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Though Living, Are Dead

I love literature because it embodies the human spirit. It tells of the joys and pains, and I am able to experience the whole gamut of emotions over a million lifetimes in a thousand cultures. I stand in awe of it because it is amazing how alike we all are. We all feel the same, love the same, cry the same. The full colour of humanity is present in every one of us, so I'd like to believe.
Yet it seems that there are times I question these beliefs I seem to have deduced from my forays into these faraway lands. On more than one occasion I have seen people who have shown such a lack of depth in thought that I cannot help but wonder if I were wrong all this time. Maybe not all of us feel. Especially so in a country like Singapore, where education is a process of numbing the senses rather than honing them, we find these living dead. They live life without discovery or purpose, and there is no joy in them. Life is a process best carried out with minimal disturbance from external forces. The most startling thing is, these are not old people jaded by life's drearier experiences, but young people who live life passively, allowing indifference to fall upon their lives like a fog.
Emily Bronte once wrote "Shall Earth no longer inspire thee, O lonely dreamer now?" I hold that line so close to my heart, for I fear the day I lose sight of the beauty God has placed around me.
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