Intellectual prosperity is something that continuously benefits the wealthy; fortunately for myself I fall nicely into that bracket of society and have therefore managed to reap the benefits. A life of sufficient and sometimes exhausting expense can only be achieved by contributing towards the greater good of others. It is common among fellow people to practise and integrate a mutual value throughout the working class society. This value actually holds no truth to it whatsoever, yet the dismal and prolonged anguish felt by many everyday workers is rapidly increasing and reflecting triumphantly during the war on society.
Humanity and its sole purposes are based on greed. Replenishing the materialistic items purchased by many on a day to day basis has become nothing but a common entity. It is no longer looked upon through the public eye as being covetous, which is quite worrying as we haven’t even began to look at every aspect of a humans desire to repeatedly claim more than he is worth. Materialistic items cover many millions of areas: from cars to homes, mobile phones, haircuts, clothing, beauty products etc. I find it easy to separate the materialistic items in life by splitting it straight down the middle.
Meaningful and meaningless.
Having a top of the range sports car and a twelve bedroom house is what I would call meaningless. I can hear the cries between you all of “really, how dare this man claim such a ridiculous thing”, that’s because I am right and you know that I’m right. However like many other people in this terrible, ever festering world you are either the guilty greedy monster of society or just plain stupid. I would like to take up my first offer of being the guilty greedy monster because we are all well aware of the items we are purchasing and the worthless usage you are going to get from them.
Not only can it be found with materialistic items that contribute towards the human minds appetite for wanting more. It is with absolutely everything and anything you can think of. We are all seeking ways to improve or do better than we did previously. We are looking for better lives, people who share common values with us to ultimately have a better experience. There is no hiding from greed because we all have it, whether it is emotional, materialistic or any other form. We all want more out of our lives for the satisfaction of no-one else other than ourselves. It is the individual’s choice whether they deem it worthwhile or not to follow the on-going drive for successfully achieving their dreams, goals and aims.
How do they do this?
They do this by setting targets. The minds urgency to collectively join together as one massive force to drive you towards getting to that goal is the spark in the brain to ignite gluttony. That hunger to complete what you had set out to do is uncontrollable because of the passion you have embedded into that particular target. It is a vicious cycle and until you grasp the concept you will inevitably spend the rest of your life wrapped up in the world’s biggest killer; insatiability. Although I am prosperous enough to have fallen into the wealth bracket due to my consistent knowledge and understanding of basic life principles, I came scarcely close to following the wrong path. I am a very rich man; however I own very few items of true expense.
This is my story on how I battled unceasingly and single-handily against the war on society…
I was born on the 2nd of February in 1991 and lived in a small village called Wigmore. By small I am somewhat exaggerating. It was tiny. I am unsure of the exact population but my guess would be less than two hundred. The village was a typical English village; it had a small church overlooking an old church school with views of pure green English countryside, a castle that had sunken into the hill it was built upon and was crumbling by the day, the infamous black panther that roamed the forests surrounding the village, a post office, a village shop and two schools.
Our family resided in a council house on Ford Street. It was extremely small for a household made up of seven people. The house consisted of a kitchen with a ray burn, a small living area, a bathroom and three bedrooms. My Mum and Dad had the largest bedroom which could only fit a bed and a wardrobe in. The other two rooms were split between my two sisters, my two brothers and I. I shared a bunk bed with my younger brother and my older brother had a bed crammed in the corner. It wasn’t ideal at the time as we had very little space for our possessions but it was all we had and we learnt to make the most of it. After all we had a roof over our heads which is a lot more than some people will have through their entire life.
I have a vague memory of the splintered wooden floor boards upstairs, they were awful. During the night when I became thirsty I would have to clamber down from the top bunk, avoiding the obstacle of my brothers head on the way down and then sneak across the creaky landing. It would be agonisingly painful if I stepped on the wrong board, the wood would pierce my foot but I had to keep the pain inside in fear that I would wake my Mum and Dad.
My Mum and Dad really struggled to make any sort of living for themselves let alone their five children. My Mum worked at the village nursery school which was a short five minute walk from our house. The nursery was inside a porta cabin and had roughly twenty children attending. The pay was very little, but at least it was enough to keep a roof over our heads during our education days. I would say the job must have been very stressful, having to deal with so many little faces screaming for the duration of eight hours a day and then to come home to her own children doing the same.
My Dad worked on the local council which was a demanding job, again with little pay. The job consisted of early morning call outs ranging from fatal road side collisions to gritting the icy roads, to floods and even rescuing ducks that had got stuck in a tree. I was lucky enough to experience my Dad’s work at a young age when he took me out in the big gritting truck to lay salt on the roads. We must have been awake from the crack of dawn and worked straight through to the next morning, by “we” I mean my Dad as I slept through most of it. It’s the thought that counts.
Jason is the oldest sibling in our family, which is unfortunate for him as it holds a great deal of responsibility to look out for the rest of us. I have to say he did a pretty good job, but with many things there is always room for improvement. I am the second eldest in the family with my sister Gemma one year behind and Becca one year behind her. Sisters are just sisters. They are the females of the household and boy did they make themselves heard. I remember Gemma when she was younger with her chubby red cheeks crying out for attention, isn’t it funny how something’s never change?
Becca was diagnosed with diabetes in her teens which was really unfortunate for her. I distinctly remember the day we found out she had diabetes. Becca had an appointment at the doctors where she was just going for a routine check-up. Who would have thought that a routine check-up would lead to nearly being forced into a coma because her blood sugar levels were too high? It is very sad that she has diabetes. However personally I feel it is more often than not used as an excuse when life becomes too hard for her.
Finally, there is my youngest brother Dale. I have the clearest memories of Dale because he is the youngest in the family therefore being the most recent child born. He spent a lot of his childhood in hospital with a bone condition called “club feet”. The condition is self-explanatory; just picture two golf clubs and then replace the metal of the club with skin and bone. In order to fix the problem he had to have both of his ankles broken to straighten his legs. At the age of five this must have been a traumatic experience, yet he always came out with a cheeky grin on his face and the attitude of a fighter. That still remains to this day after I recently came across pictures of him with a handful of girls and a few beers in his hands.
During childhood and even to this very day my idol has to be my Granddad, John Morris. I am sure he won’t forgive me for saying this but he is a plump old man caught in a world of strong beliefs that he isn’t afraid to share. The reason why I admire him so much is because these strong beliefs, that could be looked upon by others as harsh or unfair, were always stood by without any care in the world of what other people might think of him.
During my teen’s I would always go to my Nan and Granddads house in Bucknell every Tuesday evening without fail. When I arrived I would be greeted by my Granddad leaning over the lawn mower getting it ready for my weekly mow. Granddad loves his garden but he is getting old and is not as mobile as he used to be, so he asked me if I would help him keep everything tidy. I took up his offer immediately and spent several years every Tuesday evening mowing the lawns, which I really enjoyed doing. My Nan would always have a bowl of radish and cucumber waiting for me after I had finished mowing. I remember sitting in their boiling hot living room with the TV so loud you could not hear yourself think, eating radish and cucumber with the company of two very amazing people. This, unlike many other things, made me happy.
When I was younger, perhaps twelve or thirteen years of age my other Granddad was diagnosed with Leukaemia. I wasn’t particularly as close to him as my other Granddad, nevertheless fond memories still remain. My Nan and Granddad, Beryl and Tom, had moved from their beautiful house in Shirlheath to a small town called Ludlow. The town was only about twenty minutes away from where we lived in Wigmore. It was quite an exciting prospect that my Nan and Granddad were moving to Ludlow because it meant that I could spend some time in a bigger place with the opportunity to meet more people.
The fondest memory I have of Granddad Tom and Grandma Beryl was the time in which they decided to renovate the garden in their new house. Jason and I decided that one day we would cycle from Wigmore to Ludlow and offer our help to them. It took us about an hour to cycle there, over fairly demanding hills for the likes of us at our age. We arrived on a beautiful sunny day and was given a can of coke and congratulated for completing the journey. That day Dad, Jason, Nan, Granddad and I worked all day on the garden as a team. It is something I will never forget. Nor will I the first experience of death in the family.
Granddad Tom was clearly becoming very ill. When we would go round to the house his nose would constantly run and he would be forever sneezing. I think Mum and Dad hid from us that he was very ill for some time because of not wanting to upset us. Granddad spent many nights in Stoke hospital where my Dad would make the long journey up to see him and then back down ready for work the next morning. I had never seen my Dad cry before, until the day I came home from school and the sad news was broken to us.
At a very young age, to hear such a tragic thing was so confusing. My emotions were so wild and uncontrollable the only thing I knew to do was cry. I didn’t understand death, neither did I want to, but I had no choice than to accept the fate that a terrible disease had brought to my Granddad. I had lost my Granddad but my Nan had lost her husband and my Father had lost his Father. At this point in my life things were going to change for me and a journey was about to begin, yet I wasn’t aware of it at all.
The death of my Granddad was not only the beginning of my writing, but it was the beginning of a journey that would take me into the realms of life that no single man or women has ever entered before.