The Yellow Brick Road, I have not taken!

6:27 a.m.
Homemade Latte.
Safari Browser.
Epistolary Blog.
2020.


Dear Friend-de-plume,

In my entourage, people would incessantly appraise success with their own definition of a job, their own perception of family, and their own version of morality. Things that I loathe and despise inordinately. As a skeptical postmodernist, these things are all sham to me. This is what cajoled civilizations through the years. What is a job, if I don’t have ounces of intellect in my head. What is family if I fake caring because emotions do really exist in themselves and not for pragmatic purposes we seek to insatiate. What is morality if it’s constructed to behoove those who sought to differentiate between high and low culture? Alas! I have not taken this road my people wanted me to, how come?
Albeit, people would still pigeonhole me in this category of their own version of epitomized acquiescent personage, but in my own mind, what I did is not the yellow brick road they had in their own lenses. At least that is how I see it. If I’m being honest, I am no different from Narcissus. I fell on my own reflection, it was enchanting and as selfish as it sounds, I did not care much. I tried to comply with what they want though, but It was already a fait accompli, I couldn't destroy myself to lighten up others’ lives. I took decisions and assumed repercussions with my own volition.
I know everything is meaningless. I know that love is merely Dopamine. A set of chemical and nervous reactions that compel animals to breed, right Rick?. When libido hits hard, we have stimulus for sex, simple Hormo-maths. But I do not mind giving these things meaning, even if it means cajoling myself into a state of falsehood. If I could eat lotus, or drink from the Lethe of oblivion to trick myself into believing this stuff, I would. At this point, I realize the Endocrinology behind feelings and emotions, but as long as it behooves me, then I am utterly ready to define and refine it with words and emblems. I create my own Yellow Brick Road. I do things the way I want, and not how others see it. But I would still think that what Frantz Fanon said in Black Skin, White Mask holds up to my whole pragmatic way of life. "To speak is to exist absolutely for the other"; as meaningless as my whole hedonistic principle might sound, this has me spelling beans, admitting that I care about people’s recognition. Nevertheless, not everyone for me is to give me that recognition.
Let me expound on this! there is a modicum of people that I want to recognize me when I want to feel existent. And I admit that I can be pesky about it. If it is not for them, I would certainly have not stayed until 7:18 a.m writing on Blogger. So basically, though abstruse and oxymoronic, but I know that everything is futile, and I prefer to give it meaning.

If you are wondering whether or not I’m treading carefully on that Yellow Brick Road, yes I do, but it’s a trajectory that I have constructed and not someone’s.

Sincerely yours,
Emed.




* Futile /ˈfyo͞odīl/ like this (lol)