Character is the summation of experience both tragic and wonderful. The destitution of melancholy is balanced by the simple beauty of good company.
It has been bouncing around in my head for quite some time, this particular collection of words. It is my own riposte to the overreaching negativity that usually threatens to drown me when I indulge in deep thinking and endless philosophical debate regarding the development of my personality.
It is then rather random, why I decided to say this to someone who merely commented upon the differing nature of my character, rather than its uniqueness or impressiveness. I simply do not know why I decided to share it. But share it I did.
I wonder, sometimes inexplicably so, why I allow myself the indulgence of delving so deeply into my own psyche on a regular basis. Maybe it is simply an escape from the mundane inanities my life seems to comprise of, and the extreme problems that my mistakes have brought upon me. Maybe I do so because there is so much unfinished business floating around in my head that it is a daily affair to attain closure in one matter or another.
Maybe I do so, because it is the only way I know how to contemplate living with myself, and being able to look at the person I see in the mirror every morning, and not want to shoot him. For being an insufferable prat.
On balance, I am not in possession of friendship/relationship-crippling flaws that doom my social interactions. I know I'm friendly, open-minded, discussive in approach, articulate and a good listener. I also know that I am not stupid, that I am in possession of a keen mind and a well-developed intellect, and that I have many things to offer when in a participatory conversation of substance and depth.
Yet I am inherently pessimistic about how people view me. I am intensely aware of the flaws that I carry, and it sits uneasily with me that I actually possess flaws. Whilst it sounds highly arrogant and extraordinarily conceited to talk as though all flaws can actually be eradicated, I do try to remedy my cracks as best as I can. I want to be perfect, and the sad thing is that I know I can never be. And I know how far I am from it.
Perhaps it is misplaced anguish on my part to let my flaws get to me so readily. It is not as if I have been a complete failure in life, to encourage such anxiety. I have achieved a lot, on the face of it. Gold medal-winning athlete, captain of three different sports teams in school, representative for football for every university I have ever turned out for, debater, award winner, public speaker, writer, photographer, multiple best student awards.. Balanced out by being a university drop-out, various misdemeanors regarding personal choices, life-changing mistakes, and the vicious cycle of self-destructive behaviour.
My past is a dichotomy of contradictions, a dysfunctional dystopia (hah, I did it again) of conflicting abstracts. Indeed, when all is said and done, it is a summation of experience, both tragic and wonderful.
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