What I Am and What You Are

I can't quite express the hate that I have for you.

I see you walking down the street. I read about you in the news. I see you on crappy TV shows.

You don't know me, but I know you quite well. Better than I wish I did.

How can you be the way you are and keep that obnoxious smile on your face?

I see you walking down the street, waving flags. 

I read about you in the news, asking honest, good people to change their views for your convenience. 

I see you on crappy TV shows, styling someone's hair, and telling them what to wear, and bragging about your last encounter, and which actors you'd like to be your next.

You can't control what you are, I know that. But you can control how you speak, how you act, and what you do.

You can be what you are without being the way you are. You can suppress the showier aspects of yourself. Like I do.

I hate that I am the same as you. I hate that what I am can be associated with what you are.

I hate that you have to own certain qualities, as if we all have the same ones.

I hate that I cannot tell people about myself, because they will think I am like you.

I could not have any less interest in fashion. I know nothing of the vibrant colors you wear on your sleeve.

As a fan of movies, I hate that I cannot talk about actors who I enjoy, without everyone thinking I'm only looking at them, and not at their art.

I hate that my older brothers before me have been beaten, some even killed, because people bought into ideas of them that you put into everyone's heads.

I hate that comedians and writers can get an easy laugh just by mentioning what I am, and what you are, with no wit or artistic skill attached to their statement whatsoever.

I am seen as a joke, and I hate it. Yet, you buy right into it. You make the jokes yourself. You willingly continue to be what everyone mocks you for being. And I hate that.

You should know as well as I do what you're perceived to be. And yet you seem to have no problem making the problem even worse. 

It kills me when everyone laughs when you mock yourself. Like they're in agreement. Like you're all just stating facts about our inferiority.

This is an inferiority that I've known as long as I've lived. I remember being very young, learning about the things that were wrong with me; from family, friends, classmates, and teachers.

I remember seeing the fates of my older brothers, and learning how the world saw us. So many people couldn't be wrong. It had to be me who was wrong.

And yet, you didn't feel that. Did you? You knew what you were, and you were not influenced, as I was influenced.

I see now that when you were making those jokes, wearing those colors, waving those flags, doing the things that you wanted to do, you knew very well of everything that I told you.

You knew what the perception of you was. There was nothing I could tell you about that. You just didn't care.

You didn't mind laughing because you liked to laugh. You saw no reason to concede inferiority, because then you would actually believe it was true.

You saw nothing wrong with making jokes. You were not contributing to false ideas, you were laughing at them. 

When you made everyone else laugh along, you were endearing yourself to them. Now they don't laugh at you at all. They laugh according to what you've permitted. They see you as a human being.

I see now that it was because of you, waving those flags, designing clothes on crappy TV shows, interrupting people's hatred with laughter, that I never had the courage to do, that the feelings of inferiority are quickly falling away.

I thought it was you who was agreeing with everyone else, but it was me. The change I wanted was never going to come from denying myself, and hating what I was, like it seemed like everyone else did.

The fate of my older brothers, who I've seen killed and beaten, hurting and killing themselves, is something I will not know. I can now live a life far greater than I would have allowed for myself.

This is because of you. You with the vibrant clothes, and the bright flags, and the loud mouth. You, who I hated, because you weren't what I wanted you to be.

You have saved my life.

Thank you.