On self-definition

As I played with sentences, trying to create my own brand of non-fiction that would make sense for a blog (the majority of the non-fiction that I have written in my life has been journal entries), I circled back to a familiar question: “What do I wish existed?”

The problem is that this question usually does not come with overtly constraining parameters. For example, when I think to myself what book, or software I wish existed, parameters are essentially irrelevant. When applying this to my own life, it does not make sense to ask myself ‘what person do I wish existed.” I have to define myself in the context of given parameters: my upbringing, my familial story, etc. When framed like this, the question becomes much harder.

I am attracted to abstraction—-to unreality. I think that, even now, while fully aware of my inclination, the only acceptable version of reality for me is one where unreality plays a pivotal part—-whether through literature, or through mathematics. I like to believe in the fantasy of self-definition, of volition, even if it is not true. I like to believe that reality is a product of cumulative human belief–that, if we all believed that we could fly, we would, in a sense, be flying. There’s comfort in that idea. There’s a latent notion of forgiveness, of the possibility to redefining what is, and what is not.

For that reason, I prefer and choose to live in a world of abstraction. As my friend described it, I disassociate. My answer to the question “who is the person that I wish existed” given my life circumstances as parameters is someone who has successfully made reality a little more abstract, whether through STEM related work, through a literary vision, or both. It’s a perverse notion, but it’s the only tolerable answer I can think of.

Like most decisions that I end up making, it is a high variance matter. At best, I create space for people to redefine themselves—-something which I think everyone would value highly (given a basis in objective reality, which also maybe explains my attraction to mathematics); at worst, I’m an iteration of Don Quixote. Then below my worst, I’ve lot my faith in my capacity to redefine myself, I have no sense of control, and things look extremely bleak. If life were to be viewed as an experiment, what I just said would be the results of my experiment. Mixed results. At the very least, it is a somewhat intersting, albeit depressing experiment.

As a closing remark, here is an excerpt from a passage:

When killing the giants of nothingness, one must cut off their ears and hold discourse with them. The giants then to turn into small people, then inwards, then they die, Suji says. I tell you this because the path to your sister may contain giants.

Where did the giants come from?, I ask Suji. They grew of sound. When the great mass blew his trumpet, structures were erected. And there, in the heart of creation, giants took form. Therefore when sight and sound form a certain pattern, these hidden things become known, and giants appear, and they eat all things, gods and mortals alike; this despite their supreme rationality.

As Suji was speaking of such things I fell asleep. Suji was still drinking tea and speaking of Mass and giants and antelopes as sleep arrived.