Dear Gen Y,
Welcome to the Forever 27 blog. This blog discusses youth and their dreams: those who care and those who do not.
Fame. Fame. Fame
Please tell me that I am not alone in my dazed hopelessness. Please tell me I am not the only one wishing and hoping that I will befriend fame. Please tell me that I am not alone in my endeavour to someday and somehow, be someone, not anyone, someone. If fame can achieve this, it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. Perhaps I have too much faith in fame. Perhaps I simply need to have a sharper understanding of how fame is an enigma for so many young people. Perhaps I have too much faith in what I have yet to experience at all.
All in all, the conspiracy of the Forever 27 club intrigues me. Besides being lamented by death, the label is illustrative of the heavy, heavy price of fame. Most importantly it captures an essence of a minority in the generation who celebrate recklessness, embrace excessiveness and are willing to live without any care in the world.
Drugs, sex and rock and roll. Kurt Cobain. Amy Winehouse. Janice Joplin. Jimi Hendrix. How on earth did they all not surpass the age of 27?
There is something lovely about fame. Money, awards, luxury, decadence and money.
At the same time, there is also something awful about fame.
All the problems, struggles, insecurities, fear, mistakes and problems of the famous are exhibited for the world to see. Sometimes it teaches us a lesson. Sometimes, it influences us to emulate what we read, what we see and what we know. That is not always such a good thing.
Fame can be fantasy. Fame can be an abyss. Fame can be fun. Fame can endure. Although fame propels ordinary lives into the glory and wonder and the utmost recognition, fame does has the capacity to destroy.
There is something lovely, and awful about fame.
Fame. Fame. Fame.