Friday, February 12, 2010

His Ego

I had a timed writing assignment in which I analyzed a character from a book and was forced to say how I, should I take that character's place, would change the outcome.

I found it rather shocking as I tried to get into Gene Forrester's head (from John Knowles' A Separate Peace) that I would have done everything he had done. I found I've experienced the same exact emotions of jealousy and paranoia toward my own best friend. I realized that I have followed like the shadow as she blossomed and I stayed incomplete. I've watched her excell at things I thought were my forte. And only mine. But she's good there as well. And I realized that I have, in the past, done something along the caliber of jostling a branch, causing my friend to tumble from a tree, breaking their leg.

No, I did not break my best friend's leg.

But I've felt the emotion required to do so.

I was shocked that my personal character mirrored Gene's so well. I'm weaker than I had imagined, I suppose. I'm more flawed than I could have anticipated.

So, as the second part of the essay asked me to do, I suppose I'll have to change this about myself, as I pretended to change it for Gene. I guess I'll have to find my inner confidence and respect my friends for their own skill. Even if it's in areas I'm skilled in too.

Even though they're better than me, and even though I might feel threatened.

That's no reason to bring upon their untimely death.



Now, to other matters.

Egotisical. Ego-maniac.
I'm just one of your pawns.
But I ain't stayin' here-I ain't looking back.
If you'd open your eyes, I'd be gone.

You're fooling-yourself
To think I'm so niave.
You're beyond all help
So Heaven help me.
I'm failing-to express.
The defiance in my chest.
You are-no match
I'm not-coming back.
Close the curtain.
Bring up the lights in the house.
Cuz I'm not coming
For you
And your health.




It kills me that... That I get this air of... superiority from him. And in all actuality, in all reality, all I want is to call him friend. I'm past that stange of helpless puppy-dog love, and yes, he's "bright" enough to have seen that I was head-over-heels, but I suppose his eyes were only opened to it so that he could remind himself when he's feeling down that, "Hey. That girl, she likes me. With all her soul she likes me."

And I bet that makes him feel good. And that's all we love-struck girls want, isn't it? For that boy, that god, to feel good. Right?

Right?

Wrong.

You see, there's a certain moment when a plant comes to realize it's not being nuroished where it is. So, it goes away.

Blind, blind, big-headed boy! I have left you. I am gone. And still you speak to me with this air of "I know you're smitten. I know what I do to your heart."

And you are the dumb one, not me, never me. I was dumb, for thinking perhaps you weren't this way. But I've served my time under the dunce hat, and I've left.

And you cling.

To me.

Didn't expect that twist, did you? Weren't expecting you'd depend on my for your very breath. Because, Parasite, without my life being dedicated to you, you die. Without every fiber of me fawning over you, you crumble. Do you see it yet? Do you see those drooping leaves? No. Because...

Because you don't want to. You are too stuck on yourself. You are too pompous, too egotistical, too bifu.

And how can that possibly feel? Lying to yourself? How will it turn out when you wake up one day and look in the mirror and find you were getting your life's breath taking advantage of those who felt the most for you. But you'll never pick one, Oh, if only you could hear me laugh.

You'll never be willing to hand away all these persistent fans for one special girl. And all these fans will realize sometime that you're just a has-been. A once-was.

And you'll be alone.

You, the mirror, and your ego.

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