The Child in Me

I’ve suddenly realized that I’m too young for all this.

Sitting, studying, using big words, engaging in philosophical discussions, asking unanswerable questions. When did I become so old?

Often, when I accidentally stumble upon my younger self (whether in photographs or old diaries, it varies), a strange feeling comes over me. I cannot recall when I stopped being myself, or when I became myself, or if I ever had a delineated self.

I remember playing with dolls, and suddenly not knowing what to talk about with other girls, because suddenly, I wanted to read.

Today, I run home and feed on neuroscience documentaries, question life, but all in all, wish to take off my shoes and sit in the middle of the road, like any child would, before the biting of the wisdom fruit.

Indeed. I miss not knowing right from wrong. The purest form of my existence, perhaps. Everything was new. Novelty was the currency of my daily experiences.

Now, I sit in front of crumbled notes, or (desperate!) attempts at absorbing as much information as I can, all in pursuit of a Politics degree. Heck, who envisioned me graduating with a paper that smelt like Politics?

For I’d like to sit with the artist that sketched my future. There are so many questions about my past, which seems increasingly far-fetched, when compared to my present self.

I am various people. I have always been various people. And I’m not sure if growing up is helping.

I’m not sure I’ll be able to reach 30 and look at my 20-year-old self with satisfaction.

In any case, so long as I don’t look back in awe, wondering, what happened to that child?

Them Humans

Rembrandt-Self-Portrait

Now, ’twas but an ordinary inner dialogue that brought with it the epiphany that I do not see myself as a human being.

Not that I am not human, I just can’t seem to admit it.

Perhaps because of the misanthropic days that precede me? Or because, though I love humanity, I can’t seem to understand humans.

The other day I heard something that almost made me cry (of empathy), “I like people but I don’t like people at the same time.”

I am sure that I have been cured of misanthropy, however, that general distrust for the human species still remains. I want to believe that we are good, that we know right from wrong, but at the same time, I don’t see the opportunity to prove humanity’s goodness.

All that exists is a means to regulate our behaviour, the state, the Law, all attempting to minimize damage, to maintain “order”, and, ultimately, to standardize human existence.

Yes, I am one who would love to witness an hour of full blown chaos, to testify to all those terrible scenarios the word “chaos” connotes, and to see if, indeed, Hobbes was right in his ‘state of nature’ theories.

Would we go crazy and kill each other? Is there something, anything remotely indicative of possible absolutism in this universe? Anything that somehow governs our decisions? Now that I’d like to see.

I almost wish we could all study animals. In fact, yes(!), in efforts to ditch this increasingly anthropocentric world, perhaps it would prove rather healthy to remember that we, humans, are of the animal kingdom, and, thus, not above anything.

Seems to me that human beings have forever colonized the center stage of history, and that all the universe is but our rehearsing room. What happened to the ideals that  once governed people, what happened to the never-ending love letters between man and nature?

We preach democracy but dictate death to the earth in which we inhabit; we agree to pretend on universal laws and rights, but end up restraining our freedoms in this beautiful cloud of logic, this nicely shaped pot of order. What is order, if but a disguised version of chaos?

 

I know not. I know nothing, in fact.

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