Finding Nemo, The Ugly Truth, and Pursuit of Happiness
(My Life’s Progress Summarized In Three Movie Titles)
~1~
“If each one of us is unique,
then how do we differ from one another if we are all special?”
I had a burst of inspiration after reading one of Haruki Murakami’s short stories, The Window. It’s a story of a man who was remembering an incident in his youth some 10 years ago. He was a member of a Pen Society. His job was to write back to their clients as a Pen Master with a critique on the piece that a client has written, mostly done in letter format. He remembered in particular a letter of a woman (whose name has escaped him) about hamburger steaks and his encounter with her after he resigned. The job led him to think that one of the reasons why their business was a hit was because these women (or men for the lady Pen Masters) wanted an outlet for their thoughts and emotions. It was part of the Society’s rules not to give out any particular information leading to the identification of the Pen Master (which is what he is called). Thus, the inspiration.
It became apparent to me that one of the reasons why I find it hard to blog regularly is that my frame of mind is always to appeal to a particular set of audience. It is somewhat ironic, given the fact that my blog is private and hardly any of my current acquaintances know of its existence. It’s becoming quite hard for me to deviate from this type of writing practice since it has been inculcated in me from the time I studied journalism and had a few years of practice as a professional.
Thus, I’ve decided to create an identity with whom I could address my thoughts to, pretty much like having a Pen Master whom I can send my “letters” about a particular matter, or just about anything—something meaningful, something profound… something that would make writing more rewarding. My very own virtual Pen Master—minus the critique.
When I was in college, a few professors have told me that I have a knack for creating a scenario that can be sincerely felt, or an ambience that is seemingly tangible to the reader. I deem it quite an honor to hear such flattery. I believe I still have a poor grasp of the language and an equally limited opportunity to hone my skills. This reminder brings me to my next set of concern: that I am fast becoming a common person or someone with mediocre skills simply because of the alarming thought that maybe, I’m not good at anything at all. Not even at the job that I do, or with the course that I’ve taken up.
Yesterday, I was browsing through an online fiction and I came across a line intended to simply blend in with the premise of the author. But that line captured me and I forget everything else that I’ve read: “I want someone who stands out, not fit in.”
Stand out, not fit in.
What a powerful phrase it is for that to have triggered something inside my old battered soul. I poked my gloomy spirits to pay attention to this ray of enlightenment. All those years of feeling like I don’t belong in my childhood home (and currently, still a bit feeling off especially after some recent rehashes of my self-esteem), I think I’ve finally found one of the major reasons of my discontentment. All this time that I’ve been trying to fit in…
What if that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t meant to truly fit in? Or simply be different? A lot of people want to be different—and I scream “Aye!” in this corner. But then again, only a few people can handle standing out.
I may not be meant to fit in or to blend and being different doesn’t automatically mean that you stand out. I may not also be meant for stardom, fame or a person in power, but maybe, the cracked roads I’ve traversed in the past few years have been leading me all along to a simple realization: that of self-acceptance. I must simply accept the fact—the call, the challenge, however you may deem it—of finding within myself my means of standing out.
I don’t just want to be a jack of all trades. I want to be an ace in something. And this knowledge here sits comfortably right inside my head and my heart. I want my ocean of adventure, my own Dory, the aquarium gang and meet some wise, cool turtles. I want to swim the world and do something meaningful despite the knowledge that my fins aren’t that perfect. I want my own Finding Nemo story.
~2~
“Anticipation is worse than death”
But I digress. I bring us back to my inspired “Pen Master.” I do have to agree with the protagonist in Murakami’s story. Maybe, the thought alone that someone—no matter how reluctant, forced or paid the person is—just the thought alone that someone is reading their letters or stories make them feel altogether relieved—an escape, a release.
In my own opinion, it’s like expelling excess air from the body. This kind of act is more commonly known to mankind as farting. Once you’ve let the air out, you simply feel exalted as if a bunch of unwanted elements are finally out of your system. And it’s no longer of consequence to you however other people react upon their involuntary exposure to it. Quite frankly, the thought that you could elicit such reaction from these people gives you a small—though undoubtedly brief—surge of power in managing to bother, hassle or catch the attention of a person or a group of people in doing one simple self-relieving act. Shame, in this case, is very much optional.
I realized that I’m the type of person who has a lot to say. But when I’m directly asked to share a piece of my mind, I shut down for reasons that—until now—have continued to elude me. By speaking out loud, I realize faster than a split second before opening my mouth that I am not confident. That what I may have to say is something not of any import to my listener. That what I have on my mind is simply something that one could forget. One thing I hate most about myself is my tender insecurity with rejection. The moment I feel as though I’ve lost you somewhere between my first and last words in my opening sentence offends me. A lot. Because as much as I detest The Ugly Truth, it hurts to think, or accept, that what I have to say is nothing worth my listener’s attention. Which could also lead me to think that I’m such a boring person prattling the most inane and mundane stuff. Or that I’m simply not meant to be listened to.
Thus, (which I’ve used for the third time), the most apparent solution for this sensitive-person-who-has-a-lot-to-say-but-couldn’t-properly-speak-out-loud-about-it is to write.
I may go on and on and on and continue sharing my thoughts uninterrupted. The mere thought that a virtual entity is having an insight on my insight feels extremely wonderful. A beautiful form of releasing pent-up emotions. No wonder diaries from back in the old times are quite the rage. Sometimes, I’d imagine living in the 19th century and feel right at home even if I was to struggle for my identity, trying to make a name, trying to make a living, trying to fit in and not stand out as a liberal woman who experienced the 21st century just for want of the experience. Someone inconspicuous. An eye from the future observing and documenting the past. I’d probably bring a laptop (when did they invent electricity anyway? How do I recharge!?), a bunch of manga, DVDs, Wi-Fi… and deodorant. You just never know when you’d sweat too hard for work.
Hmm. I can actually imagine it as a plot and consequently reminded me of Jasper Fjorde’s novel “The Eyre Affair”. The story’s premise was truly interesting. A group of people was in charge of protecting literature of the past and present for the future after a device has been invented that lets people inside the fictional world where they could “kidnap” characters from books and “alter” the content of the literature forever. They were modern people who got sucked in the fictional world the likes of Jane Eye’s Charlotte Bronte; or something like Fushigi Yuugi’s Miaka who, upon getting sucked inside a book, became the central character of the story. I truly wonder at the possibilities.
~3~
“C’est la vie! Que sera, sera! Carpe diem!”
Thoughts of writing and expressing my individuality have been nagging me for quite a while. Generally, I see myself as a happy person. I finally found someone to share my life with (with whom I’ve just celebrated being a year with—a first for me). I have a job. I still have parents and my elders and cousins who love and respect me not just as their eldest sister, but as a person. My future now has him in it and we both know that we’d both work for our success, for our independence, for our fulfilment and happiness, for our future generations… for our legacy.
Which brings me back to my issue of mediocrity, or my current feeling of being entirely too common, too predictable, and too boring even for my own taste.
When I grow old, I want my children and my children’s children to look at me and fondly remember the stories of my youth that I’ve regaled my scions with. I want them to look at me and see someone inspiring and respectable. And most of all, loved. Someone who wouldn’t be forgotten.
Have I done anything lately that is worth telling my grandkids? I wasn’t a World War II veteran like my lolo. Or, like my lola, a woman whose dancing skills had made her a person popularly invited to dances and soirees. Even I couldn’t claim to be a spoiled, misguided unico hijo who has been heir to the family’s vast lands and ended up losing them. The latter part I am most happy to swear that I wouldn’t end up like him. Bottomline: I was inspired not to be like him in every aspect.
I am 24 now. In under 9 months, I’ll be 25 and by then, a married woman. I fancy myself and artist: a lover of visual and liberal arts, appreciates music, loves a good sport, and enjoys the complex/simple minds of people. I dabble in fiction from time to time, write for my job, worked for the gaming industry, experienced editing technical and scientific manuals I couldn’t fathom for a bit, a sickly girl who is stubborn and thinks “mind over matter”, a person who over analyzes, loves solving other people’s problems since I can’t find solution to mine, a person who unexpectedly fell in love and loving every minute and minute details of the experience, a person craving for more life experiences and living to reach my dreams.
Reading back, I wonder if at some point in time, I have done something special already and the experience is a story worth sharing.
I wonder if I’m leaving good memories in other people’s lives.
I wonder if I’ve touched their lives the way humanity has touched mine.
I wonder if I’ll be fondly remembered as I remember how much people figured in my life.
Who or what am I destined to be? When I will find my path of fulfilment? When will I find an end to my pursuit of happiness?
“Stand out, not fit in.”
