Sometimes I like to comfort myself by imagining that a day will come where I’ll be able to live in a world of my own. A world defined by my own rules, my own values, but more by my own personality. By that I don’t mean the fashion industry styling clothes that complement my palate in particular, or the largest corporate in the world running on my (probably absolutely BS) by laws; just a world where the only stake holder in my life is me. A distant ideal where I’m allowed to make independent decisions that, I can only hope, are reflective of my personality.
But the more wishful thinking I do, the more I realize that the idea of “my own world” is rather doltish. It’s impossible to live in a world where your decisions aren’t consistently scrutinized under the rather large microscopic lens of the flawed, right? At least I think so.
I’m finding it extremely hard to understand how I am to become my own person when I live in a society that has certain expectations and “norms” to abide by. When a fraction of my individuality is present in a thought that occurs to me that seems heinous to the people around me; when I learn of new things and faiths that are inconsistent with the ones of others, and they’re shredded to bits. It’s easy to dismiss the vitriol that comes from the 6.8 billion strangers in the world, but it becomes unbelievably disheartening when you realize that the people that have the most impact, and justly the most right over your life fall somewhere under this category too.
It’s sad to fall into disagreements about values with the people that make up your lifelines. Being a 21st century teenager, who’s rather exposed to the amalgamating cultures and perspectives of the world, I find it perfectly normal to strut a piece of barely 3 inch shorts no matter where or who you are. I don’t believe your accouter is one bit reflective of your acumen. A piece (or missing piece) of cloth certainly doesn’t have your IQ level imprinted on it, but rather that of person that glares at you for it. This is obviously not something that most people can digest. But it’s just one of things that drives me crazy. I hate that I can’t wear, believe, or have varying perspectives without them being shunned forever by the people who surround me. If not by one set of my parents, then the other, and if not the other, then society as a whole. You’d prognosticate that people can’t take a thought away from you, that no matter how much they detest it, they’re not capable of usurping your right to have your own view. But I’ve learnt just the fear of them knowing it is enough to foment the need to cage and kill it.
I’m not saying my parents are obsolete or unjust in any way. In fact, they’re rather modern, and they’ve always created as much balance as they can tolerate. They’ve adjusted to everything that doesn’t entirely disintegrate the fundamentals that have led to their already, unfortunately, concrete views. But the thing with parents is, and I discern this because I like to believe I’m not completely unjust either, is that they’ve built their entire lives around yours, and that’s truly a blessing. It’s a gesture of love that many feel the need to repay in some way. And I do too. Parents have many expectations of their children, and although these are 100% justified too, I think of this entire situation as something that is not right by either party involved. I’ve acquiesced that this ‘relationship’ involves an abject amount of compromise from both sides, and that, at least in my case, it’s capable of utterly destroying one party, or leaving both merely satisfied. And frankly, I don’t understand why parents have expectations in the first place, or children are born with the idea that their lives are their own. I don’t know how it can go both ways, because I’ve rarely seen cases where everyone is happy. I’ve begun to think of my entire life as a comprise if I wish to please everyone that will forever chastise the ideas that they consider blasphemy. That means never getting to be with who I want because they’re not from a particular background or never fully professing faith in what I want without destroying souls and barely coming out alive in eternal denigration in the process. And I think that’s torture. It’s made me question why I’m living quite a few times now. I guess I’m just too scared of not knowing what happens when I don’t (live). Right now, I’d love to sequester myself and start anew, hopefully with zero expectations both from society and my heart.

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