Friday, May 30, 2008

Sleepless nights

지난 밤 나는 매우 어려운 시간 자고합니다. 그 이유는 나의 미래에 대해 생각했기 때문에. 난 정말 우울합니다.

Thursday, May 8, 2008

Solace in strange places

How would anyone understand?

"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything." — Jaques (Act II, Scene VII, lines 139-166)

What's particularly frightening is that it actually is possible for a person to be completely detached. I hate having to mold myself into archetypes. One of the most important things a person must do is accept the self. But it is always difficult when there is no actual predecessor of some sort to draw experience on. I suppose for some people, it is quite easy to be able to look at another person and empathize with just that person. There is, however, a difficulty when there is just too much empathy to go around. "Not fitting in" is in and of itself a form of fitting in. But it's a special kind. For starters, it is much more difficult to conciliate. I know this is fairly typical of people who feel like outcasts, but what's particularly frightening is what happens when even then it's not enough. Of course, every person's life is unique; but some are more unique than others. Downward spirals.

When I look back at what I have done, there is a very strange ambiance. I wish I was normal.

Normal.

But it's too late now. Will I find someone that will share my experiences? Is that even possible?
I've tried, but I don't find it likely. The idiosyncrasy is chilling. What I have noticed is that I can fit in, but it's always some sort of trade off. I can only tell some parts to some people. How that works is very much like a meat-grinder which has discrete settings which determine the size of the chunks.

I won't understand it; at least, not anytime soon. The specifics will fade away. Nothing will be left except for a dark aura of myth.

When I open a history book, I try to read between the lines. Yes, there is recorded history. I'm not concerned about that. I want to know the unrecorded. How did people actually live during those times? I recall a particular moment in a history classroom; we were studying 1920s american history. Our teacher told us to do a presentation where we had to use a specific set of slang terms from that era. While I can understand the core behind the project, it seemed so humiliatingly crude. Nobody from the 1920s talked the way our teacher expected us to talk. It is this sort of disconnect that makes people lose sight of humanity. I mean, who cares what happened a few years later? They were all a bunch of weirdos who used funny words.

Whereas how very different cultures view each other is testing, I particularly think it makes more sense to compare very similar cultures. For instance, I challenge Americans to open up a British history book. You won't find the "American Revolution" in there. You'll find the "American War of Independence". And because this sort of Weltanschauung divide is noticeable even among Anglophones, one can only truly appreciate the vast cultural gap when it comes to different languages and different countries! What I would like to know, however, is to what extent the nation or the language makes a difference. Would a French textbook from Francophone Canada be more similar to Anglophone Canada, or Francophone France?

But people don't want to ask these sorts of questions. It is much simpler to crudely reject all indications of cultural bias. Or even when such a cultural bias is acknowledged, can the extent really be esteemed?

I don't know whether to simply give up on my pursuit and admit that I won't be able to find a yâr, or to continue to hope that someday, somewhere, somehow there will be bright eyes staring right at me, perforating deep into my psyche.

But I doubt that will happen.

WEEGEE