Déjà Vu

My Dad wasn’t the most talkative person. When he and Ricki, my step-mother, separated, our meals at the dinner table would be anything but gregarious. During most dinners neither of us would utter a word. Looking back I don’t think I made it easy for him. Although, don’t we all when we’re going through teenage angst? During high school I was a brooding teenager who moped around the halls with head held down and hands tucked in pockets. I’d come home from school, go straight to my room, shut the door, escape to my cd collection, come out for dinner, then head back to my room and close the door behind me. My self-imposed exile to my room was largely consequential of my penchant for solitude and meticulous self scrutiny. In isolation, I would observe my actions, thoughts, desires, hopes and fears. Even on a packed bus or a bustling street I would withdraw from my surroundings and climb the inner synaptic walls of my narcissistic neurosis. If I was asked how my day at school was, I replied “Fine.” And if I was asked what I did or what I had learned, I’d say “Nothing.” My withdrawn silence used to drive Ricki up the wall. She would say “Really? You did nothing? So you just sat at the desk and did absolutely nothing all day?” To which I’d respond with a scowling glare.

Today, I’m still fond of the occasional brooding days. I’m unsure of what provokes these pensive moods. The weather, olfactory memories and certain songs will put me in an introspective state. Rainy days always put me in a reflective mood. I think mostly due to the fact that the rain forces me indoors. If you’re staring out the window and all you see is grey skies and colourless puddles, how can you not be put into a state of melancholy? Vancouver is notorious for this kind of weather so it isn’t uncommon to find yourself arrested in a brooding mood for a whole week. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’m gloomy for a week. I actually enjoy brooding now and then. I get to catch up on all my deep thinking.

I think my olfactory moments are closely tied with déjà vu experiences. A certain smell, or even a particular sound will remind me of something from the past. It could be at the most unexpected moment too. It could be the way the morning mist smells on a particular day, or the song of a bird chirping away outside, or even insignificant background noise. I’ll pause at these moments and reflect. Sometimes I feel it reminds me of something from my past but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Very déjà vu at times.

Sometimes songs invoke certain memories and feelings that can be even more tangible than physical stimuli. Depressing songs affect me the most too but they don’t define me. I’m not a dark person – although I’m sure this post is painting me in that light – but I would say I’m very sentimental. When I was younger, my Dad used to frequently go on trips and be away for months at a time. I remember one day, he was going on an overseas trip and I was playing his Annie Lennox cd (“Medusa”) in my room. I didn’t change the cd in the stereo the entire two months he was gone because I didn’t want to forget the day he had left. This probably sounds strange, as I was already in grade 9 at the time. To this day when I hear a song from that album, I always think about that memory. I suppose this partly explains why sad songs affect me in ways that happy songs cannot.

Note: Certain prose and poetry can also put me into deep thought, but I think that subject deserves its own post. For another day.

The Outsider

“The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself.”

- Friedrich Nietzsche

I noticed certain groups and cliques in high school. Kids banded together based on tribe, race, and popularity. This trend started in late primary school but the bonds solidified in high school. I think for the most part, I was usually an outsider because I would only be in a school for less than a year (I was always moving to new cities and countries) and never shared the same history and inside jokes with my fellow classmates. I used to switch back and forth between groups of friends. I never liked to belong to only one group. I think I was happy to not get caught up in the drama that went on in each group. Thankfully, being an outsider, I never had enough emotional investment to be included in the drama. I always found the high school spectacle of popularity contest and gossip to be overrated, to say the least. I noticed some kids would band with certain groups just to prevent themselves from falling to the bottom of the social food chain. Let’s face it. Who wants to be the freak sitting alone in the corner of the lunch room? And when I say freak, I mean the kid who doesn’t appear to have any allies or belong to any tribe, thus, in the theatre of war that is high school, is considered no other than a freak. I may have been considered an outsider, but never an outcast. I much preferred to have close friendships with a couple of people. Looking back, I realize in each school I had one or two best friends, but never a small group of friends I could call my group. Even though I have a group from grade 11/12 high school in Canada, I’ve still never felt a huge bond with that group. I’ve continued to make new friends through work and Uni. I think whenever I hang out with that high school group in the group environment – when we’re all in attendance – it feels almost ritualistic and somewhat formal. I’m probably not making sense. I just find I won’t have a real conversation with them in the group environment because our dialogue merely consists of inside jokes and social pleasantries like “How have you been? What’s new?” interspersed with counterfeit laughter. I’ve never been one for small talk. I’d rather stick my head in an oven a la Sylvia Plath. But whenever I’m spending time with one of my friends from that group, one on one, I find the conversation to be much more enjoyable. In an earlier post I likened myself to the stubborn black sheep of the herd, but I think it would also be accurate to say I’m the lone wolf out of the pack. The outsider. The loner. Am I a wolf in sheep’s clothing?