a belief, but a fact. Men may argue about how “at least their genitals aren’t sitting ducks!” and how in cases of sexual assault, it will always be against the male, even if it’s a pure “she said, he said” situation, but I don’t think that tops what women have to endure. I’m not even talking about the periods, the cramps, the childbirth, and all that recycled defences; I’m talking about something bigger.
Just look at so many of the cultures outside of the first-world countries: Women are killed for the simplest of reasons, and often used as nothing more than house servants and sex machines. It blows my fucking mind that so many cultures’ men hold themselves on such a pedestal, while kicking women to the dirt. All the while, none of these men would even be here if it were not for their mothers. How can one treat the sex their own life came from so horrifically? Don’t even give me the bullshit of how men wouldn’t be here without men, either because you are deluding yourself if you think men help out in the natural process of birth more than ejaculating in a vagina. A woman carries a baby for approximately ten months, then goes into gruelling labour to give life.
Again, I don’t want to focus purely on natural facts. The bottom line is that women have been unnecessarily treated like shit since the dawn of time, simply because men are “stronger.” They weren’t allowed to vote, work, or really even have a voice until not too long ago., and in some areas of the world, they are still fighting for these basic rights. Women have unfortunately been given the short straw for centuries.
There is also blatant double-standard sexism in our society that is just seen as perfectly normal and that is not acceptable. You go on places like Chatroulette and there are hundreds of men with their dicks out, masturbating. Online. In front of thousands. And that’s considered normal. We don’t even bat an eye. Yet, a woman shows her breasts and she’s shamed so much that some women end their lives over it. A man has sex with a hundred women and it’s a thing of pride. A woman has sex with more than five men and she’s a harlot. And please, don’t give me that tired metaphor of “If you have a key that can open a lot of locks … ” because that is also such bullshit. People aren’t fucking keys and locks. We’re human beings. Just because men happened to have the “key-like” genital doesn’t make it okay at all.
For you men (and maybe some women) who are still not getting it, let me bring to light the whole fear of assault.
When I was in college, a teacher once said that all women live by a ‘rape schedule.’ I was baffled by the term, but as she went on to explain, I got really freaked out. Because I realized that I knew exactly what she was talking about. And you do too. Because of their constant fear of rape (conscious or not), women do things throughout the day to protect themselves. Whether it’s carrying our keys in our hands as we walk home, locking our car doors as soon as we get in, or not walking down certain streets, we take precautions. While taking precautions is certainly not a bad idea, the fact that certain things women do are so ingrained into our daily routines is truly disturbing. It’s essentially like living in a prison - all the time. We can’t assume that we’re safe anywhere: not on the streets, not in our homes. And we’re so used to feeling unsafe that we don’t even see that there’s something seriously fucked up about it.”—Jessica Valenti
Imagine that. Ask a man who’s been in prison how it was to fear rape, assault, and murder, and you have the psyche of a woman. It really is fucked up. Women live in constant fear of attack because some psychotic morons can’t control their dicks, or because some coward likes to prey on those weaker than him. I know women who carry tasers. I know women who carry pepper-spray. Hold their keys like brass knuckles. Go to places in groups, avoid certain areas, stay inside after dark. Some call it paranoia, but can you blame them when there are constantly women being raped, killed, and assaulted?
I see countless men going for runs at midnight without a care in the world. I’ve never seen a woman do that. There is too much fear that someone will attack a lone jogger at night and rape her. It’s incredibly sad, unnecessary, and truly fucked up that this happens and that, for the most part, we let all of these things happen. It’s normal to us. We warn women about not doing this, doing that, not going here and instead going there, while not even bothering to teach men not to hurt them. As they say:
We live in a society that teaches “Don’t get raped” rather than “Don’t rape.”
As for me, there have been times when I’ve wished to be my opposite sex. I think everyone has those thoughts, due to envy of certain aspects of the other gender, but in the end, I’m fine being just what I am.
A million dollars is a lot of money. It’s attractive, definitely. However, you have to think about just how far you can go with that money, and how much it will actually help you. You can’t live off of a million dollars. You can live well for a while, but it would eventually dissipate and you will have likely given up your entire livelihood for something that maybe got you a nice house and car and not much else. That may seem like enough, but it will likely not end up being worth it if you have valuable friends and family back in your home country. You’ll still have to find work eventually, and you’ll still need to make payments. You’ll very likely end up having bills for things you can no longer afford once your million starts depleting. If you don’t have a good family, or any friends, think about all of the places you can never see again.
Imagine never being able to see the Grand Canyon again. Never seeing Niagara Falls. Stonehenge. Victoria Falls. Taj Mahal. For someone who loves travel as much as I do, having an entire country be blacked out for your movements sounds like absolute torture.
Unless you come from an incredibly oppressive country, or a country where you’re living in sewage, and a million dollars can actually get you somewhere, I can see someone really wanting - or even needing - something like that. For people who are living in one of the first-world countries, I find it difficult to imagine one wanting to leave a country forever, unless you’re a convicted felon, or a very unhappy individual.
I would much rather be a member of a championship sports team. Being the sole breadwinner of a sport seems great and all, but in the end, you’re all by yourself. This may be appealing to people who work better alone (or who simply love a solitary sport), or for narcissists, but I like the idea of having many people to share your win and your goals. Teams can become a family. You lose together, you win together, you cry, you laugh, you celebrate, you share. For those who never really had a family, or for those who love the company of others, a sports team is an attractive group.
You win a championship in, say, golf, and you celebrate with friends who have no idea how you really feel. They will drink with you and then go home, never knowing the stress you experienced, and the enormous relief you felt when you nailed it. You’ll recount stories to friends, family, children, but that’s all it will be: telling a story. You won’t be able to share a laugh about how you were so sure Kelly was going to get thrown out for pushing that other player. You won’t be able to say, “Hey, Daniel, remember when I made the first goal and you guys all crowded around me and we sort of bumped heads and laughed?”
Sharing moments, I feel, increases the feeling of a win tenfold.
As for which sport, I would say ice hockey. It has always been my favourite sport, and I have great memories associated with the sport, and some of my teammates have been great friends. I wouldn’t trade that sharing for anything.
This is a tough one. Actual experiences are amazing. In that moment, everything you ever hoped it would be, everything you planned for and were looking forward to, it is all happening. A giant wave of emotion and information is coursing through your head as you skydive for the first time, or you see the place you’ve been yearning to visit for years, or the first time you kiss that person you’ve been dying to kiss. You feel that jump in your stomach, the shortness of breath, the slight feeling of unreality to what you’re seeing and experiencing.
However, remembering things after the fact can be just as good, if not better. In the moment, things can happen so fast that you don’t notice them at first, until you’re re-living it later on. Memories of an experience can be better in the sense that you are basically reliving the happiness, the excitement, the unrestrained lust. You can revisit these times before sleep, or when you’re feeling down. Whenever you want, really.
I believe memories win this round. That feeling of joy can stay with you for the rest of your life. It’s amazing that we can keep something that should only have been lived once.
Better how? Worse for whom? Animals? Humans? Nature in general? If we keep going at the rate we are, what with overpopulation and increasing waste, it could very well end up being a nightmare for everyone on board. However, what do I know about the future? The universe has more imagination than I do. In one hundred years, we could be living in the ways of Wall-E. In one hundred years, we could be making the world greener and a better place to live in. In one hundred years, humans could be completely extinct, which is not necessarily a bad thing. I never understand when people say the “end of the world” when referring to the wiping out of humans. That’s not the end of the world. The earth will keep on rotating, the world will keep on growing. Earth does not care if it loses an entire species, as it has lost thousands, if not millions, before us. We are not so special that we can only be wiped out by something that would destroy the world in the process. It’s the end of our world, not the world in general.
I suppose my answer is that in one hundred years, I don’t know if it will be better or worse, or for what species (if any) it will be better or worse for. I realise this sounds like a copout, but this is a pretty silly question to begin with.
This seems to be one of those questions where you would only ever to be able to answer honestly if it ever happened to you. However, I am not so sure I would give my child back. Children aren’t toys that you can exchange if you have a receipt. If I knew who the other parent was, I think I would try to make them a part of my life so that we can at least know our children. In the mean time, maybe treat it as some strange adoption.
If I did want to take my child back, I’m sure it would be vastly easier said than done. It could be emotionally damaging to a kid - even so young - to remove them of the parents they knew for the whole first part of their life. Not only that, but imagine the hurt it could cause both sets of parents? You’ve spent a year with this beautiful baby whom you’ve loved and cared for as your own; now you have to “trade” it for someone else’s child (essentially) without knowing a thing as to how they were raised. This is if you can even find your real child at all. People move and people don’t want to be found by strangers. How are you expecting to just find the other parent so easily? I suspect there are many hoops to jump though.
It’s an unfortunate scenario that I hope I’ll never have to deal with, but in the meantime, I feel I wouldn’t be in a gigantic rush to get my own child back. I would have my child. The one I raised. The one I loved. The one I woke up in the middle of the night to change his/her diaper, or warm up a bottle. The one I showed off to my family and friends, who loved the child just as much as I did. The one I likely took hundreds of pictures of and shared. Biology does not your child make.
That’s a tough one. On the one hand, it completely cures a painful ailment that many suffer from; on the other hand, at least one in one-hundred users will die from taking it. I don’t think that’s a very good gamble. One guaranteed death is one too many. Is getting rid of arthritis really so important and worth it that you would be willing to play Russian Roulette with a bottle of pills?
You could have warnings if you want, but that would be no use if the fatality were truly random. What causes the death? Does it require some sort of previous condition? If it were something that could be checked beforehand, maybe I’d be more willing.
Some may say that one death is a small price to pay for a complete arthritic cure, but how many people would say the same thing if it were their mother who was that one percent? Their son? Their girlfriend? How worth it would the cure be then?