vendredi, avril 22, 2005
Une sensation remarquable de monotonie
A remarkable feeling of sameness.
Every single person out there, every last one of us, is unique and unlike anyone else in existence. We are unique because we are the result of every single moment we have lived, every idea that ever settled in our minds colluding to form the personal essence of a person with an identity no one else will ever have. We are truly the one and only with no equal anywhere in the world.
So when the sanctity of this one and only is violated, we feel threatened. Identity thefts and impersonations are direct attacks on our ego. They seek to reduce the beauty of our singularity to the level of some cheap trinket mass-produced and available for everyone.
This degradation is an act that is so deeply wrong on so many levels I don't want to even begin to describe it. This guy once tried to copy me, from the clothes I wore to even the words I spoke. Instead of imitation, he only succeeded in irritation. Some part of me felt flattered someone admired me enough to want be me; the rest just wanted to reward his worship with a crack on the skull. Just contemplating the idea of someone dressed like me and talking like me is too much. I couldn't stand it. Especially when the guy started to become more and more like a stalker.
Good thing I came to Singapore then.
Yet while we can't stand copycats, we ourselves impersonate and copy to some extent. Whenever there's stylistic admiration, we rarely hesitate in trying to pick up certain fashions that we think will enhance our identities. Smoking for example: some think it's cool, that a cigarette between the lips has a special suave style. Well, maybe they're right, maybe not. The appreciation of style and beauty depends on who's looking in the first place. I know people who think smokers to be completely rotten and selfish thugs, the very image of social trash. I know a lot of them.
But I also know a lot of people who feel a calling whenever that Malboro or Dunhill ad comes up. They really do believe in the style, the upgrade in class that comes with smoking. These people understand what those fifteen seconds of nothing are about. It's an exclusive club some people will never join.
Of course, why the hell would you want to join that club in the first place? After all, smoking is a disease and smokers are the sick, right? Maybe. But even if I disagree with some smokers' inconsideration for those who are really uncomfortable with it, I respect those who choose to express their unique personalities in the act of respiratory suicide. Even if it is suicide.
So I condone the foolishness of smoking. It adds color to life. If we didn't have smokers, then I'd never notice the girl lighting her cigarette as she waits for a bus that doesn't seem to want to come. I'd miss the gritty style of all those people in the club smoking, the smell of tobacco soaking me with the atmosphere of a wild night out dancing. Life wouldn't be the same without smoking, even if I don't smoke. Life wouldn't be as colorful without smokers.
It is this stylish world of color that makes life much more interesting. It's a refreshing diversion from the boringness that permeates society. I love it when someone catches my eye and just doesn't let go, with a style so completely unlike anything else the people around her that I can't help but stare. It's a beauty eyes naturally gravitate to. It's called expression.
I love expression. Expression is a turn on quite unlike anything else. I feel almost grateful when people who dare to express themselves brighten up my day with their irresistable style. And I do thank them for it sometimes. They deserve a pat on the back for saving us from monotony.
On the other hand the people who would plunge us into monotony deserve a kick. I just cannot stand people who try to impose rules on stylistic expression to fit their delusions of what they imagine to be right. Now, I can understand why some people would feel that way and I agree there are limits to style based on the situation. But other than that? Damned conservatives.
These straitlaced idiots should just shut the hell up when someone wants to express himself outside of their narrow perceptions of right and wrong. If it doesn't hurt anyone, then why not? I am with the punks, the men with earrings, the pierced, the tattooed and the outrageous. They are the champions of expression, artists in a world of the bland. They provide a dangerous and daring spark in life's void to banish the remarkable feeling of sameness that threatens to overwhelm each day.
They are beautiful.
That's not to say that sticking with the crowd and current fashion is ugly. I'm not saying those who look like everyone else are ugly. There's nothing wrong with school uniforms or jeans and a T-shirt or wearing whatever you like, what you feel looks good. It's still expressing yourself too.
But I'm sorry if I feel expressing stylistic monotony to be boring. I can't help it if my eyes will always be drawn to those who break from that boringness to try something new. I can't help it if I like daredevils who express their freedom and independence from society's perceptions. I can't help it if I like artists. And I can't help it if I want to be an artist too.
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Every single person out there, every last one of us, is unique and unlike anyone else in existence. We are unique because we are the result of every single moment we have lived, every idea that ever settled in our minds colluding to form the personal essence of a person with an identity no one else will ever have. We are truly the one and only with no equal anywhere in the world.
So when the sanctity of this one and only is violated, we feel threatened. Identity thefts and impersonations are direct attacks on our ego. They seek to reduce the beauty of our singularity to the level of some cheap trinket mass-produced and available for everyone.
This degradation is an act that is so deeply wrong on so many levels I don't want to even begin to describe it. This guy once tried to copy me, from the clothes I wore to even the words I spoke. Instead of imitation, he only succeeded in irritation. Some part of me felt flattered someone admired me enough to want be me; the rest just wanted to reward his worship with a crack on the skull. Just contemplating the idea of someone dressed like me and talking like me is too much. I couldn't stand it. Especially when the guy started to become more and more like a stalker.
Good thing I came to Singapore then.
Yet while we can't stand copycats, we ourselves impersonate and copy to some extent. Whenever there's stylistic admiration, we rarely hesitate in trying to pick up certain fashions that we think will enhance our identities. Smoking for example: some think it's cool, that a cigarette between the lips has a special suave style. Well, maybe they're right, maybe not. The appreciation of style and beauty depends on who's looking in the first place. I know people who think smokers to be completely rotten and selfish thugs, the very image of social trash. I know a lot of them.
But I also know a lot of people who feel a calling whenever that Malboro or Dunhill ad comes up. They really do believe in the style, the upgrade in class that comes with smoking. These people understand what those fifteen seconds of nothing are about. It's an exclusive club some people will never join.
Of course, why the hell would you want to join that club in the first place? After all, smoking is a disease and smokers are the sick, right? Maybe. But even if I disagree with some smokers' inconsideration for those who are really uncomfortable with it, I respect those who choose to express their unique personalities in the act of respiratory suicide. Even if it is suicide.
So I condone the foolishness of smoking. It adds color to life. If we didn't have smokers, then I'd never notice the girl lighting her cigarette as she waits for a bus that doesn't seem to want to come. I'd miss the gritty style of all those people in the club smoking, the smell of tobacco soaking me with the atmosphere of a wild night out dancing. Life wouldn't be the same without smoking, even if I don't smoke. Life wouldn't be as colorful without smokers.
It is this stylish world of color that makes life much more interesting. It's a refreshing diversion from the boringness that permeates society. I love it when someone catches my eye and just doesn't let go, with a style so completely unlike anything else the people around her that I can't help but stare. It's a beauty eyes naturally gravitate to. It's called expression.
I love expression. Expression is a turn on quite unlike anything else. I feel almost grateful when people who dare to express themselves brighten up my day with their irresistable style. And I do thank them for it sometimes. They deserve a pat on the back for saving us from monotony.
On the other hand the people who would plunge us into monotony deserve a kick. I just cannot stand people who try to impose rules on stylistic expression to fit their delusions of what they imagine to be right. Now, I can understand why some people would feel that way and I agree there are limits to style based on the situation. But other than that? Damned conservatives.
These straitlaced idiots should just shut the hell up when someone wants to express himself outside of their narrow perceptions of right and wrong. If it doesn't hurt anyone, then why not? I am with the punks, the men with earrings, the pierced, the tattooed and the outrageous. They are the champions of expression, artists in a world of the bland. They provide a dangerous and daring spark in life's void to banish the remarkable feeling of sameness that threatens to overwhelm each day.
They are beautiful.
That's not to say that sticking with the crowd and current fashion is ugly. I'm not saying those who look like everyone else are ugly. There's nothing wrong with school uniforms or jeans and a T-shirt or wearing whatever you like, what you feel looks good. It's still expressing yourself too.
But I'm sorry if I feel expressing stylistic monotony to be boring. I can't help it if my eyes will always be drawn to those who break from that boringness to try something new. I can't help it if I like daredevils who express their freedom and independence from society's perceptions. I can't help it if I like artists. And I can't help it if I want to be an artist too.
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