I was maybe five when my fascination with wind took hold of me. I say took hold, because the questions grew like sun-soaked mould and spawned a battalion of disjointed, equally as invasive and just as confusing musings…I was only five, remember.
I guess the big question for my then five-year-old self wasn’t what wind was, that was a bit too advanced for me to even contemplate I think, but rather where it came from.
I can’t, with certainty, say that the answer has been received and the origins understood. I’m sure google has the answer, but I’ll probably always wonder.
Which is beautiful, I think.
To not be satisfied with what you’ve been told is true, but to want to engage with what you believe is the truth. It’s kind of like faith in a weird way; you can’t grow within whatever belief you’ve designed your life around without truly questioning its origins, trying to understand its principles and I don’t think that anybody will ever truly understand the entirety of any given faith this diverse planet houses.
But this post was not meant to be about faith; I just went wildly off topic like a dog with a bone and I got carried away when in actual fact, I wanted to delve into the complexities of existential direction.
This post was and is meant to unpack the struggle that is, I guess, life. It’s far less broad then that, but the idea is that there is this growing trend of unspoken suffering. I’m wrong, the trend is that people are becoming increasingly unhappy, they’re expressing their unhappiness without expressing it at the same time, it’s very bizarre but it exists and I need you to stay with me on this one.
It’s like speaking without saying a thing. Social media is a great outlet for everyone; it’s this cross-generational cyber public pool where anybody and everybody gets to say what they want to say without actually saying it in person. It’s a remarkable way to break down social contracts that have governed human interaction for centuries and has presented this new normal where people get to pretend to be real with other “friends” who are also pretending to be just as real…
What am I trying to say here? Well my point is, we’re free to be and say whatever we want to be and say and this is an opportunity for many people to express their unhappiness with life or…whatever. The problem is that said expression is often not the truest representation of where people are in their lives, and that’s what I wanted to get to before my mind wandered to Antarctica, through Mauritius before stopping by Mexico and finally coming back.
I wanted to speak to this new breed of suffering where people suffer in silence, in public. The pictures are posted for all to see, the likes are raked in, the hilarious comments are added and the captions are ominous without being specific.
We’re candidly vague about important issues that we’re going through when we actually have an opportunity to speak up and be a voice to our own trials. It’s scary, I get it, but more people are going through life alone then there were let’s say thirty years ago.
It’s not because there are any less people in the world, there are actually millions more. What’s happening is that people are posting their feelings and emotions, filtered and photoshopped so they’re more palatable…or rather, so that the likes remain and the “friends” lol.
The beautiful thing is that there is a generation that isn’t satisfied with the status quo, a generation ready to shake things up and prepared to say more than what was okay not two years ago. This is a generation that is…”woke”. A legion of young millennials that are prepared to say “We’re hurting, this is bad, we’re not all glossy and glamourous and this is what it looks like when wounds fester”. A generation prepared to burn cities to build new ones…a generation that should be admired, guided, nurtured and groomed because if not, then they’re to be the generation that tears it all down.
Some questions don’t need answers. Some thoughts don’t need actions, but some emotions require a voice and I guess what I’ve been trying to say, in my own very weird and roundabout way is that texting is not speaking, “liking” is not loving and hashtagging isn’t always the “help me” that gets you off the island.
I may not understand its origins in my basic, accounting geared mind, but I know the wind exists. I know it’s there, I know what it feels like, what it sounds like and I know it’ll never stop moving.
I was twenty when depression took hold of me like sun-soaked mould. I say took hold because it consumed my every thought, inhabited my every movement and spawned a battalion of issues that weren’t exorcised by a Facebook post that only got twelve likes…