Everything a writer writes is all about himself. Even if its about some issues that are miles away from his personality, the route would still lead his very core. So, whatever may he be writing, his pen is drawing the portrait of himself.
Especially when it comes to memoirs, they’re about the life of the writer, of course.
I’ve written a memoir already. It was for the sake of a school requirement. You know, the “BAE stuff”.
It was about my life, of course, when I came home with a new hole under my lips. The pointed stud I pushed through my skin was a real big issue in our family. My parents and sister are Christians. Formality and decency was at the top of our roof, lighting the insides of the walls that holds the house together. I never thought of myself turning the damn decent light off, but it happened.
One nice afternoon, my mother’s favorite and only son came home carrying with him a wounded “undermouth”. I’m sure she hated it. All of them hated it. But time healed the anger fast and had me get through the guilt. They were kind people. So, after few months, I came home with three holes on each of my two ears.
That was all about the memoir, and now, let talk about the author of the memoir himself.
So, why did I do such pain jerking experiences to my parents?
The term “Object” had also been an itch for me. So I tried to kick it off my image from time to time. I never wanted to be branded as normal, another stereotypical individual in generation Y. I had several piercings and some angst filled stuffs: profanity printed shirt, black nails, a dickies bag insulted by the vandals I put on it, etc. A usual being in the social scope of formality would really think I’m weird. That’s satisfaction for me. But I could not stop thinking about the people who thinks the same way I do. For sure, They’d think I’m another stereotypical guy in our so-called generation.
And so then, I have just discovered, through thorough contemplation and consistent reflection of the mind that nobody in the universe can escape from the frustrating label “OBJECT”.
Even aliens, new species which are not yet fully recognized are becoming objects in the Marxist society, they are termed as “aliens”.
New organisms and things are also termed; like UFO’s, Unidentified species and whatever.
Punks, Goths, Emos are not really deviant when they are with each other.
So even if you disgrace your mother to be a Punkass kid and get away from the set of normal teen agers, you will still have the label.
On a t-shirt, I onced printed this: “I’m not a punk, I’m not an emo, I’m not a goth, I’m just weird”. But no matter what I did, sigh, I was always an object.
So how can one really escape from the label “object”? NEVER.
“Pierced guy, Punk guy, Emo kid…….
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