Replaying violence
I see a post on Facebook about how a puppy was tortured to death by kids in the country I was born… the country I lived in up until my 17th Spring. I am 25 years old now, or so I think. More than half of my life so far was spent there physically… the environment that shaped me into the person I am today. So, I’m not surprised as I read this post. It reminds me of the time when I heard some kids torturing a tortoise in the neighborhood. I distinctly remember the cries of the tortoise. Nobody did anything to stop them. I was little then, looking up to the adults in my life, and that’s what I learnt - nobody interferes when violence is inflicted upon animals, because animals have no souls… so they get treated like objects… toys you can mutilate for your own personal amusement or something to project your anger and resentment on. Why do they do that to animals and not their toys, then? Because, they are perhaps too poor to have a toy, and/or because there are a lot of strays and no animal sanctuaries, and no serious consequences for hurting animals. So, this brings a thought to my mind. Would we all torture and mutilate the weaker if there was no jail-time for harming another… human? I see the difference. Here, in the States, animal abuse is less… or is it? What about factory farms and slaughterhouses? It’s everywhere. Violence, and more… so, so intense. It has always hurt me. And, I think it’s because I go back in time, replaying the cries of the tortoise… feeling guilty for not having done anything to stop the occurrence I perceived at that time as animal abuse. And, as Katie would say, how could I have done anything differently? I was just believing my thoughts, and my thought at that time was that I should not interfere because the elders in the house are not. What if they could not even hear what was going on outside? And then another thought comes. What if the kids torturing the tortoise did not hear its cries either? What if they too are looking up to their elders, and their elders were also looking up to their elders… what do they know? What are they thinking? Why should I care? What do I know? What am I thinking? Were they even torturing the tortoise? But, wait a second. I need drama. Violence makes me believe I exist. It binds me to Anna (my new name), or Ana (my old name)… isn’t it the same? While, love sets me free. So, am I afraid to let go… of my identity? Who would I be then? I want to play. I want to be on stage. I want to stay in-character. I want to be the great thespian. And, now those two symbolic masks that speak of the division between comedy and tragedy make sense. I’m wearing both, for I am playing kind and evil.
Where did it all begin, though? Who is mimicking who?