External Inputs

Results Are Absolute

Results are the currency of the world. They're shiny objects we dangle in front of others to prove we're worth something. Nothing else matters: not effort, not intentions, not sleepless nights filled with regret or an artificial taste of triumph. All of it's a lie—and one we're forced to swallow the moment we comprehend what it is to succeed.

People speak in results; they bow to them, worship them. Results are the measure of value, and if you fail, no one will ask why. They'll only see the number in red ink, the empty seat at the table, or the absence of applause. Your backstory, your struggles, the quiet war you waged against the world to try and rise above it—none of that matters.

I have seen it too many times. The classroom, the workplace, the social arena—everywhere, it's the same. Effort is invisible. It dissolves in the shadow of outcomes. Let me tell you about a classmate of mine. He was one of those people who believed in merit, the kind of person who thought hard work was an infallible recipe for success. His name doesn't matter, since the world never remembers the losers, and he was one of them.

Every day, he sits in the library's corner with towers of books around him. You can feel the desperation welling up in those eyes—the desperation of someone who thinks that if they just try enough, the system will reward him. He'd talk about how he wanted to make his parents proud, how he was giving it everything he had, and how he believed effort always pays off. And for a while, I believed him. His faith was infectious, the kind of naive optimism that makes you forget, even for a moment, how cruel the world really is.

But then came results day. His name wasn't at the top of the list. It wasn't even in the middle. It was at the bottom, barely scraping by, surrounded by a sea of failure. I still remember the look on his face when he saw it. It was like watching someone shatter from the inside out, piece by piece. His faith crumbled, and with it, his identity.

And then what happened? Nothing. No one cared. The teachers who praised his diligence for so long stopped noticing him. His parents, whom he had worked so hard to impress, looked at him with thinly veiled disappointment. His friends-if you can even call them that-looked elsewhere, drifting toward people who had something to show for all their work. He became invisible, a ghost of great potential no one in particular cared to remember.

Now let me tell you about another classmate. This one didn't believe in hard work. He didn't spend hours in the library or sacrifice his weekends to cram for exams. Instead, he played the game. He cheated. He whispered answers to himself during tests, bribed the right people, and found shortcuts at every turn.

On results day, he was on the top list of names. Smiling for photographers, he handed out handshakes and was basking under the applause when everyone labeled him a genius and a prodigy, a shining model of success. No one questioned him, no one showed interest in where he had got it from — only that he did.

That's the thing about results: they erase the journey. They don't care if you got there by breaking your back or by breaking the rules. The end justifies the means, and the world rewards the winners, no matter how they win.

We pretend the world is fair. We pretend that somewhere, there's a great grand system of morality that will bring good people together and make bad people suffer for their lies. That's the comforting lie we tell ourselves at night to help us sleep. But reality is much colder than that. It doesn't care about your ethics or your intentions. It only cares about the outcome.

Think about it. When was the last time someone asked about the effort behind a success story? They don't care how many hours you worked, how many sacrifices you made, or how many sleepless nights you endured. They only care about the final product, the shiny trophy, the headline-worthy achievement. Effort is invisible. Results are eternal.

This isn't just true in school. It's everywhere. In the workplace, the only thing that matters is whether you hit your targets. Nobody cares if you spent every waking moment grinding to meet a deadline. They only care if the project was completed. In relationships, nobody remembers the person who tried their best but couldn't make it work. They remember the one who stayed, the one who succeeded in keeping the relationship alive.

Even in life itself, we are judged on results. And at the end of the day, your worth is measured not by how hard you tried, but by what you have achieved. Your effort is irrelevant if it doesn't lead to success.

The world is a cruel, indifferent place, where effort is forgotten and drowned out by the applause for the winner. It's a game rigged from the start. But if you are smart, you stop caring about how you play. You realize that the rules do not matter; only the scoreboard.

That’s why I’ve stopped pretending to care. The sleepless nights, the sacrifices, the stories of trying your best—they’re for fools who think the world will pity them. I’ve learned to play the game the way it was designed: cold, calculated, and without shame.

They love to call it nihilistic. I call it realistic. Why waste your energy on a game that is rigged? Why play fair when the game isn't fair? Morals do not matter to this world. The struggles you are going through, they do not matter. What matters is what you produce.

I've stopped looking for meaning in the process. I no longer care about the journey anymore. I care about results. Because at the end of it all, that's all anybody will remember.