PASSION
A great pop culture character, Angel, once said: “Passion is
the source of our finest moment, the joy of love, the clarity of hatred and the
ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live
without passion maybe we’d know some kind of peace but we would be hollow.
Without passion we’d be truly dead.”
I might have had a revelation today. Ok, I admit, I’m always
having revelations but this one is a good one.
I always thought that my mother not being permissive enough had
me develop only bad traits and for the majority is true. I have a bad temper
because of her, I don’t really like mushy stuff because of her, I don’t really
know how to say I love you and not feel fucking awkward. And by the by, the
fact that I AM in fact telling some people that I love them is a huge fucking
deal and I, most of the time, hold back from puking afterwards, so yes, be
proud, you’ve earned it.
I was wrong about my mother; I actually have a lot to thank
her for.
Let me tell you why.
I have a LOT of passions. I love music more than I loved any
human being EVER, I love to hear the emotions that some other person felt when
writing down some lyrics, or just playing around with their guitar. A freaking
iconic song (which slips my mind at the moment ) was written when the guitarist
of that band was playing around in the studio, it’s just fucking amazing how
something so huge can come out of just jerking off in the coffee break.
Freaking NIRVANA wrote the song that consecrated them based on a joke, when a
chick said that Cobain “smelled like teen spirit”(which was a ladies perfume).
That’s either brilliance or it’s faith and out of the two, I don’t know what I’d
pick.
I LOVE drawing, I’d spend hours just doodling away. I don’t
even care what it is, it could be potatoes with arms, it could be the next
Starry Night as long as something comes out of my hands, I’m a happy camper. It’s
true, I don’t do that anymore….now I play Candy Crush. I guess you can call
that “creating something”, I’m creating a void in my head so I won’t think
about the fact that I actually stopped creating shit.
I LOVE to read. For a “hater” like me reading is the best
thing that could ever happen. It gets you out of this universe and then
anything is possible. You get to go inside of another person’s mind without
using black magic or science, you flip the page and there you are, reading
their thoughts, feeling their moves, speaking their language, living their
lives. You can even talk for two or three people at a time and sometimes the
only one who can experience their grief, it’s you and that gives you a sense of
power, you’re absolute. In slang terms you’re just too fucking awesome.
When I was little my mom was always smacking me for not
writing the lesson down in class, I would, instead, just draw. I was listening
to what the teachers were saying but all my notebooks would read the date, the
title, a couple of lines and then just flowers and dresses and hands and
attempts at portraits. So every time I would come home from school with such a page
she’d just smack me around a little. “How can you do this? Look, your classmate,
Georgica is writing everything down.” Despite the fact that he was writing
everything down, Georgica was left behind a year so that wasn’t the best policy
for passing your classes. HA! Take that, mum. Of course I had a little anarchy
in me since I can remember so, naturally I was inclined to not even write the
date anymore instead just draw some more.
I had a pair of jeans
that were ripped, at one point, I’ve just discovered punk and loved it because
it was nothing like britney spears or n’sync (and yes, I’m just gonna write the
names without capital letters because they don’t deserve it). I would wear them
every day for about a year, summer, winter, -20 degrees; my knees would be just
hanging out, breathing fresh air. So she gets mad at one point and throws away
my noise making army boots, my leather jacket AND cuts my pants in half. I was
so mad I wouldn’t come out of my room for a week that summer. She eventually
smashed my mixed tape; that got me out of the house because I had to make a new
one and of course listen even louder.
I was in eighth grade and just gotten my hands on
Shakespeare, it was so intricate that I had to read Hamlet three times so I could
truly understand what was going on. The fact is that Hamlet was not in the
curriculum and I had to prepare for the last exam. Instead I was sitting in the
middle of the bed, at 7 in the morning reading Shakespeare and my mother comes
in, very upset saying things like “you should be getting dressed, you have to
be at school in half an hour and you’re sitting here reading crap.” Crap, yes,
she called Shakespeare “crap”.
I was never the child she wanted me to be. I was never
perfect and I never did anything on time. I also never did, or said, or dressed
like the norms of society dictates us and that killed her. Maybe she just didn’t want me to suffer if I would
be seen as an outcast or maybe she was jealous at my free spirited nature. But by her denying me all those things I think
she drove me to developing passions for amazingly beautiful thing and now they’re
in there and there’s nothing she can do about.
I was talking too my workmate today and after I had a huge
rant about a song I asked her “what passion drives you anyway?” and she
answered “none.” And then I’ve waited, maybe it was something there, something buried
deep, something that would make her want to cry or giggle at the thought of,
but there was nothing and I felt so sad for her because she might never know
what it means to go through and emotional rollercoaster every time you hear
your favorite song or watch your favorite movie. She might never now the anger
when you can’t draw the other eye or the joy when everything is perfect. She
might never understand the itch in your fingers when you want to write
something or draw something and you don’t have a pen nearby.
I asked her if anything was ever denied to her by her
parents and she answered with “nothing.”
So in spite of mein mutter actually being mein furer she
might have actually created in me the best trait that a human being can posses:
PASSION. And for that, I thank you, mom.
Also there’s no point in this post and you’ve spent the last
10 minutes reading a crazy lady’s rant. I’ll just go buy some cats now.
A bien tot!
