Some guy I knew briefly a couple of years ago sent me Bryan Adams’ song “Inside Out” at one point in time and, in the folly of youth, I got excited. I thought the man really wanted to know who I was; my darkest hour, my hardest fight.
Do we ever really know the people around us? Do we ever know who our partners are? Yes, surely we know how they talk and how they behave, but that is only true for what they choose to reveal to us. We know only that much, and nothing else.
March 8th was International Women’s Day, and I remained mum.
March 10th was the 6th tragiversary of my aunt’s death, and I forgot.
March 12th was the 2nd blog about Jordan day, and I didn’t participate.
While attending a seminar last summer at the Socialist Thought Forum, about women and the Left, I was genuinely captivated by the eloquence of the speaker — a Palestinian activist. She knew her stuff and she spoke so well that I almost couldn’t breathe. I had found it, I knew I had found it even though I didn’t know what it was.
In the Q&A session that followed, a man with side parted hair stood up. He demanded to know if women had a “special condition” that would call for “special treatment.” The man with side parted hair was wearing a white shirt and grey pants, he had grayish hair even though he was young. He was clearly emotional as he made his case against the separation of man and woman, his arms moving restlessly and his voice a tad louder than necessary.
I won’t allow myself to be cloned because that would be in violation of nature’s copyrights. Also, I’m both unworthy of the privilege and wary of its results. What if my clone was a cheap imitation of me; someone with no identity crisis? That would shatter me into a million trillion, pieces. And the clone would survive!
Would you like to be cloned? Make a compelling case.
People, I am not contemplating suicide. If I were, I wouldn’t announce it. I was merely presenting a philosophical point of view, which I happen to subscribe to, for debate. That said, judging by the cliches contributed (no offense, eh?), I bet Orwell is turning in his grave right about now.
We need a healthy dose of philosophy so we may be able to exercise our minds a bit, step beyond our mundane thought patterns– maybe even shock ourselves with our audacity. Imagine letting go of all of your preconceived notions and floating about naked in intellectual wonder. That’s what we should do every now and then: float about naked, uninhibited, unleashed, child-like. It is only then that we begin to learn who we truly are.
Thus spake Tololy.
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