OTL

What’s the 11th item on your bucket list? – Source: Kick It

Warning: OOT

When I was sixteen, I did remember writing down things I want to do up until I was around seventy-four, which was the time I assume I will die, but I had forgotten what I specifically wrote then. Then, the first time I made a list I actually called a “Bucket List” was around four years ago, and I did not even reach more than a total of ten things. Around a year later, I arrived at what is claimed as the Land of Morning Calm, and the list got reduced to contain only five things. Even so, me in the present cannot quite relate to these things that made the list back then.

I thought I might as well just came up with a new one. Apparently it’s not working out well because I cannot really came up with any more than three items which doubtfully yet earns their place there. I also came to suspect whether there is possibly a reason why the prompt specifically asked for the eleventh, but from my little expedition using the all-beloved Google, nothing has indicated that the eleventh item is a “thing” as opposed to it most likely being a random pick.

So, for the umpteenth time, I decided to go out of context and talk about Bucket Lists in general, mostly about why I have become indifferent to the idea through the years. I apologize in advance if this puny rebellious streak has started to bother anyone reading my pointless ramblings.

First of all, I suppose credits are still in order to whoever generated the idea of it referring to the things one wants to do before one dies, even though its origins and undertone, I assume, is still undetermined and debatable (although it was popularized by the 2007 movie of the same name). After the phrase spreads and eventually became a thing, I guess having the list may help people to find excitement in life as they have things they look forward to doing. But there are also some, like me, who found the list more as a chore rather than a impetus for a satisfying, joyful life in the long run.

I started to feel like making these lists thrill me less and less. At the same time it feels as if just looking at yet the reduced list reminds me of how I am in no way going to check even just two items off the list any soon. Other than the fact that people’s priorities and interests may change over time, I guess the reason why my list got gradually smaller in number because I may include too many things I will not be able to achieve. I have not the slightest idea why I put some of them in the first place, as much as I am unable to pinpoint what is the indicator of tangibility that, at one point back then, I actually believe I will cross them off the list someday in my life. I mean, I wrote down in number four out of the previously listed ten that I would like to “work undercover”. With my love for burgers and french fries, as well as the fact that I am aware I am unfit as fudge has not changed my horrible eating and exercise habits even for one bit, how is it even possible for me to be taken as a freaking field agent working for the intelligence?

Pray excuse myself for the paradoxical desire for high-risk quests while I embody the very definition of a slothful homebody.

Point is, the list seem to be more pressuring than stimulating. I think it is fair to say that most people’s lives are basically checklists, comprised of series of items like this: birth, full-time play time, school, university, work, work, work, retirement, imminent death. You cross of one after you finish it and move to another one on the record. With the whole work you need to do in the middle in which most of the time it is rather difficult to take breaks, especially if you are a peasant like me, how is it that someone in their right mind will voluntarily be bothered to put up with another list? As “fun” as it may seem, in some cases, time constraint and the lack of other means will just make accommodating an extra or a side list too demanding.

Provided the post may create possible impressions that I am probably just another bloody millennial, afraid of commitment and discipline, I still opted not to bother myself with a new bucket list. Not only for the reasons implying I have issues in the said department, but also that I think it will ultimately change as I switch interests in the short run, or that in different stages of my life, I may have different priorities I would find fulfilling enough if done properly; all in good time, without having the formal set ready ahead, which could be spurious.

So, to avoid eleventh-hour regrets, I have not the eleventh item–not even any–in my bucket list. Ayyy.

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