I'm passive-aggressive. It may not be an overtly noticeable quality, but it's there, buried beneath layers and layers and black clothing and ripped jeans. Although my choices of garment may be dubbed "unladylike" and a "fashion disaster," I assure you that I've never been happier. My mother doesn't approve, but she doesn't understand that there's a method to my madness: I don't want to be like everyone else. I refuse to act like your media-controlled, half-asleep, iPhone-using, everyday person. But in a paradox, I have discovered that in straying from the crowd I'm becoming less and less who I was and more a carbon copy of what I strongly dislike: our mainstream culture.
In the afternoons, as I drift toward home, I can't help but notice the great number of young people who have adopted my edgy fashion style: Converses flash bright, dark pants absorb the colors of the visible spectrum, and black hairs straightened and layered resemble my own. When did alternative become so popular? It wasn't when I set out on my journey to insubordination. That is not to say people didn't like it then, but it was a rare gem. Our society has convinced us that labels define our position in society. If we want to be reserved a spot among the elite, we must be seen wearing this season's collection. We are once again proving that we're nothing more than mirror reflections of other people's idea of originality. Sure, everyone wishes they had the finest clothes, but not everyone can afford $860 wool sweaters.
The fact remains that I'm a silent rebel, a passive-aggressive. I conduct my affairs covertly, always watching and calculating the moment at which to strike. Who am I kidding? I'm too afraid to break the law. Though, in the past, I've unheeded signs forbidding pedestrians to step on grass. That must surely count as defying behavior.
I presume this is the reason why I'm too afraid to speak up: I don't want to tarnish my reputation. But the greatest heroes of history spoke up, besmirched their family's name, and were condemned to death. (I can't believe I just compared myself to unnamed heroes). Why are we so afraid to be heard? Why do our voices intimidate us? The government wouldn't be an arena of turmoil were politicians not afraid to disagree. Why is it hard to embrace our individuality? To praise it? At the end, it all boils down to one single fact: we are made of the stuff of stars, and when we die, who we once were--our atoms, genes, molecules--will disintegrate and become one with the universe. Why do we care what other soon-to-be stars have to say?
The fact remains that I'm a silent rebel, a passive-aggressive. I conduct my affairs covertly, always watching and calculating the moment at which to strike. Who am I kidding? I'm too afraid to break the law. Though, in the past, I've unheeded signs forbidding pedestrians to step on grass. That must surely count as defying behavior.
I presume this is the reason why I'm too afraid to speak up: I don't want to tarnish my reputation. But the greatest heroes of history spoke up, besmirched their family's name, and were condemned to death. (I can't believe I just compared myself to unnamed heroes). Why are we so afraid to be heard? Why do our voices intimidate us? The government wouldn't be an arena of turmoil were politicians not afraid to disagree. Why is it hard to embrace our individuality? To praise it? At the end, it all boils down to one single fact: we are made of the stuff of stars, and when we die, who we once were--our atoms, genes, molecules--will disintegrate and become one with the universe. Why do we care what other soon-to-be stars have to say?
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