Two cells join, veins form an interwoven web of a character like no one could ever phantom while the cells divide into trillions of warriors pledging loyalty to only one being- a child is born. A giant’s slap lands on their bottom’s untainted skin sending ripples of pain through the electrical-like messengers within them, shocking them nearly to death. The messengers send out rugged messages in response; they, on top of that, alert all within earshot of the happenings through a powerful shrill screeching cry. The mother’s heart shatters. Had the little creation not burst into an uncontrollably crying it would not have been imprisoned in this word yet because it wept, like a beacon shining in the night, showed the entire world all it had wanted to know- weakness.
Most of us have been brought up to believe that education is the only way to get ahead in life. Before being trained how on the most important skills such as survival, we were taught to hold books in by deceptive ploy disguised as mothers reading bed time stories. We held the books and we held them tight. They were our oxygen, our water.
What if I told you that education is the shovel that digs you an early grave? Today unlike what our DNA had in plan for us, we trudge through life like monotone, robotic beings – each of us a copy of the last and a shadow of the next. Each step feels like lifting an entire universe and all the while every action is as meaningless as words written in smoke. Doctors, Engineers, Mangers- all are great vocations. But are they what trillions of cells pledged to your allegiance are really fighting for?
And just like advertising agencies never tell you the side effects of the product, Educators being teacher and philosophers will never unmask the true colours of Education. Lining up we do, or we use to or we wish we did- lining up to get served with a bowl of knowledge. We are a line of hungry children hypnotized to believe that the thirst for knowledge never ends, and that it’s never satisfied. It becomes a drug to those of us who are serious. Coursing through our veins are not ideas of our own, but that of someone else before – and that “someone else” got it from him who came before. Once we are full with the required knowledge demanded by a beastly school system, we sit. We sit in a large hall of along with thousand around the world, all tuned into one station – the tick-tok of the clock. With palms sweating, and pens racing with the hearts not far behind, the time elapses. Our time is up.
We stop. We stop admiring the gaudy surface and much rather avert our attention to what is beneath the surface. Results are near. Students and even some parents spend long dreary hours predicting the scores, quarrelling and storming of in all directions. The skies punish them all for their ill-mannered demeanours by denying them its water.
The curtains open on the stage of life and they close again. Some sit staring at knives, others are rescued from this prison of education by old age and others- unfortunate as they are- are being born into the trap woven be someone before them.