As we celebrate 25 years of the TALON, we are taking a journey through time. Over the next few months, we will share a series of articles from past editions, showcasing the voices, stories, and moments that have shaped our school community. These pieces give us a window into the past, letting us see how students experienced school life, world events, and culture in different eras, and maybe even recognize some familiar names along the way.
The right to complain. This is stupid. I shouldn’t be writing at all. I should be working on my physics lab, my theater portfolio, my math homework, my English readings, my history internal assessment, or any of the other assignments I have to do. But instead, I sit in front of my computer and write for you for your reading pleasure or pain, whichever fits better. I sit here and, instead of working, I complain. I wonder if this is inherent to our upper-middle-class mentality.
The right to complain. How much of a right do we have to whine about the amount of work we have to do, or the fact that some girl doesn’t like us, or the day a friend is in a bad mood? If we’re being fed and protected, at least in the basic meaning of the words, can we complain? I heard or read somewhere that sadness is a privilege of the upper classes, and being at graded, we’re most certainly the upper class. Not all of us are sad, but most of us complain. I hear it a lot, and so do you.
In fact, that’s what you’re hearing right now by reading this article. People complain about the workload, and in my opinion, they do so most rightfully. The Declaration of Independence of the United States, and here I make a side note to remind you that this is an American school, states that all humans have certain unalienable rights, amongst which are the rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. At this point in my high school career, I feel that I have no life and much less liberty.
I go to school from 8:10 to 6pm most of the time. Yes, three of those hours are by choice. I am a high-aiming overachiever, and when I get home, I work until I feel that I can take no more, and then go to sleep. Yes, I brought this partially upon myself, but is it really much to ask that we abolish the institutionalized hell week? I guess I complained a little bit more than I wanted to. Now to return to the subject at hand before my complaining digression.
Why do we complain? I think that we do so because we can, because we have been brought up spoiled and have been allowed the right to express our displeasure. I think we whine because we have been told that we can make a difference, and we see that things are wrong. I wish I had a real life, but I acknowledge that a great deal of it is my fault. I brought this upon myself. I always say that the first step to solving your problem is realizing that you have one. My mom is a shrink (comes with the profession, I guess). I have realized, and I have complained.
Now what I have to do is attack the source of the problem instead of its consequences. I have to stop bringing this upon myself, just like everybody else does. I have to do homework instead of writing articles for the talent. I have to accept the fact that I have no life and attempt to create one out of piles of books that I ordered for my extended essay. I have to, but I won’t. I will continue to procrastinate and complain because I’m a teenager, and that’s what I do. It’s my fault, but that won’t stop me from complaining. I have that right, and therefore I shall make good use of it.
Image: Angus Greg (NY Times)
