The Illusion of Things
I sit here by the park bench—not really a park—some kind of a field that was to become a park but was abandoned halfway. I watch people walking, mostly in groups. Harmonious groups—mothers and children, school kids, young men dressed in different styles but in the same philosophical undertone, and packs of stray dogs with the same sickly blemishes on their furs. Such is life—a sucker for harmony and symmetry—as if in a constant race to achieve some long-lost balance. And it does this with a refined sense of urgency—one that our minds find hard to comprehend.
Another group of young men passes by, draped in an assortment of fashionable clothes. I'm no expert in fabric and fashion, but I can tell each outfit varies in expense from the next. That creates some sort of symmetry—there is definitely the cheapest and the costliest. But that symmetry doesn't detract from the harmony. Amidst the different fabrics and diverse prices, all those outfits achieve something profound—they make their wearers appear fashionable and stylish. So, the philosophy behind the clothing is to express oneself through different colours within the confines of a budget. That's why those young men walk around together—because of the harmony of their outfits cemented by the philosophy behind each choice of clothing. If they focused on the symmetry, they probably wouldn't hang out together anymore. And if they all wore the same expensive clothes, the harmony would suffer, for there would be no symmetry.
Perhaps that's why we fall in love and then break up. In some cases, the symmetry seduces us, as the laws of physics state, "opposites attract." But the problem with such a primitive union is that harmony needs to be there, too. We've already established that the two are not mutually exclusive. Of course, considering the symmetry in its primitive sense is why men love women and vice versa—men are hard where women are soft, strong while women are weak, rough while women are gentle, and so forth. But what about symmetry in behaviour? A calm gentleman with a talkative maiden; a conventionally attractive woman with an average man. Such kinds of relationships tend to last because of their symmetry. But most fail too. Why? Harmony. If the woman is conventionally attractive, both she and the man of average attractiveness have to convey the same thoughts about the big things of life, so to speak. So, they should be harmonious in how they view exclusivity in relationships or how open relationships trigger them—failure to do such will result in the abrupt end of their relationships.
Back to our small park. I can't help but wonder who leads the group of the young men. Of course, if I'm to approach the young men point-blank and ask them, they'd all act surprised. But there is always a leader—all the way from two people to a billion—and there can't be two at the same time. Which begs the question: how many of these young men are really free? Who indoctrinated them into that harmonious philosophy that we've talked about? Again, philosophy stems from one person who then shares with the rest, and by appealing to their sensible or stupid faculties, they indoctrinate them. So, back to the level of freedom that our group of young men enjoys—if they're indoctrinated and they agree, did they simply practice their freedom? Eric Hoffer said, "When people are free to do as they please, they usually imitate each other." But this line of thought doesn't want to insult these well-dressed young men by stripping them of their freedom of choice. But why do they embody the same philosophy? Simple—I'd argue that they chose to embody that philosophy because they are free men. So, you see how freedom evades us with its fragility by refusing to be pinned to a wall—or perhaps its agility by reinventing itself?
If I am to put my skin in the game—that is, to give out my direct thoughts and experiences regarding the above issues—I'd go with freedom's fragility rather than its agility. Freedom is the kind of illusion that achieves its purpose so well that calling it an illusion would be preposterous even for posterity. I think freedom is doing what one pleases, regardless of what people will say—exactly what the young men must be doing as they walk this make-believe park like the French Les Apaches or England's Peaky Blinders. Also, for them to do that, they must be fishing for someone's approval—ladies, perhaps, or even their ring leader. And that's how freedom's fragility hums its treacherous tune into our weak minds.
That's the problem with freedom: it only exists when no one is looking. And someone is always looking.
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