Anything

When someone asks you to write about anything, it becomes nearly impossible to come up with anything at all. This is really rather odd when you think about it, since when a topic is given to you, you can always think of a million other things you would rather be thinking about. But normalcy is a given that should be assumed.

Maybe the mind needs some sort of input before it is able to form any thoughts at all. Without external inspiration, the greatest mind would be in a limbo, unable to formulate anything at all. This would really discard the concept of originality, as how can one be original if there is an absolute dependence on the external for inspiration. Ah, but some might argue that originality and brilliance lies in the innovative ways in which the same material is dealt with. Thousands of statues have been carved, but there is only one David, which recently got a bath, by the way. It's interesting, because there was a major controversy over whether the cleanup should have been carried out in the first place. Some people argued that the dirt and grime accumulated over the centuries lent the statue character. Others pointed out that the statue was dirty and needed a good wipe. Fortunately for the world, the latter won out.

Enough with the digression. It is hardly unreasonable to claim that genius does exist, but I think that to claim that genius must be completely original is asking a bit much. After all, if an artist is able to perfectly replicate, say, Picasso, down to the last detail, does that make him less talented than old Pablo? Some may argue that the imitator would simply be on a level with Picasso in a technical sense, not on the level of true artistry. How about in sports then? If a soccer player were able to perfectly imitate and execute the moves of the finest players in the world and use them as his own, would he be considered nothing more than a technical automaton? In case you're wondering, the answer is no. Imagine a player who dribbles like Denilson, shoots like Zidane, passes like Hoddle. Genius or automaton? No question there.

In any case, there is no such thing as pure originality anyway. Every technique, every application of the mind, has its origins in something. The way any individual looks at something and thinks about something and acts on something is influenced, nay, created by his experiences and the world around him. Any interaction relies on the self, which is nothing more than the composite of all the interactions that have gone before. There is nothing in the self beyond what is external. There is no such thing as the pure self. From some point prior to birth, when the child is yet unborn, but is aware of his or her surroundings in the womb, these surroundings already begin to shape the consciousness, for the mind cannot help but be shaped by all that it experiences, no matter how trivial. Even discarding some experience as trivial is in itself a factor in the evolution of the self, for then there would be a new, or at least clearer definition of what is trivial.

Stepping aside from the psuedo-psychology for a moment, there is a reason why some people are considered geniuses and some are not. For sometimes someone goes beyond mere imitation. Sometimes a person is able to weave together the experiences and interactions to create something new and brilliant. The communication of the self that is a composite of everything else is the key factor. Every person carries within him or her the potential for greatness and genius, for the tapestry of every individual mind is unique and fascinating enough to constitute a great work in and of itself. The problem is making it coherent to others to the extent that there is some understanding of it. When I denigrate someone for being stupid, it is not that I consider the person devoid of merit or interest, it is that I feel that I am unable to understand and appreciate whatever is interesting in the person. Note that sometimes these people may not actually hold anything of real interest to anyone. In such cases, then all I can say is, tough. Sometimes what is there is something I feel should not exist. I have immense disdain for those people who harass young children, or those who debase themselves for a few dollars when they are not starving, and whatever they may hold within themselves that is useful or interesting or brilliant, it deserves to be wasted along with these creeps.

To conclude, it is rare that I feel the need to interact with somebody on an equal footing. I retain my sense of self, as cobbled together from my life as it is, far too much to try to reach to people without any sense of superiority. Maybe it is a mark of insecurity, a decision to limit the exposing of the self for fear that it is insufficient to satisfy the world, and worse, myself. I cannot bear the thought that I might not be worth as much as I think I am, so I avoid the subject. When I type this, I am doing little more than validating myself by rationalising it in a way that is reassuring and logical, thus giving myself some buffer from the danger of loss of self-regard. Sometimes I think I am nothing more than an escapist, not so much from things, but from myself, the fear of myself, the pain of being myself and finding it not so interesting after all. That would be worse than anything else that could happen, for if I am not interesting even to myself, what then is the value of clinging to this existence that bores me so much already?