lunedì, maggio 30, 2005
Being wide awake in the darkness at a time when I’m supposed to be asleep is the time when my head’s the clearest. And yesterday night, I finally put my finger on something that had been bothering me for a long time… for three years already. I don’t have a purpose in life; I’m merely going through the motions, like a well-oiled cog wheel. Being happy when I’m supposed to, being sad when expected to, going by societal norms and being ruled by a brain so schooled by the disciplines of modern society that my heart’s desires are totally unknown to me. Having reached that conclusion, I felt a whiff of freedom not unlike a breath of fresh air. Unfortunately, it was only for just that short while of relevation.What followed was a wave of self-loathing. The things I worry about – hair, studies, clothes, friends, career, helping people… they seem so frivolous in comparison to this realisation that I lack a purpose that drives me through life. I’d imposed on myself aspirations that were termed ‘noble’ and ‘desirable’ in such times, yet by doing so, I was making myself one of the shallowest persons ever. I feel that I ought to have a purpose so strong and so drives me that I wouldn’t need anything else apart from the basic needs to go through life. I need to have something to call my own. Something that I stand by with such conviction that nothing, even the power of mass opinion would sway it. Really, there’s nothing that’s really mine to call my own. My name? That’s a creation by my parents. Models that I’ve made… designs that I’ve created? There’re just mirrors of what is admired, not what I admire. What do I admire? What do I want?
“There’s only one form of human depravity – the man without a purpose.” – Hank Rearden, ‘Atlas Shrugged’
There’s a reason for the glazed, expressionless face that I carry all day with me. There’s this emptiness hanging over me throughout the day, invading my thoughts at unexpected moments. In the midst of chatting with friends, just after waking up on the bus, in the middle of a joke I’m telling… It makes me feel that nothing I’m doing is worth anything. I’m truly afraid that this look would become a permanent fixture of jaded cynicism. All around me, I can see that countless people wear this look. Even the perfect lady with immaculately plucked eyebrows and perfect nails, the doctor who carries himself with such confidence, or the student who is learning. Their faces simple meld together, in a blend of shapeless lines. I miss the rare flicker of fire in the eyes, and even the flash of coldness in others. Do people these days have genuine emotions? Or are we all so tired with life that we play our roles with just the barest hint of feeling?
I want to be driven by a purpose in life, one that’s truly mine. I want to be unafraid of expressing myself, to not be bound by the rules, or the so-called moral scruples. I want to live by my own code of conduct. And of course, if I do this, I’ll lose all that is treasured by norms – friends, family, maybe even my career and a future that would be considered ‘successful’ by all others. I have contemplated, but I do not dare leap.
Heart vs brain
I think I want to help people, to bring comfort to people through healing. But now, I wonder… Do I truly want to do that for people? Or is it that I crave the feeling of people being indebted to me? To appear as selfless for others? To give myself something to be proud of? To assuage my guilt, whatever thing it might be for? I can’t think of any reasons strong enough to support this goal. It appears that I have merely ‘adopted’ it because it seemed desirable and noble.
“No. I don’t like people who speak or think in terms of gaining anybody’s confidence. If one’s actions are honest, one does not need the predated confidence of others, only their rational perception. The person who craves a moral blank check of that kind, has dishonest intentions, whether he admits it to himself or not."– Francisco d’Antonio, ‘Atlas Shrugged’
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francesca chiu
2 eyebags & 5 wrinkles
on long-term dormicum drip
KIV IMH
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