English is emptying me of emotion. Real emotions and feelings have been replaced by certain ways that I must think, to merely achieve in life. I’m analysing and speculating the emotions apparent in texts that I do not feel. It’s causing me to become this unnatural being with no opportunity for power to achieve determined results, but rather forces me to follow someone else in my natural desire to succeed.
It’s teaching me emotions, telling me how to feel, what is right to feel, why I feel it and what causes me to feel it. It defines aspects of life, which in essence, have no definition but rather interpretation. And even then do they make me study the many interpretations, forcing me to see things I do not naturally see for myself, that I do not want to see for myself and committing even a greater sin against the very purpose of the study.
When will they realise that it is only through the beauty of embrace, rather than scrutinity, that such values (they force us to study) can exist? The more time we take to overanalyse these natural occurrences of life, the deeper we dig their graves, the more life we lose.
This world imposes beliefs on us even in its attempts to support the discovery of our own. Its petty reasoning to ‘broaden our understanding’ restricts it only to finite thoughts that we must incorporate as our own.
And only with the abhorrent power of English have I been able to communicate this. And so now, because I have overanalysed the injustice that English holds towards life that this very perspective will go to waste just like everything else that has experienced the merciless scrutiny of English.
English, you sicken me.
Try not to take this too seriously. I was bored studying English
If you wish to bite my head off, please do so in a well structured, logical argument.
