23 July 2010

What the Hell Am I Doing Here? I Don't Belong Here


Most people are bored. They want excitement and adventure; they want someone with an imagination who, not only thinks outside the box, but goes on to create his own boxes--repeatedly. The daily entanglements of responsibility and commitment may become a burden overtime and a need for escape may be found to be desirable. In many long-term relationships, boredom from routine is what leads to infidelity. Yet routine is a major factor in stability--things are the most stable when the sense of surprise is absent, when things are predictable and known. Stability and security are indeed that strongest rational selling points of Marriage (love being the prime irrational). So the reason for a serious relationship may become, by its own success, the reason for an affair.

People are drawn to the strange, the weird, the extraordinary, dangerous and care-free. If these people are daring enough, they attach themselves to these vivid individuals who brighten their lives and add to it, an unknown corner of suspense, surprise, a reminder that the universe is random. However, what is perceived as strange, is normal to the stranger--what one accepts as weird, is only natural to the weirdo. This leads to a misunderstanding between the two, the bored and the thrill provider--one that usually isn't addressed at the beginning of the meeting, whether it be an affair or casual, sexless friendship. The stranger does not consider himself strange, he doesn't see anything he practices as thrilling as a person would, who thought the behavior different from their concept of normal. I feel that an exploitation occurs when strangers are made use of by "bored normals". Of course, it cannot be denied that strangers are getting something out of the experience too, but in the case of an affair that gets too deep--a sad conclusion awaits the attached stranger who's been used.

No person is just one thing. Identity is not a solid block summed in a word, or just one action. Definitiveness is only acquired through death, while alive, a person is a compilation of emotions, of personalities, interests, reactions, and so forth--all converging into a system that creates a general application of these facets onto the external world experience. The point may be to narrow one's self down into a definition or grace, but during the process there exists and will exist for much longer--until the end, multiplicity. So when a stranger is left alone, drained and stranded with a full heart in an empty room, it may not come all at once that the newly disinterested party was never truly 100% herself. She was only satisfying one facet.

The stranger feels invaded, he feels like a circus where one may visit and forget their troubles--orphan their matters on the noses of seals that toss them effortlessly into basket hoops for a laugh and some fish. He feels awkward about his strangeness as its something that, unlike the spectator, he cannot get rid of, as its part of who and how he is. His normalcy is the strangeness that is only good for temporary amusement and nothing more. His routine is his anti-routine. Unfortunately this is unstable foundation onto which no serious relationship may ever be built. That is, so long as the intrigue that befalls him from others is based on mystery and a remedy for boredom.

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