What would you do if you would be given a choice between absurdity and normality? Would you choose the latter one and live like no one, invisible to people’s eyes, or would you just choose the former one and be unconventional? Would you rather like to have a voice of your own, or would you just be happy with your monotonous, linear opinions fading along with others?
If you ask me, what even is normalism? Is it the way to lead your life? Is it the criterion of your analytical abilities on how you should lead your life? Or is it just a bunch of hurled contradictions of ideas and ideals on which you are expected to form your whole life on?
Life, they say, should be led according to the customs set by properly functioning parts of the society. It should adhere to the traditional and orthodox sides of matters according to their statement. They? The so-called “Graceful” people of the society, having the belief in their minds that they can manipulate people, instigate them into leading a life with proper mannerisms and etiquettes, gradually pushing them to a chasm, a deep endless chasm, where they lose themselves forever by forging other’s identities- their souls being consumed by a dark force of judgemental society- they, the “Graceful”, killing people with their utmost charisma, repelling them back to their unwanted path.
You see your demon, in the form of the Graceful, staring at you relentlessly, with a liquidness visible in his eyes, ready to push you over, taking a step ahead to you. You take a step backwards, trying to escape from the endless abyss that beholds your wait, with a dark pit, darker than your eyes, darker than the devil’s mind. You take a step backwards, your demon takes a step forward. It really doesn’t work, this foreplaying of shadows, your motive of repulsing the Graceful doesn’t succeed, it attracts him more. The Graceful likes to be challenged, with a certain pang of confidence in his chest, that he is eventually going to succeed in invading you, consuming you, filling you with dark void, so that you give in to whatever people believes, the usual ones, the ones with proper “Etiquette”, they say.
You try to escape him, but you fail, utterly, miserably. Just like you cry over the givings of the cruel society, just like you finally yet adamantly give up on your own capabilities and potentials. You believe yourself to be a crusader, but you’re only a bystander in peril, witnessing everything yet keeping your mouth shut. You keep trotting backwards faster and faster, and you reach to a point of shore where the ocean starts, but doesn’t end. You reach to a point of oblivion. You see no way other than drowning, no other way than giving in to the mighty ocean, because that’s what you have been taught your whole life, that no matter what you should never be a rebel, earning people’s ghastly stares and therefore accepting everything whatever may come your way. You haven’t been taught on how to have a perspective of your own, resulting in your drowning, even only metaphorically.
What feels stranger to you is even after on the verge of being at a tumultuous state, your demon, the beloved Graceful doesn’t leave you. It seems like you’re luring him in, encouraging him to suck all your self righteousness out, snatch your identity, make you vulnerable.
Your worst possible imaginations never really leave you. They eat you alive from your core, and insinuate you, force you to be the one who cannot be altered. Why, oh this despair of fate and abominable curse comes upon you, stealing you, making you a slave of the Graceful? Does mankind hail to this universe with such outrageous motive, to give oneself to others?
You are an introvert, you lack socialism, you lack etiquettes. You are an extrovert, you lack modesty and shyness, you do not adhere to the “Blissful and Elite” part of the society. You are an enigmatic enchanter, you lack the qualities of being in control. You are a rebel, well my dear, you are just the black sheep, having such audacity to put a finger towards the “Prim and Proper” society, aren’t you such a disgrace?
They call you a menace, but you are a rebel. They call you shy, but you are a volcano, who keeps mum all the times and erupts in gracious lava when feels the need to do so. They force you to give in to your demons, but you fight, fight until you are pushed into a bottomless chasm of dark pit, you try to breathe even in the deepest layers of the water, you are a fighter, you are a crusader, you yearn for your identities even in your sleep, in your dreams, for they say that dreams don’t exist, but you know they do, they are made up of your storms, the raging war that goes inside you, the tornado of your failing clashing of your identities.
Yet, you feel a tarantula crawling up your body of imagination, making it unholy, tarantula of your turmoils and tensions, reminding you of the Graceful, smirking with a vibrant yet dark charisma, and you find out in a blink that you have given yourself in to that demon. Your demureness knows nothing of you, does that demon ever die? Does the Graceful fade away? Does your juxtaposed eeriness of normality and absurdity find their own graces? Do you find out if normality is relative or not? Do you?
