I like looking at the screen and feeling something, deep inside. One of my favorite movies, Nostalgia, had that exact feeling in me, of a person refusing to see the beauties of the outside world, of the place that is not home. He didn’t see the incredible chapel, he didn’t see the picturesque landscapes, he didn’t see the beautiful woman and she couldn’t understand him. She couldn’t understand why he would refuse to accept that beauty. Refuse her. Because that is so easy, right? Men want women, they want beauty, or to quench their desires to get them. No. Not always.
- “I am fed up by your beauty”.
The hero was blinded by the nostalgia. He couldn’t see the beauty, not that he didn’t want to. He couldn’t be with that woman, because she was not his. Because the landscapes, and the chapels, and the beautiful streets, and the opportunities, and the skyscrapers, and the women, and the language, and the culture, and the mindset was not his. All he wanted was the little pieces of crumbles that were his. And in the dreams he was at home, with his wife, and his kids, with his dog sitting in the front porch of a small hut, sure, that was his.
His, not by ownership, but by bond. Emotional bond that tied the eyes of his so firmly that no light could get through. No. Only one thing could numb the pain like that, the familiar. Looking through the window to the countless stars and the moon, that were just as countless and just as mesmerizing when he looked at them while being home and dreaming of getting out. Trying to find a place where he would be heard and understood. One can question the categorization of the feeling of nostalgia as painful, because the word nostalgic is more often used to describe positive feelings. As a person who got blinded by that feeling, I would urge the “ones” to think twice. The etymology of the word nostalgia is proving my point. Nostos in Greek means “homecoming” and algos “pain”. Nostalgia is the pain to return home, literally.
My personal opinion is that the feeling of nostalgy is a disease, which opaques your vision and numbs your senses. One should not necessarily leave the home to have that feeling. Nostalgy, is the realization that you don’t belong, that you are not in the right place. That longing to home doesn’t have to mean a literal one. Some people, like me, are living with that feeling wherever they are. With a blurred vision. With numb senses. Living only through those rare moments of déjà vu, those elusive seconds that you are in control of something, that you know what’s gonna happen, the moments that are familiar… The rest of the time is just existing.
I adore that person for his unbendable persistence, determination to cling with his teeth to the things he does, to the values he has, like the scene at the end where he was trying so hard to “Save the world” by crossing the pool with a lit candle from beginning to end. He did eventually, but the world was not saved. If you imagine the world as the planet, or as a society, then no. But, this man saved something. Also a world, that lives within him. Even though the candle kept going out, he always went to the beginning to start over. And that is a good representation of his character, he stands by his promises, his thoughts and his desire to “save the world”, even though it was naive and even though he was narrated by a madman, a fool… a child.
I see life as a wind, it blows to your direction continually putting out that candle of yours, making your existence into a cycle of obnoxious, stupid and naive attempts of “saving the world”. The words of the child keep whispering to your ear, to light the candle and keep trying. How long until the wind will be loud enough for you not to hear those whispers anymore? And how long when that strong wind won’t even let you light the candle? And everything will collapse, in mere seconds.
There is, however, another perspective. The wind puts out only the weak sources of fire. It, however, enables, strengthens, makes the fire grow, if it is strong enough. If only I could find another source, another soul, that would be willing to stand by me, it would be so much easier.
One candle, endless winds.
Here comes the cartoon that I love the most. Hard to explain how hard it is to describe my feelings for it. Perfect metaphor of the life seen by my eyes. He too, was seeking something, but had no idea what exactly. A story of a long journey of becoming stronger, building trust, falling in love with a damsel in distress, who ends up hurting him, giving up on his life to save her, finding his place, a place he belongs. Funny that he went to the Gods, to the Olymp, to realize that his home was the place that he was longing for so long. One can say he made a mistake, shouldn’t have left the home in the first place, but he did. And went through challenges, and got stronger, and made friends, and met his loved one, and at the very pinnacle of the success, when he, literally, was offered a place among the Gods, he came back, to the people that mattered. The more I age, the more I realize that there is almost no boundary between inner definitions of rights and wrongs. And sometimes even the best people who do just and honest deeds, have doubts and question themselves often.
Matt Murdock. Daredevil. A person who struggles to understand the meaning of such concepts as “help” and “justice”.
You have a hero, almost a typical one, got blinded by chemicals while saving someone at a younger age. Raised by a loving father who got murdered because his son asked him to win a boxing match that he was supposed to lose. Trained by a blind assassin, who he wrongly mistook for a father figure, and he left the young boy alone when he sensed that. Loved by a woman, who clearly was a bad influence for him, in the end left alone again. He has good friends who he constantly lies to, not to get them worry about him and keep them safe. You can already see that pattern. Doing supposedly right things, resulting in terrible scenarios. Saved a person, got blinded. Convinced dad to keep on fighting, got him murdered. Showed signs of affection towards a person that replaced his father, left abandoned. Loved someone with all his heart, was left heartbroken. Lied to protect, lost everything. It’s like a never ending cycle. And facing that through his life, facing those polar responses created the need for him to become a vigilante, the man in the mask. He represents the contrast that the life keeps manifesting him over and over. A blind advocate of law at days, a fearless vigilante at nights. Always on the brink of crossing a line, of killing a person, as he still continues to be proven wrong, he is constantly in doubts and seeking answers. His friends, his teacher, his lover, his enemies, his rivals keep telling him to go against his beliefs and morals, as it is the right thing to do. He doubts, but can’t cross that line. Because if he does, there won’t be a way back.
In season 3, when confronting against Fisk, he is so close to actually doing it. Of killing someone that keeps dodging the justice, that buys the law. That primal scream of his, that pain of choking the feeling in him, the feeling of hatred, vengeance, rage is so well represented. So close to the reality.
I have never thought of taking anyone’s life besides mine, so it’s not like I relate to exactly that feeling. But I relate to the feeling of self-doubt, even though you, supposedly, are doing the right things. I relate to the surroundings being close to ruining your values, maybe not intentionally, but they do. Planting seeds of self-doubt deep inside and at some point you get lost in all the opinions and expectations of yourself. In season 2, when Frank and Matt speak at the rooftop, Frank says: “You are one bad day away from being me.”. One move to the wrong, and everything collapses. It’s like walking on the edge of a cliff, you know, if you fall, there is no turning back. All it takes is a wind strong enough.
That show can be so wholesome sometimes. Like the episode 10 of season 1, Nelson v. Murdock. It is so beautiful, to see the origins of a friendship. And to see in the same episode how it gradually depletes and starts crumbling piece by piece of distrust caused by lies, that were supposed to be helpful. I always drop a tear watching that episode.
They are crying. Both. One blinded by the feeling of mistrust, the other feeling misunderstood. Both feel that they are about to lose each other. The guy is a badass, who beats the shit out of mostly everyone he faced, has inhumanely heightened senses, almost at the level of having superpowers, but cries when he is about to lose his best friend. That’s why I love this show so much. It shows that everyone is a human being. Even the main villain is a human in the very end. He has a mother, a loved one, a friend. In the very twisted mindset of his, the motives of his are even righteous.
It’s interesting that growing up I have always been into comic-books, but never actually liked Daredevil. Spider-man was my favorite. I liked his persistence of sticking (intentional) to his principles and methods. I like that he remained a humble guy with routine problems following him even after having superpowers. But in this show, Matt Murdock is closer to the personality of comic-book Peter Parker than any other Peter Parker in the Spider-man movies. There is a great issue of Spider-man called “Back in Black”. (Side note: I recommended you to read it on January 9, 2019. It was the first conversation chat on Instagram. I remember because I was flying back on that day, I was in Kiev, waiting for my flight in the airport. I was so impressed that you knew about comic-book Civil War events. It was, indeed, in another life.). During the events of Civil War he exposed his identity to the public, and every villain knew who Peter Parker was. He was constantly in run with his aunt and MJ. And once, Kingpin found him. He hired an assassin to shoot him, but his spider-senses worked, he dodged. The dodged bullet, the bullet that was supposed to take his life, hit his aunt. He, without being able to control himself, in an utter rage, throws a Jeep into the direction of the sniper. With the intention to kill, of course.
If you know anything about Spider-man, is that he never kills. It is a taboo, one of his principles that I wrote above is exactly that. With great power comes great responsibility and he is just the friendly neighborhood Spider-man, he always was. But not on that day. The sniper evades somehow. But that’s not important, those seeds of doubt that I was writing about, were planted. He started doubting every principle established by him, doubting his lifestyle, his choices, his actions. That’s when people collapse and get lost in themselves. I always told, actions are not merely as important as intentions. He never killed that sniper, but it was his intention. In the finale, he is at the brink of killing Fisk.
You can easily draw the parallels between the season 3 Matt Murdock with Peter Parker of that story-line. Both, standing at the edge, about to break. Both fictional. I know. But there is an edge for all of us, right? And it is a good manifestation of what can happen when values are broken, principles are vanished and life loses, its already elusive, already fragile, meaning.
For a very long time, starting from 2010, I started listening to Linkin Park. They are one of my favorite groups. I went through tough times when I was a teenager, most people do, mine was a bit specific. Their music helped me to get through. Songs like, “Numb”, “Lying from you”, “From the inside”, “Papercut” and others as well, represent the aching soul through music so well. It’s almost like they play on the strings of your pain. The messages, the words that come out are so familiar. And beautiful. It helps when you know there are other people suffering from the problems that you have. I think, right at the moment, my favorite band is Slipknot. They are a bit much for a person not listening to metal, it took me some time as well to get used to them. But when you start appreciating the scream… it gets synced up with you. You see, sometimes I get washed by a wave, a longing, to do something wrong. Something that would contradict to my essence. Something that would cause a burst of feelings and emotions, be those good or bad. I cool myself down with the aggressive music, the drums, the screams. They rhyme with that inner desire and as the song ends, they partially end too. And when Corey screams, it goes out, just like that primal scream that Matt had. Besides, listening to the aggressive music takes away some part of the anger, frustration and disappointment. Yeah, some part.
I think it becomes noticeable that I try to find the familiar as well. I am always looking for parallels into my life, it creates a special connection. That’s not the sole reason, I will tell about the other one later.
When we see ourselves in something, or someone, we fall in love. Because we are egotistical, at least at the fundamental level. It can be anything. I see myself when I read books. Like Charlie from “Flowers for Algernon”. I already wrote about the similarities of the behavior caused by the inner child living within us. Kamu in the “Plague” almost freakishly described the state of my mind when I am in foreign places. I was weeping at some parts, that’s how scary it was, to read your feelings written by another person in such an accurate manner. Like he actually knows you. I am reading right now Dostoevskiy’s “The idiot”, and I would agree with the categorization of that person as an idiot. He is, indeed an idiot. Just like me. I am not finished yet, so I can’t say for sure, but up to this moment, even the way of speech, the manners, the thought chain is so…familiar. I will edit this part later, after I finish the book, to see whether my comparison with the main hero was right. Edit: I have finished the book. I find most of me in that person, except for maybe bravery, or stupidity, I am not sure. Because he stays him all the time. No, I consider it a bravery. He can say to the face of anyone what he thinks. And he won’t be afraid to be called stupid, idiot or a child… Maybe he came to terms with himself, but I didn’t.
Recently I finished reading Herman Hesse’s “The steppenwolf”. There must be something wrong in me if I find so many similarities in Harry to me. Is it actually that bad? Is it where I am going? Slowly, but steadily pushing myself to that misery? I really hope that I will find strength in me to prevent myself from reaching that rock bottom. Or find someone to hold me back. Read this part carefully:
“I cannot understand what pleasures and joys they are that drive people to the overcrowded railways and hotels, into the packed cafés with the suffocating and oppressive music, to the Bars and variety entertainments, to World Exhibitions, to the Corsos. I cannot understand nor share these joys, though they are within my reach, for which thousands of others strive. On the other hand, what happens to me in my rare hours of joy, what for me is bliss and life and ecstasy and exaltation, the world in general seeks at most in imagination; in life it finds it absurd. And in fact, if the world is right, if this music of the cafés, these mass enjoyments and these Americanised men who are pleased with so little are right, then I am wrong, I am crazy. I am in truth the Steppenwolf that I often call myself; that beast astray who finds neither home nor joy nor nourishment in a world that is strange and incomprehensible to me.”
It’s so close to what I have written and thought… before reading this!
I know one thing for sure, I won’t let it reach to that. I will try my best to solve that problem in ways that won’t devastate my surroundings, but if not, there is always a plan B.
Coming back from that gruesome note, I found parts of me in various characters of my favorite TV shows. I see myself as Marshall from HIMYM, it’s just I can’t find my Lily, which reminds myself of Ted. And that stupid romanticism of mine, although is nerve racking, also reminds me of his.
I see myself in Michael, because I can be childish sometimes and I can’t let go of people that I bond with. I share his worst fear of all, being left alone.
I remind myself of Jim sometimes, with his attitude towards work and career, and with the attitude towards the girl that he is all over with.
I remind myself of The Big Bang Theory gang, with their geekiness, with an extra Sheldon, because of grammar shenanigans.
I see myself in Chandler, with his dorky and self-deprecating humor.
While reading “The little prince” my eyes start watering mostly on how beautiful the thoughts are expressed, how childish, naive and simple they are. I am thankful with all my heart to the magician for giving me the best gift I have ever received. I found myself in there too. Actually, sometimes it felt like Exupéry stole my thoughts. Or no. Maybe it is a common sense, and a lot of people understand those ideas and messages, but they struggle to actually live with them. Yeah, it is challenging.
You are forever responsible for the ones you have tamed. So simple. I think.
As you notice, I constantly try to find myself, that familiarity, in various things. In books, films, TV-shows, fictional characters, music.
I see myself in the poetry. There are some that I’ve learnt by heart, and for almost a year I have repeated those before sleeping.
It started with this. It is from the film Nostalgy, written by Tarkovskiy. The messages of the movie are also conveyed here, I have already explained which parts exactly attracted me in the film, it also refers to the poem. I remember how motivated I was to learn it by heart. I was putting it on YouTube with the repeat on and listening for hours. It took me a day.
The next poem that I have found myself in was by Visotskiy. I honestly try my best to be as honest as possible with people that I love. The person reading this must be sure of that, as I showed readiness to manifest basically everything, I’ve let myself be read like an open book. Of course, I am not so open with everyone, quite the opposite I would say. I am very reserved, even people that I consider the closest to me don’t know me even near enough. I keep repeating this, basically in all of my thoughts, I know that. But it is so important… The mask that I sometimes put on my face just to be able to coexist, just to be able to converse somehow with my surroundings. Several times, very recently, I was too lazy to put the mask on, and some of the closest people kept asking me if something’s wrong. Heh, not something. Someone.
“Петарды, конфетти! Но все не так...
И маски на меня глядят с укором.
Они кричат, что я опять не в такт,
Что наступаю на ноги партнерам.”
This part, though… ties well with the part of expectations and beliefs about me. Sometimes I feel ostracized from this world. I don’t understand so many things on the basic level. The societal norms and values, broken promises, lies. What’s the point of wearing a cross and killing people? What’s the point of going to churches and doing drugs? What’s the point of giving wedding vows and sleeping with anything that moves? Why do they even bother? I wear a cross, but not because I am overly religious. It is a reminder that not everything in this life should be easy, that there are things worth suffering for and that I am just a tiny molecule on the cosmic scale.
But the worst part is that I am feeling ostracized even by myself. The inner creature… I already wrote about him, we don’t get along. Life keeps telling me to stop believing in dreams, honesty, naivete and, why not, magic. But he couldn’t care less, and I have to bear the consequences of his stubborn behavior. In the end, it is me who is left alone. It is me who has to light that candle. I call it lonely by choice, but it is a bit of a stretch, don’t you think? Yeah, I think I would like to live like a normal individual, without the inner judgmental gaze.
Learning this one took me almost a week. I had exams, so couldn’t afford to repeat it that often, but I was reading it several times before sleeping.
I loved the film “The eternal sunshine of the spotless mind”, I have written already about it, if you remember. That memory is our soul, it connects and ties people together, that we should value it and make the most effort to be good to people that we care about. Because as we leave this world, that is the single thing that will remain from us. It was one of the movies that I was preserving to watch when I could actually grasp the value.
I loved that movie as I have seen many similarities between Joel and me. The main similarity is connected to living the life “fully”, as neither me, nor him are doing that. Work-home, work-studies-home, work-studies-gym-home… that’s usually how it goes. That’s how my life has been as long as I remember. A boring and uninteresting life, isn’t it? Yeah. That barrier deep inside is something I cannot overcome myself, that is the reason why I am seeking someone, to help me. For very long and boring years, I have been living with silence and loneliness and almost got used to them. I have almost convinced myself that it is the way for me. But I got tired of listening to the whispers of silence and maniacally seeking the shadows of no one, and, for once, silence was silenced.
Written by Evgeniy Evtushenko, I read this poem while surfing the web, on September 10-th 2019, I decided to learn it. Two days, if I recall correctly.
“А если кто-то незаметно жил,
и с этой незаметностью дружил,
он интересен был среди людей,
самой неинтересностью своей.”
I think it might be familiar to the reader, when the words start looking at you and not the opposite. It is exactly that case right now. This part is connected to the boring and uninteresting life of mine. From the younger age I never cared for the stuff that teens usually prefer to do, I liked the solitude of living in a world that I created, or maybe made up is the better word to use. You know, it’s normal for teens to be jealous of something. Jealous of friend’s new car, of new gaming consoles, of having a first kiss. I don’t think it’s normal to be jealous of fathers, that they are fathers. I realize how wrong it sounds, Jesus… And that can shift the preferences and define the values, to the good or to the bad, I am still unsure. But that definitely changed my life.
“Что знаем мы про братьев, про друзей,
что знаем о единственной своей?
И про отца родного своего
мы, зная все, не знаем ничего.”
That’s when I have fallen in love, the day I have known her. I am not claiming to be knowing her fully, no. But she let me into her world. It caused me huge pain, you know, I was still happy. I keep telling this, but I never was any happier…
Not long after I decided to cut the ties with the person I loved, I wrote the first poem of mine: “Death of the feelings”. Took me almost a week to polish it, but it is interesting that the message was there, I could see it. I was visually seeing myself choking that enormous giant, far stronger and far more cunning than me, as it kept bringing back all the great memories about her, to convince myself to stop murdering it. Maybe I was the villain, because that giant of feelings was by my side for a long time, giving me hope and making me happy. That giant was protecting me from the deafening silence. I never could kill it, although I wrote that I did. In the end, I realized that I just wasn’t strong enough. I will never be strong enough.
Couple of months later I wrote “The Urge”. Won’t dig deep, it is pretty straightforward. It is the call of the soul to finally find him a friend.
The last one was definitely written under the most painful and cruel circumstances. After expressing my feelings for one more time, on December 24-th, 2019 and still getting the same rejection, I was a mess. I remember, I gave her the T-shirt with the Boo, written “So cute, it’s scary”, the Office mug and lychees, of course. I didn’t go home after that, I went to Tumo Park. Was sitting there, on the bench, for hours, smoking maniacally one after another. Because cigarettes are supposed to help in these situations, at least that’s what I have heard all my life. They don’t. I have my own theory on that. At those times when we feel really miserable, we subconsciously want to end that misery. But most of the people are afraid of making critical decisions, so we just shorten our lives by smoking cigarettes. Like cowards.
Within seconds, literally seconds, “Ответ” just came to my mind while sitting there. I wrote it down in a minute and never touched after. It is a concentration of despair, I try not to read it as it brings flashbacks of that damned night. Somehow I always manage to top the feeling of despair. It always seems like it just can’t be worse, but it becomes worse with each time.
It is important to accept who you are, I am still working on it. You should be friends with your creature, understand him. But it is equally as important, or maybe more, to find a person that would accept you. Accept all the sides of you, and accept that amalgamation of your selves as one person. Imagine how difficult of a task it is. Not the part of accepting, at least for me. Finding that person.
Other people have creatures of their own, maybe in different forms, that maybe affect their lives in different ways, but they do. And we don’t know shit about them. Which is natural. It is scary, to actually open yourself to be read like a book, not everyone can do that, neither they should do that with everyone. I mean, sure, no one can do that to the full extent, as right now it is me who writes these words, and I am subjective. But this chapter is exactly about being subjective, it’s about preferences, about what I love and why I love them.
You see, I have collected an image of myself from different pieces of the familiar that I have gathered through years. That is the second reason that I mentioned earlier: That’s how I become complete. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the privilege of being complete right off the bat, as I was broken, into multitude of pieces, just like a puzzle. Through life I was collecting those shatters, slowly and gradually, into a picture of myself, something you can call a personality. You know, I have seen part of me, the familiar, in all of the aforementioned things. I have also seen part of me in a person. Only once. Truly wonderful person. That’s when I realized what loving is. That’s why she is so special and important. That’s why her actions doesn’t really matter. I love her essence, her very self. She can cause me the greatest pain there is, and frankly, no one ever caused so much pain and damage as she did. Yet my feelings are always there, and will be there. The reader must already know how sticky I can be of some thoughts, emotions and principles. The reader should also have noticed that I rarely use the definitive words, like “never”, “always”, “definitely” and so on. But when I use them, I make sure they are used properly. Because that is definitely right.
The sad part is that trying to take that very critical piece of puzzle seems impossible so far, and I would have to live with an incomplete picture of myself, missing a piece, right around my heart. And who cares for those thousands of words and quadruple of those not expressed here? That’s right. No one.
Not to end with this overly-dramatic note, let me end it with:
Wubba Lubba Dub Dub!
