Non classé, personal, prose, writing

I forgot who I was; a monologue.

It’s interesting to realize that somehow you have always been interested in changing the world. Have you noticed that ? From your youngest age, for example, it started with superheroes. You certainly did not like all of them : you like the flawed ones, the ones who tried their best to change the gloomy world they were living into, the ones that were always confronted by the coldness of life, the ones that were in a sense ever reminding you of your own life. Have you ever realized that ? Perhaps it was simply intuitive, but there is a lot to tell from what you felt attracted to when you were a child. There was one in particular that always caught your eye. For the simple reason that he was often shown to be another simple man, he had no powers, no abilities that you thought were impossible to obtain. In other words, you felt drawn to that character because you could identify to him. And you actually never ceased to do so.
You grew up surrounded by the influence of the punk rock scene, and again you never really realized how logical it was. Everything is connected, every step you take makes sense in the whole grand scheme of things. You should pay more attention, everybody should but nobody does. It is a sad fact sometimes but you, just like everyone else, hardly notice anything worth noticing. You were not a teenager yet, but you already knew a lot about the punk scene. It only was later that you understood its motivation : to change the world. The punk culture, as you then discovered, was all about getting up from nothing and making it. And making it with such an impact, that you could actually change the way things worked. You had this idealized vision of the punk, probably shared by a lot of folks, that punk music could change people’s mind. You thought punk rock could open eyes, raise questions, make people think. Today you know that is rather far from the truth, and punk rock, much like many more things, only seems to be a relic from the past, an old vestige, that mostly serves as a fashion defining trait. You were not the rebel kid yourself, at least not the outspoken one. You would just question everything, most of the time simply refusing to do whatever you thought was wrong. It certainly got you into a fair share of trouble, but it somehow made your conviction clearer, stronger.
You picked two very different things along the way. And again, you never really realized how closely linked they were. Two things, two fields, represented by two people. One of them was ironically called Punk, he was a wrestler. Wrestling was sort of the fun family tradition that you got to share with your dad. There was not much going on between the two of you, and you probably can count those traditions with the fingers of a sole hand, but wrestling was definitely one that you enjoyed. I know that to this day, it still means something to you. And the fact that it bears no sense to other people makes it even more enjoyable for you actually. Way to go punkhead. So your dad and you used to watch wrestling together on saturday mornings, and one day this guy pops up. Smaller, leaner, a bunch of tattoos and piercings; definitely not the usual guy. Over the years you have come to know a bit more about this man, his story, his mindset, his goals. And you were back to it : changing the world. You did not even understand it, but you were looking to him as an inspiration : a man who was, much like yourself, an outcast whole his life, started with nothing, fought to achieve his dreams and wanted to change his world to make it more fair. It is beyond me to see that you never drew any links between all of those things. And trust me when I tell you, the pattern is always there, Punk was only one example. Tell me, who is your favorite author ? That’s right, Charles Bukowski. Can you see where I’m getting at with this ? You were always amazed that there was really no connection ever made between Bukowski and the punk rock movement, but never did you stop to think that it perhaps was that connection you saw that was drawing you towards him. You said it yourself, he is the epitome of punk rock : he started litteraly with nothing, and fought to achieve your beloved change. It is interesting to me that this might probably be the first reason why you like him, even before the quality of his texts. And when people told you there was not any quality in his writing, you went out of your way to try to defend it. There is quality, it might not be obvious to some people, but he did change literature in some aspect, and you wanted to show that to people. This is, I think, where you understood what you had to do. I mean, what you had to do in your life. And in some sense, you did understand it as well. You had a rough idea : you wanted to help people. To show them new ways of seeing things, to help them question everything by themselves and not impose views and opinions. You soon understood that the best way for you to do such a thing was through teaching, and for a while you applied yourself to it. That experience I know for a fact, changed you. Once again with that word, change.
Today you still wonder if you could be anything more. In the golden age of the comic books, where all the heroes you grew up with come to life everywhere, you stop in a middle of a sentence and just ask yourself : ‘could I do more ?’ I know that, and I also know you remember about those times when, as a kid, you would pretend to be one of those heroes and save the day for everyone. But could you really ? At times you try to think as reasonnably as you can about that : how would a vigilante be perceived today ? You remember that sign you once saw in London that said “Unhappy the land that has no heroes”. You feel that is true, but you also feel that a vigilante of some sort would not last long in your world. Mostly because in the real world there is no hiding from anyone anymore. Not that long ago you read something online that said there could be no real vigilante because no man would ever go out of his own life just to care for other people. It pains you to think that way but a small part of you actually believes that. It is that small cynical and blasé part of you, a part that, oddly enough, everyone seems to share in this world. You always found it weird to see how much people could disagree, but when it came to being cynical, or even depressed, there was just some sort of union. A coallition of sad people. But then again, you think, why is there so many heroes everywhere ? Is it because we need to escape ? Is it because we need to imagine them as reel ? Is it simply to get inspired, to get hope ? Those questions are always floating around in your head, and you most likely will never know the answers to those. You barely know the answers as far as you’re concerned. But tell me, what are the answers as far as you’re concerned?


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