BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU

George Orwell’s 1984 gives me the heebie-jeebies.

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Are we truly in control of our lives–or are out thoughts, ideas, and values being molded by the images and ideas that are constantly bombarding our neurons, courtesy of the entertainment and news media, magazines, texts, and music that we “choose” to listen to? Where do ideas of morality, sexuality, beauty, etc. come from? Perhaps we begin to be programmed as soon as we’re born.

We’re only exposed to what’s immediately available to us.  It’s strange for me to think about, but perhaps humans don’t have as much control of the environment as they think they do; the universe is a dynamic place, and everything in it is in a constant state of flux.  We’re influenced and affected by things we probably don’t even realize exist.  Yet there’s an illusion of and a desire for control.

There seems to be a tendency to project an image to the people we interact with, keeping our true selves guarded and hidden.  What we project always has to be something acceptable and presentable.  We hide certain aspects of ourselves in depending on the situation just to fit in and be accepted.  It’s frustrating, yet for the sake of surviving both emotionally and physically, it’s advantageous to fit in and be accepted by society.  I feel like I’m living within the bounds of someone else’s definition of what life is–that of my parents, of my friends, of society.  What happens if I step outside of those bounds?

Who decides what’s valuable and acceptable in life? Just because everyone else says something is worthwhile, does it become worthwhile? Who defines “success”, “happiness”, and “socially desirable”? Who has the control?

Who are the people who truly accept you? How can you differentiate those people from the ones who act like they accept you simply because of social obligation?

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I had bought my mother the light-yellow Dragon Day t-shirt that she had asked for, and I also a hot-pink Dragon Day t-shirt.  I gave it to her in the car, and told her that I bought the hot-pink t-shirt.  She immediately asked me why I bought a hot-pink t-shirt.  She told me that I needed to give her the hot-pink t-shirt and that she would let me wear the light-yellow t-shirt.  “Boys don’t wear pink.  Yellow is a better color.  You’re a boy, you shouldn’t wear pink.”

I left the car and went inside to sit down in my aunt’s restaurant.  My cousin who had been working in Germany walked in soon after; I guess he was visiting.  I have never had a real conversation with the guy, he doesn’t really know me that well at all.

He spotted me and sat down next to me, asked me how things were going.  He commented on the “witty posts” on my Facebook.  At this point I thought to myself, “He reads my Facebook? How much does he think he knows about me?”  He asked me what I was doing after college, told him I wasn’t sure.  He told me that I was a “smart guy” and should go to school and get a degree.  He talked about a mutual friend we knew who had gone to get a degree in pharmacy and was making loads and loads of money.  “You gotta get a degree so you can have a high paying job.  You need to climb the food chain and get some respect! You don’t want to be stuck as a lab rat.  A B.A. means shit these days, even if it’s from Cornell.  And your mom probably expects you to start a family.”

I told him I never talk to my mom about having a family, and that I’d rather figure out what really makes me happy rather than jump into grad school without any idea of why I’d be there.  He apologized for singling me out and walked off to go interact with the other relatives.

I sat in the chair for a while and sulked.  Finally, I decided I was tired of feeling suffocated.  It was a beautiful day outside and I wanted to enjoy it.  I got up and left.

-Emerson