Friday, June 6, 2014

The Fault in Our Living

I want to be part of something.

I have this thought often. How I want my life to mean something more than my life. That I want my existence to matter and affect other existences outside my immediate vicinity.

The problem is, it doesn't. And it won't. No one's does.

The Wife and I just got back from watching The Fault in Our Stars, the movie adaptation of one of our favorite John Green novels of the same namesake. I won't go into detailed movie review mode, but suffice it to say that it was one of the best movie adaptations of a book I, or my Wife, have ever seen. She cried more times than I imagined possible (the question should be asked "How many times didn't you cry?"), and even I welled up a few times. It was beautiful and emotional and symbolic and powerful and all those adjectives that the movie (and book) deserves. And, of course, as is the way of John Green, it was hilarious while dealing with heavy real-world complications that we often choose to ignore.

To the point: Augustus Waters talks a lot about oblivion and the desire to be remembered. To be special, to leave a mark on the world. A lasting mark. A feeling, I believe, many in the world have, though hide the fact. Hazel Grace Lancaster, on the other hand, points out that the world and humanity had a birth, and so shall it have a death. Whether in a day or millions of years, everything we know and love and remember will be obliterated, and not even humanity will be around to remember itself.

Or you.

I am like Augustus. I want to be remembered. I want to be part of something. Not just any something, but a great something, a something that will engrave my name into memories. More than just my memory, or my family's or my friends'. They will remember me, even if they don't want to, because that is how life works. We remember those we give time to and who give time to us. I don't want only that, I want more. I want infinite memories. A collective consciousness that infinitely recalls my existence into being at all hours of the day, across the globe. I want the memory of me to never sleep, to never hide in the shadow of the moon while in the light I am forgotten to billions of inane distractions.

I don't really know what I'm trying to say, I just have this urge to write, here. Maybe this is my attempt. To be remembered. Just these simple characters uploaded into that presumably greatest infinite of all, into that void of words and images and videos all awaiting random strangers' comments, to make the creator (me) feel important and alive. And real.

I don't know. Maybe it's a tiny cry for help, for a hand to reach out and clasp my shoulder, for that person to say "You matter to me, more than most, and without you, the world wouldn't be the world I know and love. You make living worth living, and for that I am grateful." 


I don't know. Perhaps it would be only a gesture, and though filled with love and truth and honesty, it would only sound like words, and nothing more. All I know is that I am not Augustus Waters, nor will I ever be him. Nor will anyone, because he isn't real. Or, I suppose, he isn't tangible, because what is 'real' anyway? I will never be remembered the way I want to be remembered. I can shout into the void and wait for a response for an eternity, but no one will answer. No one ever does, because no one is there. We are infinitely alone as we trudge through this mortal life. Some die too soon, some live too long. Most just are, and then die, and we move along. All we can do is be and try and love. Give love to those few who happen to stand right in front of us. Hold them, tell them we bottled the stars for them and hand them a glass of Champagne (or Sparkling Cider); tell them how even though we only have these brief moments together, between each moment is an infinity that we can never escape, that we don't want to escape, and that it is these brief passings between bodies that make us and our names matter, and exist, and last beyond our lives. And when we do, we can look into each others eyes and say:
"Okay?" And you can smile and kiss and hug and touch and say:

1 comment:

Steph said...

I know we've talked about these thoughts a lot, but I still love how you write them. You are wonderful and I'm so glad I have you :)