One classic that I've dabbled in is cancer. I'm not sure why my body decided that stacking tumours into every spare bit of real estate in my body (and some already occupied ones) like high-rise apartments in central Shanghai was a recipe for longevity and good health, but it was mistaken.
Genetic lottery aside, we are riddled with errors. Design flaws. Small kinks which really ought to have been ironed out by whoever planned us, before we were rolled off the production line. We are as half-baked as the IRD's computer systems (in before I get audited next week). We are stuck in the beta testing phase. A voluntary recall by the manufacturer really ought to be in place.
And my growing understanding of this fact makes it increasingly harder to criticise the genetic fruit salad that is my girlfriend's French bulldog, which snores when it's awake and thunders when it's asleep.
Perhaps our flaws serve the purpose of uniting us. Unfortunately, since I can't remember names and faces of almost anyone I meet, I find it difficult to capitalise on this opportunity for human connection. Yet another flaw.
Maybe now that we've made it clear of the jungle and secured ourselves a position up the top of the food chain, we could tone down the fight or flight response to get through the day a little easier. Now we've taken all the animals who desire to eat us and placed them in zoos to take selfies with on our weekends, we can take the anxiety down a notch.
Maybe the fact that we aren't even conscious for a third of our time on Earth leaves some room for improvement. Surely someone ought to have solved this small inconvenience and reaped the rewards of increased productivity by now?
Maybe we shouldn't grow four large wisdom teeth, which serve one purpose and one purpose only — to purchase a new road bike for your dentist. Actually, teeth in general leave a bit to be desired. You know you're lagging behind in development when rats are ahead of you.
An appendix that lies in wait for the perfect moment to wipe you off the face of this earth without prompt medical care. A throat that will close over on a whim to retaliate for you daring to eat a peanut. Hair which transitions from the top of your head to your back as you get older.
Face it, you're a walking, breathing, self-sabotage machine.
Regardless, I'm off to go get needles put in my knee. Thank goodness for medical marvels. If we could start fixing some of these other issues next, that would be great.