The Loss of Originality; The Search for Passion

I believe inspiration is a force constantly exchanged between us—an energy that insists on being passed from one person to another. True passion, I believe, begets itself from witnessing the passion of others, no matter its origin. It may come from unwavering dedication to oneself, from the defiance to prove others wrong, from a hunger to surpass the masses. Whether the goal is individualistic or altruistic, selfish or selfless, passion is born from movement—it does not exist in stagnation.

And yet, passion is not blind to others. If anything, it thrives in connection. It sharpens our awareness of the world around us.

To have passion is to possess determination, consistency, and grit. Passion fuels inspiration, but when does inspiration turn into imitation? And when does convenience replace creation?

Nowadays, I seek out people who are driven by the same relentless fire—people whose energy shapes them, like how rocks sharpen one another, like how a river carves meanders into the earth’s crust. I want to be surrounded by that current, to be sculpted by it rather than dulled by complacency.

For me, writing has become my only salvation in reviving inspiration. There was a time when I was innately obsessed with books—fictional ones, of course—because they held the sweet promise of the impossible. Fiction allowed me to believe that ideas could be tested, shaped, and eventually become reality. Star Trek envisioned the iPad long before its existence, proving that if there is a will, there is always a way.

Yet, the pursuit of progress is a double-edged sword. Just as passion fuels great innovation, it can also justify destruction in its wake—the embodiment of by any means necessary.

Convenience vs. Creation

The Loss of Originality—a concept that has been debated over and over in recent years—often points fingers at technology. Ironically, we created technology to make life easier, to make things more efficient, and in many ways, it has. But passion alone isn’t enough; the world around us plays a role too. And in the digital age, the line between inspiration and replication has never been thinner.

The erosion of originality doesn’t happen in isolation. It’s a symptom of a society that values speed over depth, accessibility over authenticity.

Human indulgence is limitless, and greed often overshadows creation. The overprocessing of minerals, the use of modern-day slave labour, the obsession with fast fashion—each of these reflects a society that prioritizes convenience over integrity. We recognize our faults, yet we continue. In the same way, modern culture influences even the youngest among us—children wanting to look older, people rushing through life stages, always seeking shortcuts.

My college maths teacher used to say, “Never take shortcuts unless you know the road.” The process matters. That lesson stuck with me, not just academically, but in every aspect of my life.

At 16 or 17, I was still figuring out who I wanted to be. We all fluctuate, becoming different versions of ourselves depending on the people around us. But I wanted to know myself—truly. What did I stand for? What ideas did I reject? What characteristics defined me? Was I resilient? Did I have discipline? Could I prove it?

I searched for answers in my habits. Was I hesitating to speak in class, waiting for someone else to confirm my thoughts before I voiced them? Was I showing commitment by going to the gym three times a week, reading obsessively, or hyper-fixating on new hobbies for months at a time? Was I seeking the process or just results?

Regardless, I believe this is a rite of passage for late teens—real-life experiences take hold and either harden or soften you, shaping who you become in society.

Tracing the Process Back to Passion

I began applying my math teacher’s philosophy everywhere. If I was learning embroidery, did I understand the stitches before trying to create something new? If I was at the gym, was my form correct before pushing my limits? If I was writing, was I ensuring my ideas were my own and not just an imitation of what I had consumed?

We spend so much time analysing the process behind negative emotions—why we’re sad, why we’re angry—but how often do we analyse what makes us happy? Why do we feel joy? Why do we find meaning? Some say there’s no point in questioning happiness, but some of us do anyway, because we need to understand the process behind everything.

For me, inspiration has always come from concepts that feel futuristic, that seem impossible until they aren’t. It has come from tracing back my steps, from understanding processes, from watching what drives others and what stirs something in me.

Because inspiration alone does not equate to originality—it is simply a cog in its machinery.

Originality is lost when inspiration fades into complacency. When our drive disappears. When passion dissolves into passive repetition. Inspiration should propel us forward, but too often, we fall into the trap of ease—where things are simple, but nothing is truly new. It’s not always a lack of talent that kills originality; sometimes, it’s the comfort of stagnation.

Originality isn’t about creating something entirely new. It’s about making something deeply personal.

It’s about the desire to be more than what we are. Greater than whatever confines us.

Final Thoughts

At the end of this, I know complacency is easier. There’s comfort in certainty, in knowing exactly what your outcome will be—just as math equations have expected solutions. But at 18, craving new experiences, embarrassed by my mal-achievements, and constantly re-evaluating my current ones, nothing ever seems enough. Achievements feel hollow unless they’re seen, validated, praised. It’s like the illusion of closure—you only feel content once you’ve outgrown your past self, yet the need for growth never ends.

Comparison is both the thief of joy and the metric of originality.

I believe the only way to avoid redundancy is to constantly try something new. Our experiences shape our reality; they expand our understanding of the world, and perspective is everything. So, this is me—choosing to move. Pushing past the fear of being seen, of being judged. Because comfort is easy, but originality demands discomfort.

Like I said—passion begets passion. Passion is movement. Though there is peace in stillness, passion is not isolation. It does not exist in a vacuum. If anything, it thrives in connection, sharpening our awareness of the world around us.

Treat this as some ramblings of youth, I rather get to know your perspective too.