Monday 27 January 2014

Who Am I?

Who am I?

I think at least 100% of us have asked ourselves that question at least once or ten thousand times in our lives, but maybe not in the same form. It could have been what do I like, or what makes me feel things. Am I loud? Is a size 12 really too big? Can I do more? Am I happy? What makes me sad? Am I special? 

Who am I?

For many, the answers to those questions would be “No you’re not loud enough, which is why you are never heard,” “Yes, of course it is too big. If elephants wore clothes, they would start at size 12,” and as a result of the previous two answers, “No, you are not special; it is you that makes you sad.”

The world propagandises extroversion: the consumer economy depends upon it, the forming of social and romantic relations depend on it...or so we’re told. But how many times have you went to a retail store to buy something you needed, like pants or a bra, or a reallllly nice dress, and wanted to look at the clothes on your own, assess them and make your own decision? How much do you loathe it when a shiny shop assistant appears and reels off a million reasons for you to buy something you weren’t even looking at, and out of politeness, or the urgency to get them the fuck away from you, do you buy it? And how many of you feel boring and uncomfortable when you’re with people who are boring and discomforting, only interested in being loud and self-appraising at you? And how often do you come away from these meetings thinking “I must be the boring one.”

Who am I?

Contemporary society places a greater value on talking than thinking, on saying than speaking, on regurgitation than self-expression. And it’s not the fault of the plagiariser, no, we are all exactly the same as everybody else. We are all tuned into the same radio station that disallows you to be the real you, the one that’s buried underneath, at the core of the Russian-doll.

Who am I?

How the hell would we know when we’re subliminally told NOT to break the mould? When we do, our money trees certainly don’t grow (unless we're Bill Gates).

Who am I?

This cannot be answered by reading a self-help book. A self-help book is designed to alleviate the depression and anxiety the denial of the self has caused. The only thing you can get from a self-help book is instructions on how to be a different, more marketable self.

Who am I?

You won’t find out by getting thinner.

Who am I?

A billion dollars doesn’t necessarily make you a winner (although it kinda does).

Who am I?

Are you a free-thinker?

Who am I?

Do you wear a jacket in winter? If not, you probably should, that’s just common sense. But never embitter your mind with nonsense. Who am I can only be answered when you know who you aren’t. If you’re not the person your friends want you to be, they’re the wrong friends. Unless you’re an asshole, in which case, you should probably read some kind of self-help book. Never underestimate the word kind. Never eradicate your own mind and replace it with nickels and dimes.

You’re worth so much more than that, whoever you are.