Requiem for a Problem
Friday, May 4, 2012 12:42:34 AM
I've just got back from buying a pack of cigarettes from a vending machine. You know, it's late night. I ran out of them in the heat of the night, I've been very nervous today. It also made me nervous to go out in the night, alone, and exposing to possible night-time dangers of a populated, but mostly sleeping, place. When only weird guys are up. And criminals. It always sounds scary. But did I have a choice? Let's just try and put aside the fact that smoking is such an unhealthy habit, it was something I felt the need for, and to obtain which, I had to be willing to risk. There was no other way. Getting down to the point, there is no other way to live which doesn't involve exposing to risks, mostly from others. I know in my hearth that I'm a bit weird when I come to estimating risks. I fear humans. A lot. I feel like I may be less frightened by meeting a free hostile leopard than a free hostile human. I always did. It isn't a nonreactive kind of fear, or at least it wasn't. It became nonreactive out of a decision to surrender, after many efforts to cope with real and perceived threats failed through years to reach the impossible goal of zeroing them. I had a dream. One of those nasty dreams where archetypes play the part of disquieting aspects of my deepest self. Man, I hate these dreams. They always ruin the whole following day. There was a dwarf cat. It wasn't just a kitten, it was a significantly undersized adult. Smaller than others, possibly little more than a span in length, and hence held to be more fragile and helpless. I remembered having kept him at home most time, hardly letting him out. It'd have been clearly too dangerous, wouldn't it? We were also still unsure how to call him, trying to choose between several more-or-less weird names; my choice was "Scrappy", but it doesn't really matter, as in the dream, I had a short vision of a group of kind-of fairies, dressing in white and hovering above a sort of snow castle: they told me if I knew the whole story, I'd have picked a very sad name for him. The unfortunate creature, he wasn't understanding my reasons. He was sticking around doors to the outside, waiting for someone to open the door so he could sneak out. He did not want to live his life at home because someone else was deeming him too weak and fragile. And he was, of course, very right. I've been screaming in silence and crying unseen, for years, running a hopeless algorithm to find a solution to this Problem. I was wrong: the Problem, with that capital P, isn't me. The Problem is my perception of life outside with respect to me and my purported sensitivity to threats. I enlarged the world outside, society outside, until I found myself dwarfed in comparison. And locked me home. Well, guess what? I went out anyway tonight. Like everyone in the same situation. Everyone is exposed, I'm no dwarf. So here we are tonight, face to face, dear Problem without a solution. You cannot be solved except by being deleted entirely, deprived of your distorted meaning. After all it doesn't matter whether you're a span long or a full-size cat. Life is no particularly bigger to a dwarf than to anyone else. And I feel this may change something, this time. This kind of Problem disappears once the only feasible solution to it, living forever in a home, is finally rejected, to leave no other choice but to ignore the Problem, because we desperately want to get out and live.