E3: Big

I was born into a world that was so big. Big on its own, but bigger in the mind of a child.

The buildings were big. Tall as well. So tall that they pierced through clouds and challenged mountains. The trees were big. They have lived long enough to witness the come and go of many eras. The streets were big. At night, people move through them in massive crowds like schools of fish. When you live in a place so big, you experience ego death young. I can’t remember ever being told that I was special in any way when I was in school. I was taught that I am a part of something bigger than me. You are just another gear in the machine, a machine designed to uplift society into one greater and more powerful, for the sake of making a machine that is greater and more powerful, which will make a society greater and more powerful, and on and on and on.

I moved away when I was young. That was a big change for me, although I don’t think I fully understood that at the time. I didn’t know how big the Earth was. The place I moved to wasn’t nearly as big. Whereas back at home, everything looked like it was built to serve a purpose, here, everything looked like it was built to serve a person. Everyone had their own house. Everyone had their own car. Everyone had their own thing, but everything was not for everyone. The smallness of the new world had its positives. It allowed me to notice things I otherwise never had. Life seemed quieter, slower, and things moved only when you moved. I could walk into the wilderness one day when I get tired of society, I couldn't do that before. Back at home, it got claustrophobic sometimes. Claustrophobia is usually characterized by being trapped in small places, but ironically, being in a somewhere so big had its own claustrophobia in how it made you feel so small and incapable of dictating anything.

I wonder what it would have been like if I never left home. I would likely be a very different person. Today, I am a person with a keen eye for detail. These eyes gravitate towards the ground whenever I walk. If I had never left home, I would have probably never experienced the joy of seeing a small purple flower break through the dirt after a prolonged winter. In a city so big, people don’t have the time to care about small things like that. The only things that catch people’s attention there are bright neon lights, pop music played at full blast, and an announcer’s voice echoing from a mic about some new 50% off.

I do miss the spectacle sometimes.

E4: What does it mean to be human?

What it means to be human can be literal and figurative. A human is an animal, but so much of what we consider to be human is antithetical to being an animal. Animals are wild and driven only by instincts, lacking logic or intelligence. But paradoxically, if you happen to be too different from being an animal, you become artificial, machine-like, and that is equally inhuman. An artificial intelligence only interprets the world through logic and algorithms, and lacks instincts or emotions. A human is something in between these two extremes.

When I was a child, I had an obsession with animals. I loved animals so much that I hated humans. I loved animals so much that I hated eating meat, although I was forced to do so. I sometimes theorize as to where this obsession came from. Maybe it was from the animal documentaries I watched. Maybe it was because of the books about how to take care of pets that I often read, although I never had a pet. Maybe it was because I was an outsider in school, and I was treated by some like I was a different species, and so I internalized it. But I always felt a special connection to animals, and I started to act like one. Yes, I was that kid.

I left that phase pretty quickly, but the feeling of being un-human stuck, and evolved into another form, insecurity. Why was it that I felt so different from others? Why can I not put my finger on it? Why can I not understand myself? Like an AI, I don’t know anything except for what others tell me. I have no identity of my own. I believe I am smart, because others tell me I am smart. I do not believe I am beautiful, because no one has ever called me beautiful. I don’t know if my feelings are normal, because most of the time, I’m the only person who can see them. Even still, I speculate that they are not.

There are some people who call themselves “empaths”, which is a word that I roll my eyes at. What is the opposite of an empath? Because that is what I believe myself to be. Maybe a sociopath or a psychopath, although those words have very negative connotations, so I don’t like to use them. When I see someone who is sad, I can understand and acknowledge it, but I can’t relate to it. It’s not that I don’t feel sadness, but it’s that I don’t feel sadness for other people. Does that make me inhuman?

I can understand why people have this almost innate fear of psychopaths, because we as a species evolved and thrived because of our ability to empathize with others. “Altruism” is the most important skill of humans, even more so than our intelligence or dexterity. To lack empathy is to lack humanity, and to lack humanity as a human is to make you… I’m not sure.

When I was younger, I strongly held the belief that I was really, truly, a bad person. I never had an explanation why, I just believed it to be so. I had a conversation with someone where I told them as much, and they responded with the question: “what bad things have you done?”. I didn’t like the question, because I felt that it missed the point. I didn’t think that being a bad person required bad actions, only bad intentions. A good person can be led to do horrible things due to their environment, and a bad person can avoid doing anything wrong simply because their environment did not allow them to. I had never done anything exceedingly bad, but I was prone to violence and my mind was always droning with negative thoughts. But that question did make me think, is it fair to call someone a bad person just because they have a certain nature? Are you a bad person if you fantasize but never do anything? Would that be considered thought crime?

When I go outside I always get the feeling that I’m hiding something, like maybe a body down in my basement. But the body isn’t real, only the fear and guilt. I will maybe one day discover that I was an alien that had disguised itself as a human but lost all my memories in an accident, which is why I have no idea why I feel off from others. Maybe I will never have an answer, and this is just the feeling that I must live the rest of my life with. Maybe this is all an ignorant rant, and there is no such thing as feeling like a human, as all humans are different. Who knows? I certainly don’t. This is not a place for answers.