February 26th, 2010
Stories
What are the stories that, if a person does not know them, the person does not know you? Are they stories from your own life, fictional stories, or other?
Transcriptorial: so she peeled away story after story / and hoped that he would stay
I really like this. Who is she? (of course that is the question)
She’s no one in particular that I know, just a photo heavily photoshopped.
While I feel like nobody can ever truly know another person – not in their entirety, at least – I definitely don’t think of someone as really close to me unless they know some stories from my past. Unless they know how I spent my formative years, they can’t possibly understand my motivations. As a consequence of this, I’ve made perhaps only one or two close friends since the beginning of university. I’m sill clinging to all my incredible ones from before, and luckily they seem to want to stay close.
i agree with the first part, but funnily enough all of my closest friends are from university, not high school or before…
i think i would be upset if there were a person who completely knew my motivations. it can be frustrating when someone (especially an SO!) misunderstands a particular thing i say or do, but it beats being on the far end of that spectrum. i’ve grown a lot of individuality over the past half year or so.
I knew my spouse was “the One”when I realised I felt safe telling all my real stories. I could trust that nothing I said would be used against me. It’s such a relief to have someone who knows all about me. Not even the closest “family” members know that much.
We’re all like those Russian shell-sculpture dolls, each different as the outer one is taken away, its story told. THe Internet is an ultimate shell game, we can be who we want… but mostchoose something close to their root self. That root should ideally be available to our most intimate friends… or should it? Should we always have a last defence, a final shield against a shrew or thug in some prospective mate?
The things a person should know about me, are things – secrets – I would never tell anyone. And I mean anyone. Without knowing these things, a person could never truly know me or understand why I am like I am. I guess it’s just too sad that there’s no way I would ever tell it. Not because I don’t want people getting close to me, but because there are some secrets you must keep all to yourself – and in most cases those are the things that are most important to know about someone.
Do you know the bit in TSE’s cat poems where he talks about the naming of cats, and how each cat has a secret third name known only to it, and how many a cat will just sit there in quiet contemplation of that name?
They are stories from my own life; real events I have lived through that have shaped me, and the way I look at the world. But they are also fictional stories: the novels and poetry that have touched me or moved me. Because in my case, the literature I love often holds as much sway over the way I see the world as the actual events I have experienced off the page.
Many of the stories that have shaped me, are drawn from literature and cinema. Many lines from such sources have become part of my inner furniture, such as my favourite quote of all time, from Chekov’s “Uncle Vanya”: “What must human beings be, to destroy what they can never create?”
“The Kin of Ata are Waiting For You” and Albert Camus’ “The Stranger.” The former for basic outlook on life and people, the later because I always felt I could relate to Meursault.