Left Behind

When people say they want to leave a legacy behind, all they really are is afraid of being forgotten.
The most common ways one leaves a legacy is by naming something after himself, engraving his name on a bench or, if you had the means, a building. Tan Tock Seng Hospital. Rockefeller Building. ETC (Really? And our country is banking our creative technological edge on you?). 

The only places my legacy has been left (not due to my choosing or machinations) is in Rosyth and RGS. I was practically unknown in either. In Rosyth, and most primary schools, one can usually find boards of names of the past principals, head prefects, and top scorers. One can easily eliminate the options. In RGS, I left behind my acrylic man ball. Against my will, I should add. I wanted to take it home. It was really pretty and intricate, little sharp pieces of interlocking acrylic woven together with copper wire in a fancy polyhedral structure. Arms over legs. It was an actually well-planned project (I say this in contrast to the other half-baked schemes cooked up by the, to put it bluntly, grossly incompetent school administration at the time), that necessitated me bringing the pieces and a huge coil of wire home from our D&T Lab, building it once to make sure I could do it, and then breaking it apart to rebuild the entire thing on racial harmony day as an exhibit. Thats right, I left a legacy for being a viewing exhibit, by doing pretty much the same thing as a hippopotamus in a zoo.

Why are we so afraid of being forgotten? By people we don’t even know? what is so bad about leaving unnoticed, a mere slipping out the door? I really don’t understand why anyone would name anything after themselves. What does it prove? That you are self-important? The worst kind of legacy leaving is when you give something a name that arises from the initials of a group of friends. Could anything be more cliche? I think not.

If anything were to be left to me I would prefer it to be a dedication. Of a book, or a concerto, or some great work of the mind, by someone of intellectual or artistic merit. Not a building built with my money, by the sweat of underpaid and overworked foreigners who are unabashedly discriminated against by the very people they serve.

In other news, I have fallen in love. Yes! Again! He is the dreamiest fictional character ever.



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