It’s difficult in year 12 to contribute to everything you are asked to do. There is a large amount of pressure bestowed upon the leaders to constantly contribute to college activites, masses and chapel services.
Some people say that some of the most successful startups and companies contribute to society in some way, shape, or form. What is it that I wish to contribute to society?
The other day I contributed to some gay rights organization. Not because I wanted to, but because, when approached by solicitors, I do not have the balls to say no. I spent $28 on a cause I don’t give a fuck about.
After six years in these classrooms, now it is your turn to contribute to the society that has made you who you are. Now you have the chance to change that society, to steer its course, to make it better for yourselves and those who will come after you, and to make it kinder to those who have built it thus far.
What a laugh. A science project made up of four squirming sixth graders, Marga Leoni at the head of the group.
“Everyone must contribute 25% of the work.” How ridiculous. What was Mrs. Carver thinking? That three semi-capable but much too lazy sixth grade boys were going to ‘contribute’ the same amount of work to the project as Marga. Marga was destined for Harvard or Princeton or some other prestigious college with old historic buildings. Logan, Miles, and Dash were meant to go to the community college or become volunteer firefighters. Their aspirations included becoming professional soccer players, inventing the next Minecraft videogame, or winning the loterry. What a laugh.
meaningless is when you don’t act on something that you can do about it whether to change or to do it better that is contribution, the reason we need contribution is to live the live for others because the life for others is worth living thanks.
You must be apart of something. You cannot live your life without being apart of someone else’s. Think of those who are apart of your life. Those who make you laugh. Contribute.
Jessica stared at the paper, due tomorrow. What the hell her friends were thinking when they decided they wouldn’t contribute with her? That was the last and most important paper! Of the most important class! Whatever, she did it alone.
Ah, to contribute a meaningful life. Melissa thought about this as she walked past the train station in the morning rain. That’s what he’d really meant; that her life had no meaning, that she’d contributed nothing.
He wanted, so badly, to contribute to his family, to be more than just a sick, wasteful burden. He was sure it wasn’t that simple, when he was not allowed (or, at the very least, not advised) to go associating with the neighbors, for what if they seen what he did to himself because of the Madness? It would get his parents in trouble. It wasn’t their fault, it wasn’t, it was all his . . . he should have never gone outside at night. He should have never gotten himself bitten.
And now, nine years later since he was four, all he could do was be a trouble to his mother and father. What good was he, other than a constant hospital bill? Good question.
What is a contribution? Do we really do it, or are we just giving back the things we’ve stolen from others? Happiness, sanity, objects, love, sorrow, depression. Where does it start? Does it ever end? What do we really contribute? Nothing.
Bring to the table
something useful and good-
a joyful song of encouragement or praise,
a bouquet in pastel sympathy or vibrant gratitude–
not as a centerpiece,
but as an offering.
It’s difficult in year 12 to contribute to everything you are asked to do. There is a large amount of pressure bestowed upon the leaders to constantly contribute to college activites, masses and chapel services.
Some people say that some of the most successful startups and companies contribute to society in some way, shape, or form. What is it that I wish to contribute to society?
people say the most successful startups contribute to society in some way. What value is it that I wish to contribute to society?
The other day I contributed to some gay rights organization. Not because I wanted to, but because, when approached by solicitors, I do not have the balls to say no. I spent $28 on a cause I don’t give a fuck about.
After six years in these classrooms, now it is your turn to contribute to the society that has made you who you are. Now you have the chance to change that society, to steer its course, to make it better for yourselves and those who will come after you, and to make it kinder to those who have built it thus far.
What a laugh. A science project made up of four squirming sixth graders, Marga Leoni at the head of the group.
“Everyone must contribute 25% of the work.” How ridiculous. What was Mrs. Carver thinking? That three semi-capable but much too lazy sixth grade boys were going to ‘contribute’ the same amount of work to the project as Marga. Marga was destined for Harvard or Princeton or some other prestigious college with old historic buildings. Logan, Miles, and Dash were meant to go to the community college or become volunteer firefighters. Their aspirations included becoming professional soccer players, inventing the next Minecraft videogame, or winning the loterry. What a laugh.
meaningless is when you don’t act on something that you can do about it whether to change or to do it better that is contribution, the reason we need contribution is to live the live for others because the life for others is worth living thanks.
You must be apart of something. You cannot live your life without being apart of someone else’s. Think of those who are apart of your life. Those who make you laugh. Contribute.
Jessica stared at the paper, due tomorrow. What the hell her friends were thinking when they decided they wouldn’t contribute with her? That was the last and most important paper! Of the most important class! Whatever, she did it alone.
Ah, to contribute a meaningful life. Melissa thought about this as she walked past the train station in the morning rain. That’s what he’d really meant; that her life had no meaning, that she’d contributed nothing.
“I’m only 14,” she could have yelled back.
He wanted, so badly, to contribute to his family, to be more than just a sick, wasteful burden. He was sure it wasn’t that simple, when he was not allowed (or, at the very least, not advised) to go associating with the neighbors, for what if they seen what he did to himself because of the Madness? It would get his parents in trouble. It wasn’t their fault, it wasn’t, it was all his . . . he should have never gone outside at night. He should have never gotten himself bitten.
And now, nine years later since he was four, all he could do was be a trouble to his mother and father. What good was he, other than a constant hospital bill? Good question.
What is a contribution? Do we really do it, or are we just giving back the things we’ve stolen from others? Happiness, sanity, objects, love, sorrow, depression. Where does it start? Does it ever end? What do we really contribute? Nothing.
Bring to the table
something useful and good-
a joyful song of encouragement or praise,
a bouquet in pastel sympathy or vibrant gratitude–
not as a centerpiece,
but as an offering.