Birth. One of the most painful processes known by humanity, yet it is one of the most common. Reproduction is a powerful driving force. It is amazing how many women will purposefully subject themselves to the risks that are entailed in the birthing process. Equally as amazing is the fact that so many women do not purposefully subject themselves to the risks. Regardless of the reproduction phenomena though, it still is a common occurrence, and this occurrence was no different.
He was born on a normal day. Lightning did not strike at the moment of his birth. The night was not stormy. Nothing spectacular happened to mark the occasion of his birth, yet he was born.
I feel I must stress that he was born to two individuals. One male, one female. They were married, they remained married, and they had no intention of divorcing. There was a time where these facts could be safely assumed, but today they must be publicly stated and affirmed. Too many children are born without a father, or left without a mother after birth. Some of those children are sent to live with two fathers whose relationship would not allow them to reproduce together, though that relationship is seen as natural now even though the processes of nature cannot work in such a situation. Of course, another possibility would be sending the child to live with two mothers who also cannot reproduce on their own, but whose relationship is also considered perfectly natural.
All that aside, he was born. He was born to normal people on a normal day and would lead a normal life. He would not one day become a superhero, he would not one day become a rockstar, he would not one day save the world, and he would not one day become a CEO of a major corporation. No, he would live a “normal” life just like the majority of Americans do. And also like the majority of Americans he would try to determine what the meaning of life is, and what “normal” actually means. He would sit up at nights wondering why he did what he did. He would lose sleep over women, and he would sleep in peace because of the same thing. He will try. He will fail. He will succeed. He will experience happiness. He will dwell in sadness. He will live, he will love, he will gain, he will lose, but through it all he will remain.
There will be nothing spectacular about this man…but he was born.
***
In the first few years of this man’s life not much spectacular happened. Sure there were natural disasters that shook the world, people spoke of doom and destruction, others spoke of generosity and charity, some championed the love of people, and more still questioned the morality of mankind. There were wars, crimes, deaths, diseases, and all of the other things that ailed the human race, but as with all things these came and went and not one of these things bothered the house of this man’s parents directly. That is not to say that his household did not have its quarrels. All households do, and his was no exception. However, he was only a babe in this time and so these quarrels were not ones he remembered, nor did they seem to have any lasting importance in the grand scheme of things.
He did recall one quarrel in particular though, from his early childhood. He must have been close to three or four years old when his parents yelled so loudly at one another. Again he was young at the time and therefore had no perception as to what his parents were yelling about, but he was old enough to know that yelling was not a good thing. He hid in his room and set up his toys to guard him. When his father entered and stepped through the toy army with ease he was frightened, afraid his father would yell at him. His father did not yell though, only apologized to him for the scene he had just witnessed. He cried at that point though he had no reason to. Even today he wonders why he cried, but then again he also wonders why this is the only thing he remembers from his early childhood. Thinking even more on the subject he decided that the reasoning did not matter and so he blocked it out of his thoughts for the present time. He could visit a therapist he guessed, but what good would it do him to know he had some problem that must be worked through. He didn’t trust therapists much anyway; everyone who visited one had a problem when they left, even if they didn’t when they arrived.
He awoke from his musings now, not that he had actually fallen asleep; he just fell into what he liked to call a “dormancy.” College classes tended to be dreadfully boring at times, and he found that the easiest way to counter boredom at such times was to get lost in thought. This way one could still appear attentive, but in all actuality have no recognition of the occurrences in the world around him. In such an occasion one would be in a dormant state. The dormancy was easily broken however; all that was needed was the call of one’s name or the shuffling of other students that signaled the end of class. This time it was the latter, and he was glad for it. This was the last class of the day, and he somewhat looked forward to seeing his room again. Nothing had changed in his room he was certain, but it was always there to welcome him as so many places will never be.
His room was his fortress, his place of solitude, but its barriers were just as easily broken as the toy army his father once stepped through so many years ago. He was not surprised at this thought, though he was slightly dismayed by it. Then again he supposed that there were not many fortresses around anymore. Even if there were the internet would tear them down from the inside out. It always amazed him how two people could share a space and never speak, but when on the internet they post their thoughts for the world to see. He guessed there was a certain degree of anonymity that fostered courage in such people…that’s what the “experts” on the news said at least. Then again, he never put much faith in “experts” and he put even less in the news.
Regardless of its penetrability though, he was relieved to reach his room. No matter how easy the access nobody really bothered him here and those who did typically had the courtesy to knock first. He had no idea why he was obsessed with the need for privacy. Often he would rob others of their own privacy, and on top of that he had nothing to hide. Still though he yearned for solitude on some days, and today was one of those days.
He turned on the TV that he had place on the edge of his desk; he was then greeted by a smiling couple who briefly explained to him how a workout product changed their lives and improved their relationship. He thought about how shallow of a relationship it must be that it would be improved by something as small as physical strength, but on the same hand it was only a commercial and this was America. As always his fellow Americans concerned themselves with the matters of themselves and never once put thought towards others. He was amazed how any relationship my last in this twisted culture in which both members put all of their efforts into “improving” themselves without any concern toward the wellbeing of the other. The TV was now displaying a woman who seemed to be very happy to have clinical depression. He turned it off. He did not watch TV too much anymore; typically the commercials disgusted him. That and he did not believe that there was much worth watching on TV, only millions of miserable people finding “happiness” by falling in “love.”
It amazed him that humanity thought that they could fix one another through the use of “love.” It seemed that the desire of the human race is to become perfect…to be gods. This will never happen, and he did not understand why depraved people thought they could make it so. In what world does depravity + depravity = perfection? And, for that matter, why did the human race seem to be able to perceive what perfection is? There will never be an earthly example. The only perfection we can find is listed in a book, and even that book says we will never understand the concept…so why try? Is the deepest desire of the human heart really to become perfect? Is this what every human longs for? If so, where did we even get the concept of perfection from? Is it something passed down through the generations by teaching, or is it a genetic trait? So many questions…so many questions that so few people will ask themselves. So many questions that may never find answers. So many questions that will be ignored. So many questions that could improve the well-being of mankind if man would only so much as stop to think about what the possible answers could be. But no…they will just remain questions. Unheard questions. Dying questions. Replaced by mans selfish desire for possessions.
That, he thought, is what should go. If there was only one evil that he could rid the world of it would be the selfish greed of the human race. It seemed to him that possessions replaced all that was really of any value in the world. The house was greater than the car, the car was greater than the boat, the boat was greater than your family. That is just how it worked. Instead of any sort of intellectual pursuit, instead of asking questions, instead of thinking, people fill their minds with stuff. They fill their minds with money, groceries, soaps, perfumes, shoes, clothes, games, phones, computers, or just anything that is able to be touched.
He gazed around his room at all of the stuff he owned. Just within his flimsy sanctuary he had everything that was on that list. Deep down he knew that he was a hypocrite. He was the worst kind of hypocrite, he was one who realized what he was doing and still continued to do it anyway. Once, as a passing joke, he had made a statement that he should sell all of his stuff and give the money to someone in Africa who really needed it. Now, as he gazed around the room and realized how worthless all of this stuff really was to him, he wondered why he had not done that…he wondered why he would not do that. What is stopping it? Did he really care about all of these possessions? There was no reason why he should care, he did not even use half of the stuff that was lying around, yet there was something inside of him that prevented him from doing something so radically unusual.
His hand reached for his TV remote again as if it had a mind of his own, but he noticed what he was doing and put the remote back down before he had turned the TV on again. This is not the first time he had done this, but it still struck him as somewhat peculiar. It seemed that, at least in the culture that he has been saturated in, TV was a drug. If life was getting you down, TV would let you escape. If you were trying to pass the time, TV could help you do that. Or, in his case, if you had a lot on your mind, TV could channel your thoughts to a different place which, in all likelihood, was fictional and in the end did not matter. It struck him as odd that so many people not only avidly watched TV, but also argued over the twists and turns of a fictional story. He had always been amazed by the ferocity by which someone would defend their favorite show from another person who did not like the show. Or, on the other hand, the ferocity of someone attacking a show that they did not like was just as severe, if not more so. On top of that he never quite understood the extreme devotion that sports fans had to their favorite teams. Of course, being the hypocrite that he was, he had fallen into theses same traps himself, but even while in the trap he never understood it. He felt a lot like a fish who kept running into the glass at the end of an aquarium. There was this barrier which he knew was there, but could not see nor understand. Instead he just stared at the clarity with amazement, wondering if he was actually free, or if what was on the other side was indeed true freedom.
Then again, what was freedom? What did it entail? Did the human mind even grasp freedom? Could the human mind even grasp the concept of freedom? Was it another trait such as perfection? Was it just something that we read about and believed in but never would be able to fully grasp?
So many questions, no answers. He was a college student. He was attending a university of higher learning. He was going to be one of the select few in the entire world who had a college education. He was going to be one of the most educated people to have ever walked the face of the earth. However, with all of that going for him, all of the questions that he believed were truly important had no answers. Sure he could solve a quadratic equation with ease, tell you what was happening in the world, explain the laws of thermodynamics, and even deduce what an author was trying to imply from reading his works. But all of that was useless. Perhaps literature proposed the question of freedom and what it truly was, or perfection and could it be obtained, but it would never answer that question. Not definitively.
He stood up and walked from his sanctuary into the living room. He did not spend much time in this room. In fact the only time anyone spent in this room was just enough to walk through it toward their next destination. He stood and looked about him. An unused chair sat in the corner. An unused couch sat in the middle of the room with an unused table behind it. Across the room from the table was a stand which supported an old, unused TV. The couch faced the TV just as every couch faces the TV inviting whoever sat on it to turn on the drug.
He continued through the living room, as everybody did, and stepped outside. He was surrounded by brick, wood, vinyl, and concrete. There were a few trees as decoration here and there and some dying grass out in medians in the parking lot, but aside from that nature did not exist around him...humanity did. He had a problem with humanity. Some would, and have, called him crazy for saying such a thing, but he did. He firmly believed that humanity had to be a completely depraved society to allow such things as it did into its popular “culture.”
Then again, to be human and to say that you have a problem with humanity inherently implies that you also have a problem with yourself. He was aware of this fact, and, unlike most who become aware of this fact, he embraced it. That was the beauty of his belief, he could see that he and all those around him were completely devoid of hope on their own, but that there was a power that gave hope.
He glanced towards the sky, not knowing why. The sun was fading beyond the horizon, around him street lights had come on, and there was a scream that was a mix of surprise and laughter that could be heard. He had always said that one of the downsides to living in a dorm was the screaming. Either you live there and you hear multiple screams while you are trying to sleep, or, God forbid, you would be screaming because you need help and no one would come to your aid because hearing screams was such a common occurrence in the dorms. Regardless of the situation causing the scream, there was a scream which he hardly noticed had occurred. It was just a ringing in his ears. A sound floating through his mind. He had heard the scream, yes, but he also heard the wind which was almost as common as hearing a scream. In this way he knew the scream existed, but he was not fully aware of it.
The sun had sunken further now, to the point which the main source of light surrounding him was emanating from the street lights. He looked up at the light and noticed all of the bugs that were swarming it, then he glanced towards that shadows and noticed all of the people who were flocking to them. He thought that was fitting. Of course even the insects know to look for light, but mankind decides to flock to darkness. He couldn’t say much about that though because, as he had previously reflected, he was also part of mankind. He also flocked to darkness.
While mulling over this thought and considering the intellectual differences between insects and human beings he entered his dorm again. At first he just stood there after the door closed, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The first light he noticed was that which was creeping through the closed blinds from the street light outside. There was no sound except the AC running. No wind, no screams, no voices. He was alone. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he knew. He was utterly and completely alone in his dorm; none of his roommates were there, no friends had stopped by, no family was even in town. He was alone.
Loneliness had always been a strange concept to him, but it was a concept that he was all too familiar with. It seemed to him that, at times, the most lonely people in the world were those who had the most people to constantly flock around them. For example, he often heard of celebrities who one day just broke down from pure loneliness though they are one of the most well known and celebrated people in the world. On the other hand, some of the most lonely people were also those unknown souls who sat in their rooms at night and pondered the meaning of things, like himself. Of course he had friends, and for that he was thankful, but at the same time he was not often invited to hang out anywhere with anybody. He did not lay the blame for that on anyone other than himself though for it was true that he had not given much of an effort to the pursuit of socialization. As a matter of fact, he had spent a good chunk of his life in an attempt to remove himself from the grips of society. However, when he began the quest to be outside of society, he had not wanted to be completely alienated from those who comprised that society. Looking back on it now he saw how foolish of a venture that was, and understood that he would never be able to remove himself from society and still be social. He had always thought that maybe he could find a group of people who also strived to be on the outside looking in, but now he realized that, even if such a group existed, and even if he was part of that group, the group would still become part of society as a whole. Therefore he was foolish to be anti-social if he ever hoped to be anything but lonely, yet it was his way of life now. He did not really know how to change from anti-social to social. He had tried as of late, but since his efforts had yielded no progress, he assumed he had failed. Still though, he supposed he would keep trying. After all, he couldn’t be anymore alone than he was now.
He walked to his bedroom, closed the door, and fell onto his bed. He was not sure what he was going to do now. He could invite somebody to do something, but he did not know what to do and he doubted anyone would actually join him. He could turn the TV back on, but he had enough of that for one day. He looked at his computer and figured that maybe he could write, but he did not know what about. Besides, he couldn’t really remember any of he thoughts he had had that day anyway. Plus no one would ever read what he wrote even if he had written something. So what was the use?
Instead he just laid there, staring at the ceiling above him. He did not know how long he had laid there before he fell asleep. All he knew was that when he opened his eyes it was morning. He had not dreamed, of if he had he did not remember the dreams. He had just slept. For a few hours his world was darkness, and now he was alive again.
As he looked at the clock he realized that he had either overslept or it was Saturday. He got up and peeked through the blinds into the parking lot where at least half of the cars were gone. That meant it was Saturday and many of his classmates had either ventured home or to some weekend that they will always never remember.
Occasionally he had thought about joining his classmates in a venture to not remember his weekend, but in the end he always figured that would happen regardless of whether or not he consumed any alcohol and/or drugs. Also, he concluded that he would much prefer to have all of the brain cells that he could possibly have alive. No, instead he would sit around his dorm and have a thoroughly uneventful weekend as he always did. With that thought he fell back onto his bed and was almost immediately asleep again.
When he woke it was still Saturday he thought. It was still morning as well, and though he never really slept more than eight or nine hours at a time, it was weird for him to fall asleep and wake again in the same morning. So far as he knew it was actually Sunday, but the day did not matter at the moment. It was still a weekend, and thats all that truly concerned him for the time.
He climbed from his bed and noticed that he had sweated the previous night. This was not unusual by any stretch of the imagination. Ever since he had moved to college it seemed like the nights continued to become hotter, even in the middle of winter. Of course he could always write that off to the fact that the heater was on during winter, but he and his roommates never really turned the heater on to the point that it would be that warm. Whatever the reason, he sweated at night, and it annoyed him.
Since he was feeling dirty from performing the rigorous task that is sleeping (which had truly almost become a rigorous task as of late) he went to shower. He liked showers, most would say that was a good thing, but he did not like showers just because they cleansed a person though that was certainly part of it. Rather, he liked showers mainly because they were almost a cocoon. In a shower, or a bath, or whatever equivalent one could find to such things as these, there was more often than not only one person who is hidden away from everything in the world but what is immediately around him. Unless someone came knocking on the bathroom door and yelling at him, he could be completely oblivious to the world and what was happening in it while in the shower, and no one would think him strange for doing so. With that thought in mind, he wrapped himself inside his cocoon.
As the water beat down on the back of his shoulders he thought about the possibilities that the day might hold in store for him. To be completely honest there were very few. As always he could be optimistic and tell himself that some profound act will happen to him today, whatever that may be, but he liked to consider himself a realist and, realistically, this day was probably going to be the same as any other. He leaned against a wall and listened to the water as it splashed on the bottom of the tub. He could never tell himself that he was actually depressed for he did not believe he was. Nor could he tell himself that he was utterly alone because he knew he was not. Also, he could never convince himself that he was a pessimist because that was not true. On the outside looking in it is easy to see how others may mistake him for being all of these things, but that was simply an assumption and a falsehood. He agreed that he was not the most fun of every person in the world, though he did like to have fun. He also agreed that his blunt honesty and how he viewed the world did not make anybody feel excessively joyous, but there were times when good things did happen, and he did not deprive that credit from which it was due.
The water of the shower was crashing to the floor of the tub in increasing volume and he decided that it was time for his shower to end. He dressed himself, sat on the bed, and stared at his poster on the wall. The quote on it was from Michelangelo and it read, “The true work of art is but a shadow of the divine perfection.” He was taken with the truth of that quote from the first time he laid eyes on it. It always seemed to him that the best art that could be produced by man was but a copy of what has already been created, and even at man’s most creative all he can muster is a different version of the same creation. Therefore, the only true creation was divine creation, and the only true art was the art of the divine. Thus, “The true work of art is but a shadow of divine perfection.”
He couldn’t remember what day it was. He couldn’t remember if he had something to do today. He wasn’t even sure if he cared that there was something for him to do today, but he knew he was tired of sitting in his room...even if it was his own flimsy sanctuary. He stood and walked out of his fortress, through the unused room, and into the open world. The world of mystery, of hope, of excitement, of failure, of depression. He stepped out of his thoughts into the world of reality.
The sun was bright. The parking lot was abandoned save for a car scattered here and there. The road was not as busy as it normally was. The wind was not blowing. The heat was relentless. The sweat beaded on his forehead. And his feet moved at a leisurely pace, one in front of the other. Soon he was in his truck and driving, to where he did not know, town he assumed.
He did not turn on the radio. Instead he just listened to the rhythmic sounds of the world that surrounded him. The hum and whine of the engine, the beat of the blinker, the slight squeak of the brakes, all of them melded into a melody of machinery and as he listened to the song he watched the world pass him by. He came into town. It was a smallish town, though it was bigger than the town he was raised in. It, also, was a college town for sure as there were definitely as much or more college students as residents in the town save for the holidays. Putting all of these things together and the town was the same as any other. There were places where you would never go for fear of being robbed and there were places that offered the illusion of safety. There were old dilapidated buildings that seemed as if they would crumble at the touch and there were brand new buildings made with the finest technology that still could collapse at any moment. Everything was an illusion. Any good that could be purchased would one day fall apart or become obsolete. Any knowledge to be learned will likely be forgotten. The future is a mystery and the past is unchangeable. Everyone worked towards some faint dream. Some distant goal. Some unreasonable hope. Everyone pursued happiness but had no idea what happiness truly was and whether they would know it if they had it. And so people kept foolishly pursuing that which was intangible, and always out of their grasp.
And he was part of it.
Was he truly unique in the fact that he understood the “pursuit of happiness” was just a hopeless facade with which people cover their lives to give themselves the illusion of self-worth? Or did others know this to be true and just refused to say it aloud for fear that if they heard the truth they would no longer be able to deny it?
