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Oh, what a tangled web of lies we weave..

Oh, what a tangled web of lies we weave..

Hooray for group assignments. It always come with the dreaded words which sounds similar (not to mention monotonous) to this: “Get into groups of ten – not more, not less. Pick a topic and work on it. It will account up to 20% of your marks.” Working in groups seems to be inevitable, since it somehow forms an essential part of our education. The lecturers get to decide the students’ grades based on the groups they are in, instead of having to squint and painstakingly read every word on a student’s piece of work, only then having to give a grade for each and everyone of them. Basically, it lessens the job of the lecturers, while we students tend to rant and gripe when we get unethical group members, uncooperative people, and most importantly, undesirable results.

And so it was, I found myself wondering – have I, all this while, for so long, been taken for granted? To only have you come whining to me, to have me help you? I absolutely dislike people lying to me, putting me in an uncompromising position, making me feel helpless and guilty – only to realise later that I have also been deceived, and all those guilt and wrongs I thought I did was actually nothing when compared to what was done to me.

Lies are okay, once in a while – if only it was done for the good. To ease the worriness, erase the tension, build up humour. But lies to gain sympathy, forgiveness and personal gain are simply not acceptable – not to me, anyway. Unfortunately, I think most lies tend to belong to the latter category, reducing the possibility of a perfect world.

There are already cracks in this barely strong foundation in this friendship – and I can see that it might crumble any moment. Perhaps I could make a first move and begin repairing it – but it would be of no use if we were to turn our backs and pretend as though it had not happened. It may be the past, but it does not mean it will simply fade away into nothingness. You may call me naive, you may call me immature. I know how the real world is; it is just that I do not know what to make of it, and how to live in it – but then again, I guess nobody does.

Yes, nobody is perfect.

Details of this entry.Thursday, September 26, 2002, filed under Blogger Archives.
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