Subversion in the name of restoration.
Back in the days when my English skills were still in their developmental stage, I would rifle through my dad’s gigantic file cabinet of AAA member’s maps and spend a few hours each Saturday morning tracing roads and highways through every single Californian city I recognize by name. Eventually I decided that local roads were too much of a pain to navigate through so I shifted my focus to the three red pointy waves sitting on top of blue semicircles that I saw everywhere. Pops had plenty of scratch paper from whatever the hell he did back then. I drew maps of highway systems — yes, exit and entrance ramps included, loops, arcs, and all — and, not before long, I knew my way around the San Francisco Bay Area by highway numbers and major exits.
I grew up to appreciate the convenience Dwight D. Eisenhower Interstate Highway System and recognize it as one of the most magnificent man-made structures ever to grace the United States. Its powerful reach. Unmistakable branding. And how can I forget about the elegant on-ramps that I’ve sketched so much as a child.
Funny thing is, as I write this evening on an 2¼ hour Amtrak ride back home for Thanksgiving, I do not hold a driver’s license, yet possess a far more superior sense of direction than most of my peers who do. Consequently, I play the navigator’s role in the suicide seat. (Optimists may prefer the term shotgun seat. Pacifists will object.)
(If I really wanted to, here would be where I build up on an overly romantic metaphor between my amateur cartography and my preference of always knowing where I am headed. But I’d rather not, because that’s just overkill.)
I make an point to remain the clear-minded one in the room. The lone insomniac (admittedly, not always by choice) in a room of sleepyheads. I don’t drink, but I do not object to the use of alcohol in recipes. I always enjoy a medium-rare sirloin or a well-roasted beer-can chicken. I don’t smoke, but I’ve become accustomed to inhaling second-hand smoke for prolonged periods of time after growing up with a relative who smokes heavily. I stopped putting caffeine into my body since July of this year, but there have been a few incidents where the rich scent of a fresh black tea brew dragged me back to the fence and smacked me from behind.
I cannot find myself swearing full allegiance to any specific individual, organization, or belief, because every single one of them, even the ones that we hold dearest to our hearts, are flawed to a certain degree; V-fanboys and their “ideas are bulletproof” slogan notwithstanding.
There are rules, and there are contexts in which those rules must be broken. I value fairness over freedom; there should always be bounds to freedom. The day when we as a global society will live without these “limitations” will be the day when humankind possess a perfect soul and refined knowledge about every aspect of the world. And you know as well as I do that such a day will never come.
I believe in coexistence. The world will be a better place when the religious and the secular will be mature enough to work together to create a social order encompassing the best of all schools of thought.
I believe in the resistance, in various definitions. As long as the resistance exists, the opposition cannot assume total control. It is not about winning the fight. It is about checks and balances. It is about moderation, but moderation itself should also be used in moderation.
I believe in upholding tradition and preserving cultural values.
I believe in unobtrusive footprints and minimalist design.
In essence, I am a socialist in a capitalist’s tuxedo, a realist with romantic conspiracies, a robot who wishes to become more human, and most of all, a rebellious clone — an imperfect copy of an imitation. I am not a prophet, much less the Second Coming despite sharing the same date of birth as Sir Isaac Newton.
To borrow the words of McLuhan, I don’t want you to believe me, I just want you to think. But that sets up a tragic Catch-22, you know, preaching to the chorus and all. Happy I will be the day an anonymous stranger stumbles upon my writings and is profoundly moved. But who am I kidding here.
For every question left untouched in this passage will be a lengthy answer in my many writings on this website. With that said, hello there, and enjoy your stay.
Seyora Borelli
November 21st, MMVII