Chance; chance determines quite a bit of an individual’s life. Birth into a wealthy or impoverished family is chance. Birth into a specific religious or moral upraising is chance. Chance can determine who we meet, what we love, where we go, and in turn all these things make up who we become. Pip is born poor by chance. He is in his situation by forces beyond his control. In the world, we are all originally victims of circumstance; the first victimization is our surrounding from conception.
Pip is born into a poor family, with dead parents, a cruel sister, and her uneducated husband. Estella and the upper class carry an air about them, a cloud of superiority. Manners, manners are invented rules of conduct for situations. Can one fairly denounce someone who has no “manners” because they were never raised with them? Most certainly not! What makes anyone born into a wealthy family better than anyone born into a poor family? Absolutely nothing. When you make your own fortune through your own work to buy your own nice clothes, cars, buildings, possessions, then you have my permission to gloat and self-elevate yourself above others, but at the same time chance plays a heavy role into the situations and scenarios that lead to your ability to have the said fortune. Snobby little pricks whose daddies are rich and can buy them an abundance of nice things and have a high public social standing become popular jerks, with no real regard for anyone or anything but themselves and their interests. These rich brats then gain access to the popular girl pool, most often the popular slut pool. The rich pricks are just that; pricks, jerks, asinine brats. Dickens portrays a society mindset that is still relevant today. My father is the college president, I’m a badass, and no matter what I do I’ll always be above the rest of these lesser humans I am forced to call peers because my papa is rich and buys me what I want and lets me get away with everything, so I can buy my way into every school slut that has any moderate interest. My dad’s the physical education teacher, and I’m a tough rough jock with a gang of tough rough jock friends and you better not cross us or we’ll ruin your high school social standing, and if that doesn’t work we’ll just have to beat some respect into your low class ass. These are personal examples of upper class snobbery I have experience with. With Dickens’ world, it is even more severe. I’m born and raised by well mannered proper speaking people, and I’m destined to a substantial fortune I did nothing to accumulate, so now I’ll be certain to place myself in a grouped pedestal above the rest of humanity, all due to my by-chance social standing. I’ve always been the odd one in the crown, I’ve always belonged to my own category; both in the group and out of it. Like a pomegranate surrounded by almonds, pecans, pistachios and more, I’ve never really fit in. Patrick Stump sings “Baby, when they made me they broke the mold” and I feel this way. I’m that one statue incapable of duplication, I’m the character that can’t really be mirrored exactly, I’m the drawing that can’t purely be copied. Due to this I do not align with any social grouping, I refuse to, for I do not belong there, I am not one of them. I am not afraid to stick my reputation into the line of fire and express the truth, waiting for the classes to open fire. I see the world from a different view; I see darkness in the light, and light in the darkness. I rebel against the order of this world, the authority of this life, for I see the corruption at the very root of the plant. Yes this plant may yield prosperous fruits, but they are far outnumbered by the toxic fruits, while poison runs from the very pores of the plant. The plant needs burned to kill the poison, and so I am left three options; kill the plant, leave it, or accept it, for I cannot conform to the plant, it is poison to me, and it will kill me faster than the lack of nourishment. Perhaps I’m simply deranged, maybe I’m just a freak, but I am willing to bet that I am not, I’m simply a unique operating system surrounded by various classes of operating systems, never really fitting in.
Pip is born into a poor family, with dead parents, a cruel sister, and her uneducated husband. Estella and the upper class carry an air about them, a cloud of superiority. Manners, manners are invented rules of conduct for situations. Can one fairly denounce someone who has no “manners” because they were never raised with them? Most certainly not! What makes anyone born into a wealthy family better than anyone born into a poor family? Absolutely nothing. When you make your own fortune through your own work to buy your own nice clothes, cars, buildings, possessions, then you have my permission to gloat and self-elevate yourself above others, but at the same time chance plays a heavy role into the situations and scenarios that lead to your ability to have the said fortune. Snobby little pricks whose daddies are rich and can buy them an abundance of nice things and have a high public social standing become popular jerks, with no real regard for anyone or anything but themselves and their interests. These rich brats then gain access to the popular girl pool, most often the popular slut pool. The rich pricks are just that; pricks, jerks, asinine brats. Dickens portrays a society mindset that is still relevant today. My father is the college president, I’m a badass, and no matter what I do I’ll always be above the rest of these lesser humans I am forced to call peers because my papa is rich and buys me what I want and lets me get away with everything, so I can buy my way into every school slut that has any moderate interest. My dad’s the physical education teacher, and I’m a tough rough jock with a gang of tough rough jock friends and you better not cross us or we’ll ruin your high school social standing, and if that doesn’t work we’ll just have to beat some respect into your low class ass. These are personal examples of upper class snobbery I have experience with. With Dickens’ world, it is even more severe. I’m born and raised by well mannered proper speaking people, and I’m destined to a substantial fortune I did nothing to accumulate, so now I’ll be certain to place myself in a grouped pedestal above the rest of humanity, all due to my by-chance social standing. I’ve always been the odd one in the crown, I’ve always belonged to my own category; both in the group and out of it. Like a pomegranate surrounded by almonds, pecans, pistachios and more, I’ve never really fit in. Patrick Stump sings “Baby, when they made me they broke the mold” and I feel this way. I’m that one statue incapable of duplication, I’m the character that can’t really be mirrored exactly, I’m the drawing that can’t purely be copied. Due to this I do not align with any social grouping, I refuse to, for I do not belong there, I am not one of them. I am not afraid to stick my reputation into the line of fire and express the truth, waiting for the classes to open fire. I see the world from a different view; I see darkness in the light, and light in the darkness. I rebel against the order of this world, the authority of this life, for I see the corruption at the very root of the plant. Yes this plant may yield prosperous fruits, but they are far outnumbered by the toxic fruits, while poison runs from the very pores of the plant. The plant needs burned to kill the poison, and so I am left three options; kill the plant, leave it, or accept it, for I cannot conform to the plant, it is poison to me, and it will kill me faster than the lack of nourishment. Perhaps I’m simply deranged, maybe I’m just a freak, but I am willing to bet that I am not, I’m simply a unique operating system surrounded by various classes of operating systems, never really fitting in.
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