2 (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} 2_gryphon) wrote,@ 2009-04-28 03:58:00 |
|
Who are you?
"Dear 2. If my parents ever found out I was gay/furry, they would kick me into the streets with no place to go, take away all I have, brand me with hot irons, beat me with chainsaws, discontinue my nipples and disown me. What would be the best way to go about telling them I'm gay/furry?"
You would probably be amazed at how many times I hear this question or similar variants. The first few thousand times, my immediate reaction was to pound my face into the desk until I passed out, and after regaining consciousness, clawing my way to the keyboard to type with a trembling, bloody hand, "THEN DON'T TELL THEM, YOU TARD!"... just before I'd collapse onto the floor, dead.
After a few years of this, I started to become extremely curious why so many people would be willing to sacrifice their families, friends, homes, nipples and everything they have for a meager moment they can stand a sliver of their private business in the spotlight in front of everyone who cares for them and, whom they know will reject them for doing such a thing. So, one day, just when I was about to lose consciousness from the blunt trauma to my face, I stopped for a moment and asked... "Why? Why do you so desperately need these people to know this specific piece of private information about you?"
I asked the next person and the next the same question. And I discovered something interesting. Without fail, the answer was always, "Because I want them to know who I truly am."
At first, this puzzled me. Then, when I became sober, it still puzzled me. So I took a dump. I always think better when I'm taking a dump.
What exactly makes up a person? A person is made up of a million different elements. What his favorite color is, how well he can climb a tree, what his talents are, where his aspirations direct him, how much money he's willing to pay to take a shit at a coin operated toilet. All these elements come together to form a person.
But what causes a person to elect a single one of these elements to be "who I really am"? What, out of the million different things that culminate into "you" do you choose to identify yourself with? Which tiny piece of you do you pick to stamp onto your forehead for the purpose of labeling yourself?
Is it random? I don't think so. People don't generally stick their hand into the proverbial Power Ball tank of personality and pull out the element by which they will forever title themselves.
How then, is this element chosen? By what criteria do we select the one millionth of ourselves to present to the world when they ask, "Who are you?" But even more perplexing -- why would anyone choose the preference of the gender they'd rather rub their sexual organs against to do this job?
Picture a somber scene. A troubled and nervous teenager, anxiously entwining his fingers sits in a chair in front of his father. His posture is straight and defiant. His chin is gritted in solid determination. He says, "Dad, I have to tell you something."
The father raises an eyebrow and acknowledges with a gruff, "Uh huh?"
The teen takes a deep breath, pauses for a moment and then, with a tear streaking down his cheek, his voice crackles, "I like corn."
It's a little silly, isn't it? No one would consider an enjoyment of corn to be "who I truly am." But for a moment, let's what-if.
What if, in this world, no one thought for a moment about a person being gay? What if it was a normal or natural as anything else. It had no social repercussions, no one talked about it or even really thought about it. If you told someone you were gay, you got a reaction much like if you said you think grass is itchy.
However, in this same world, corn is taboo. It's used to point out undesirable people. Its enjoyment is employed as an insult and in questioning a person's moral values. "I don't trust you, corn eater!" Though there is a small community of people who insist, and rightly so, that there is simply no reason to judge people based on their enjoyment of corn, this community is seen as dangerous, immoral and threatening. Business owners pretend to support them for the sake of putting on an anti-hate facade.
Would this conversation be so strange then? Would being a person who enjoys the taste of corn become "who I truly am" in this case?
I believe that the reason so many people have decided that "who I truly am" is gay or furry is because people pick the most controversial elements of their personality to present to the world. People don't want to define themselves by something that no one gives a crap about. They want who they believe themselves to be to get a reaction. To get attention and notice. Even if the scale of the element they choose is no bigger than any other element. Even if it would otherwise be seen as personal, private business. Whether it will delight people or piss them off, we choose to define ourselves by that which people will have the biggest reaction toward. How many African Americans define themselves as being black? Now, how many caucasians define themselves as being white? Being black has a history of causing a much bigger reaction than being white.
My advice to the teen who has decided that he simply must tell his loved ones "who I truly am", in spite of the hell they'll turn his life into... Why don't you sit for awhile and think about just who you truly are. Perhaps being a person with a warm home, parents and friends is more of who you are than just "a gay person".
"Dear 2. If my parents ever found out I was gay/furry, they would kick me into the streets with no place to go, take away all I have, brand me with hot irons, beat me with chainsaws, discontinue my nipples and disown me. What would be the best way to go about telling them I'm gay/furry?"
You would probably be amazed at how many times I hear this question or similar variants. The first few thousand times, my immediate reaction was to pound my face into the desk until I passed out, and after regaining consciousness, clawing my way to the keyboard to type with a trembling, bloody hand, "THEN DON'T TELL THEM, YOU TARD!"... just before I'd collapse onto the floor, dead.
After a few years of this, I started to become extremely curious why so many people would be willing to sacrifice their families, friends, homes, nipples and everything they have for a meager moment they can stand a sliver of their private business in the spotlight in front of everyone who cares for them and, whom they know will reject them for doing such a thing. So, one day, just when I was about to lose consciousness from the blunt trauma to my face, I stopped for a moment and asked... "Why? Why do you so desperately need these people to know this specific piece of private information about you?"
I asked the next person and the next the same question. And I discovered something interesting. Without fail, the answer was always, "Because I want them to know who I truly am."
At first, this puzzled me. Then, when I became sober, it still puzzled me. So I took a dump. I always think better when I'm taking a dump.
What exactly makes up a person? A person is made up of a million different elements. What his favorite color is, how well he can climb a tree, what his talents are, where his aspirations direct him, how much money he's willing to pay to take a shit at a coin operated toilet. All these elements come together to form a person.
But what causes a person to elect a single one of these elements to be "who I really am"? What, out of the million different things that culminate into "you" do you choose to identify yourself with? Which tiny piece of you do you pick to stamp onto your forehead for the purpose of labeling yourself?
Is it random? I don't think so. People don't generally stick their hand into the proverbial Power Ball tank of personality and pull out the element by which they will forever title themselves.
How then, is this element chosen? By what criteria do we select the one millionth of ourselves to present to the world when they ask, "Who are you?" But even more perplexing -- why would anyone choose the preference of the gender they'd rather rub their sexual organs against to do this job?
Picture a somber scene. A troubled and nervous teenager, anxiously entwining his fingers sits in a chair in front of his father. His posture is straight and defiant. His chin is gritted in solid determination. He says, "Dad, I have to tell you something."
The father raises an eyebrow and acknowledges with a gruff, "Uh huh?"
The teen takes a deep breath, pauses for a moment and then, with a tear streaking down his cheek, his voice crackles, "I like corn."
It's a little silly, isn't it? No one would consider an enjoyment of corn to be "who I truly am." But for a moment, let's what-if.
What if, in this world, no one thought for a moment about a person being gay? What if it was a normal or natural as anything else. It had no social repercussions, no one talked about it or even really thought about it. If you told someone you were gay, you got a reaction much like if you said you think grass is itchy.
However, in this same world, corn is taboo. It's used to point out undesirable people. Its enjoyment is employed as an insult and in questioning a person's moral values. "I don't trust you, corn eater!" Though there is a small community of people who insist, and rightly so, that there is simply no reason to judge people based on their enjoyment of corn, this community is seen as dangerous, immoral and threatening. Business owners pretend to support them for the sake of putting on an anti-hate facade.
Would this conversation be so strange then? Would being a person who enjoys the taste of corn become "who I truly am" in this case?
I believe that the reason so many people have decided that "who I truly am" is gay or furry is because people pick the most controversial elements of their personality to present to the world. People don't want to define themselves by something that no one gives a crap about. They want who they believe themselves to be to get a reaction. To get attention and notice. Even if the scale of the element they choose is no bigger than any other element. Even if it would otherwise be seen as personal, private business. Whether it will delight people or piss them off, we choose to define ourselves by that which people will have the biggest reaction toward. How many African Americans define themselves as being black? Now, how many caucasians define themselves as being white? Being black has a history of causing a much bigger reaction than being white.
My advice to the teen who has decided that he simply must tell his loved ones "who I truly am", in spite of the hell they'll turn his life into... Why don't you sit for awhile and think about just who you truly are. Perhaps being a person with a warm home, parents and friends is more of who you are than just "a gay person".
