Isn’t it just abysmal to be normal? On my first day of secondary school I remember my mother telling me just to fit in and it’ll be fine. It was totally opposite to what I should have heard or perhaps want to now being the advice that Hank Moody gave to his daughter in Californication, as the eponymous song lyric goes, ‘don’t be another brick in the wall’. I can gladly say, I’ve never been that with or without someone telling me so. Conforming down to its most fundamental of wearing a uniform at school made me want to hang myself with the damn thing.
Maybe that’s why I like many people find themselves bored more often than not with the state of everything because it’s so damn samey and cliché like a Britain’s Got Talent tear-jerking back story. It’s unfortunate too that those who actively try to stand out blend in the same like the emo and punk sub-cultures. I find myself becoming another angsty turd at times which indicts an incredible amount of self-loathing that perhaps affects nearly everyone who holds a little bit of contempt for the hordes of high street zombies you see.
The constant infinite cycle of monotony makes me want to tear my eyes out but on occasion I find people who share my view. Unfortunately, nine-out-of-ten of these people are just the worst people imaginable or batshit crazy or both. Yet in those strange and rarer moments, that one is the one worth hanging around on this tiny rock of ours.
That’s an unusually hopeful statement but there you go. It’s like being a prospector in the gold rush, just sifting through the dregs in the river. Many do give up and assign themselves to live a lie under the banner of whatever or whoever makes us compromise the least. I wish I could do that but a reason for a falling number of friends is because I’ve always struggled to compromise on anything at all. Call it a blend of Napoleon-syndrome and being an only child filled with individualism going through a school system that endorses bipartisanship and anti-libertarianism at every turn. Maybe I am alone in that and I’m just another special snowflake. Yet isn’t that the point of being individualistic?
It’s another mental minefield that I find myself in because simply the nature of asking the question makes me hate myself for having to. When someone says snowflake in reference to a person, I imagine – perhaps like many others – the androgynous vegan, chain smoker who enjoys Jake Bugg’s music and anything with quinoa. It’s not quite what I see in a mirror, primarily because I don’t have the funds for those Lucky Strikes and being a vegan seems almost as bad as having to live with one in university halls.