Choose life, choose a degree, choose to spend the last years of your student life frantically attending every careers fair and company presentation, arse-licking every interviewer you meet, trying to convince them as to why they should employ a spoilt, priviliged brat like you who has never had to work harder than to beg for sponsorship for the annual college ball from daddy's friends and pay you bonuses equivalent to the GNP of some third-world, African country, choose to take that year out, choose living in the Himlayans like the locals, begging any rich, white tourist that happens to come by for grub while discovering your inner self, choose to come home only to start a 50 hour workweek, making billions of dollars for some individual who you see once a year from a distance of a hundred yards at the annual company retreat, choose to sit in on meetings, vying with ten other bright young things for your boss' attention with your ingratiating comments, choose to shout at the lowly clerks at your mercy to keep them on your toes and to show them that you command their respect, choose to rise in the ranks, watching your salary double each year in an endless geometric progression, choose to spend your weekends holed up in your cubicle, going through endless spreadsheets of figures and numbers and graphs, choose to marry some gorgeous model trying to make it in the movies, choose to adopt some poor orphan from war-torn Cambodia or El Salvador, showering it with the latest baby collection from Tiffany's, choose to employ the best nanny to babysit the howling kid, and allow the occasional posed picture to leak out to the press, complete with smiling, attractive spouse who has now hit the big-time, choose to get caught with your pants down in the back of your Lamborghini with some high-class hooker or rent-boy, only to worm your way out of it with your legendary charm and heartfelt apologies, citing stress and temporary problems with your marriage, choose to hold yearly birthday parties in the Caribbean, complete with flying the whole school over as it grows up, choose to bring your maid or nanny along for your annual family holiday to make sure the kid does not get into trouble while you go for that well-deserved Ayurvedic Shirodhara spa, choose the weekly social obligations, complete with air-kissing and complements that you do not mean, choose to campaign against human rights violations in countries you have never set foot in and will never do, choose to support some political sleeze-ball's re-election bid, choose to spend the remainder of your life judged, labelled and categorised into every single It magazine and Who's Who catalogue, while wondering at the end of it all what the whole stinking point of your life is, choose to eventually turn to some crackpot fengshui expert in order to rearrange the imbalance in your energy flow, choose to die of a heart attack, arteries choked off by years of hard-drinking and chain-smoking at your desk at the ripe old age of fifty-five and have hundreds of people attend your wake and talk about what an honour it was to die on the job, choose to have your three spouses fight and take each other to court over the villa in Tuscany, the chalet in Switzerland, the farm in New Zealand, the ranch in the Mid-west, the cottage in the Cotswolds, the yacht in the Mediterranean...

Choose to be young. Choose to be bright. Choose to be promising.