Whatever People Say I Am That’s What I’m Not

“Okay darling, just one more picture and we’re set. Perfect!” the photographer smiled broadly at his model, a young girl of about 20 with blonde hair and the greenest eyes you’ve ever seen. She let out a girlish giggle.

She was a relatively unknown actress, posing for the cover-story of a famous magazine.

“Tracy! The journalist is waiting for you. Better hurry!” her agent called after her.

“Tell ‘im ta’ keep waitin’! I don’t do any rocket travel!” she yelled back.

“He’s already been there for at least an hour. Tell you what, I’ll take you there and bring you one of those milkshakes you love.”

Tracy suddenly looked excited. “Oh, the pink one? Strawberry flavoured! Yum!”. Her agent let out an inaudible sigh. “But you better remind that lady to put chocolate sprinkles on it. Lat time she forgot an’ it was no good.” Tracy reminded her.

“Sure thing. You just go do that interview and I’ll come by soon enough with your milkshake.” Her agent forced a smile. Tracy could behave like such a child at times. A spoiled child. Especially when she spoke too loudly, or let out that high-pitched laugh of hers or refused things just because they weren’t joyful enough. But she could be as tricky to handle as the devil and even Melanie, as her agent, still asked herself questions sometimes, wondering if maybe some of the magazine-cover-Tracy she had to work with daily could be just an act. But people seemed to love her nonetheless, hence the interview she had to do just now.

“Tracy! Wonderful to see you!” said a tall man, of about 30, with a ‘PRESS’ insignia clipped to his shirt pocket.

“It’s nice ta’ meet you too.” Tracy giggled as they shook hands.

“So let’s sit down and I’ll turn on the recorder and we can start our interview.” He looked at Tracy waiting for a word of approval.

She smiled broadly. “Great!”

He pressed a button and the tape started rolling. “I’m Jason Evans and I’m sitting with Tracy Flemming. Say, Tracy, do you have a middle name?”

“Yeah, but I don’t really like it. It’s Marlene. I think Tracy sounds loads better.” Again, she giggled.

“Good to know. So what do you think about your acting career? Where do you see yourself going?”

“Well, it’s hard to say. It’s a tough business, ‘ya know. People to deal with every day. I don’t know what I’d ever do without ma’ wonderful agent. She does all the nasty stuff, like negotiating contracts. I hate that stuff, ‘cause it’s way boring.”

“Mhmm… And what do you like to do for fun? To relax?”

“Well, I don’t really know what to say. I like movies. Comedies, but not French ones, those are totally annoying.”

“I see you like milkshakes.”

“Haha… yea, I love them.”

“What about books? Or music? What do you listen to?”

“I don’t read much. Books are boring. Mostly I read magazines and I listen to whatever’s on MTV.”

“Okay, so now, let’s talk about fashion…”

And the interview went on and on for about an hour.

~~~

“Wait! Walter never told me you’ve worked in the anti-terrorism department!” said a man with an inspector badge on his coat.

“Well, who are you going to believe now? This is probably not the first or the last thing Walter gave you a false impression about. He seems to make a habit out of misleading people.”

“And all this time I thought you were just a silly newly-appointed detective. How did you manage to get everyone fooled?”

“Whatever people say I am, that’s what I’m not.” said a woman in her twenties with jet-black hair and the most stunning green eyes. “Case closed.” she said as she turned around and walked away.

“Aaand cut!” a voice said from behind the cameras. “Great job everyone! This is our last take for today. Go home, don’t drink too much coffee and don’t cause too many traffic accidents because I need you all here tomorrow morning at 7:30 for the bookstore scene. Goodnight!”

People were walking around the scene mumbling about the horrible hours they had to endure as the cameramen and sound engineers turned off their equipment.

“Where’s Tracy?” a woman called from the wardrobe. “She forgot to give me back the wig.”

“Eh, don’t worry Helen, she’ll bring it back tomorrow.” another woman answered.

Meanwhile Tracy was in her car, driving north to her temporary home: a small, but welcoming house on the East Coast, with the Atlantic as a back yard.

As soon as the door closed behind her she felt the day’s stress catch up to her. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and was slightly surprised to see that she had forgotten to take off her wig. She studied her hair for a moment, thinking about dyeing her blonde hair which she never thought suited her, a nice shade of copper-red. Maybe next month…

Taking off her shoes she slouched in a cosy armchair and picked up a history book. Opening it at the marked page she began to read.

Suddenly someone jumped in front of her, snatching the book out of her hands.

“Julia! Give me my book back! I had a tough day and you know I hate it when you brutally interrupt me while I’m reading!”

“Awww, Marlene, can’t your favourite sister try to grab your attention once in a while?” said Julia who was about the same height as Marlene and had the same hair, but aside from that they were completely different.

“You’re my only sister, Julia. And don’t make that face. Now give me back my book.” Marlene demanded seriously.

“Uh, fine. Want some tea?”

“Sounds wonderful. Thank you.”

“I saw that interview you did for the magazine.” Julia said as she poured hot water in a cup. “Jeez, sis’, your name is about the only thing I recognized in that article.”

Marlene said nothing but smiled smugly.

“And Brian called.” Julia added.

Marlene looked lost for a moment.

“Brian… computer-guy Brian.” her sister tried to explain.

A look of comprehension changed Marlene’s complexion. “And?”

“He wanted to know if you’re done beta-testing his programme.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll post a note on the fridge to remind me to call him tomorrow.” After taking a sip of her tea she said “You know, I was thinking about dyeing my hair red. Think it would suit me?”

Julia smirked “How could red not be fit for the Devil herself?”

... and they made me read my freakin' homework !!

"I AM CERTAIN IN AN UNCERTAIN WORLD"

In order to avoid being misunderstood I have to mention first that I am not one of those people. I usually feel rather uncertain and reconsider everything when all around me people are saying I want this or that, I feel this way, I believe, I trust, I am… Some people seem so certain of one thing or another that they sometimes make me believe in that very same thing, if even for just one second. This sometimes scares me. I don’t really want to be deceived into having a certain opinion; I want my own opinions! How very selfish of me…

Charismatic people are powerful people and potentially dangerous people once they gain awareness of their power over others. ‘The gift of words’ is a wrong way of looking at the issue. Though not as poetic, ‘manipulation’ is a little more accurate term. I’m afraid of being manipulated.

Someone (I don’t remember who it was; maybe it was me all along, or one of those voices inside my head) said that the best kind of situation is when you are forced to do something you like. Of course! And if something goes wrong you can place the blame on whomever (but you still get your fun… good deal, eh?). On the other hand, I feel like I’m going through hell when I know I’m fighting a lost battle and that in the end I will be forced to do something I completely despise. Oh, but there is something which is so much more unbearable to me and that is the ‘awakening’, meaning that after the deed is done I suddenly realize that this was not at all what I really wanted. So who’s to blame now? Anyone! And everyone! The whole world! It’s a conspiracy! Or maybe it’s just me, or Alice (that one voice inside my head which is not really a voice because she never speaks, she just smiles knowingly at me or looks curious regarding my decisions). I guess in the end it’s mostly my fault. I should have been stronger, wiser, a better judge of character, a more confident person and I should have maybe paid more attention to myself and others.

It’s my curse. I ask too many damned questions.

Speaking of “damned”, I’m not a religious person. I grew up in a house which simply had almost nothing to do with religion; it was like air, no one denied its presence, they just never mentioned it. It was only twice a year that things turned into vibrant shades of red: Christmas and Easter. I now realize that even during that time (first to third grade approximately) when I said that I believed and recited my prayers at school and before every test I didn’t actually believe. I think it was more the fact that I liked the idea of believing in God and consequently imagined that I did. And why else? Because I was told that “we, Christians” believe and do this and that and say so and should do things this way and stay away from temptation of all kinds and praise God because we owe our existence to Him etc.

Manipulated into thinking I believe in God - Reason no. 1 for which my respect for the church has plummeted since then.

Gradually I came to realise something. I was a catholic and my teacher was an orthodox! Of course I knew there weren’t many differences (except, maybe, for the much more beautiful catholic churches, in my opinion), but this gave me reason to start seeing things from a slightly more detached perspective. My imagined faith was already losing substance. Then came the questions, those obvious gaps in what we were taught at school, about which they only said that “it is so because God wants it” or “you cannot question God’s will, he is more powerful and wiser than we are” and “You need to have faith in God”. Well, I couldn’t. They couldn’t possibly ask me to be blinded, to believe with all my heart in something which they claimed to be perfect, but which was oh-so-obviously not! My uncertainty about religion had suddenly turned into another kind of certainty. I did NOT believe in God! His Infernal Majesty could take his business elsewhere; I was not interested in Him any more than I was in a paper printed picture of Mona Lisa.

Looking back, that was a bit harsh of me. I was judging Him, in all his perfection, because of what some stupid, imperfect idiots that called themselves human beings did. Whatever was left of my faith, which had been so carefully demolished, was now laying somewhere in the darkness, shattered and scared as the last remnants were blown away by a ray of cursed blinding light.

I never thought of attempting to rebuild things after that. It simply did not interest me. Of course, I didn’t have anything against people who believed as long as they didn’t have anything against me not believing. Never again did I say that I believe in God, or that I don’t believe in God. I can’t even say I’m an Atheist, now can I?

What I can say now is that I actually envy people who believe in God and the Bible and whatever the Church says. It must be so comforting... For one, you are being guided, told what to do and how, and that makes things a little easier for the brain. Second, you can also find support in other believers, knowing you have something in common with them and that you are part of them, part of a group – a very large one.

Meanwhile, I, in my selfish denial, know that I must fight my demons alone. All freedom comes with a price, so I must fight my sometimes overactive imagination and set boundaries, decide what I consider right or wrong, seek answers to my own tormenting questions... slowly build my own sort faith in which to find comfort, with my own rules of conduct, my own opinions and no one else’s, my moral principles... all in all something in which I might seek assurance whenever I feel I need it most. It’s my sanity that’s at stake here. How long did it take humanity to build the basis of Christianity? Will I manage to do the same and assemble my own ideal belief? I don’t know.

I’m still fairly uncertain.

morning routine

Something funny happened today, you see, I woke up and went into the kitchen to make some tea and by the time I brushed my teeth I realised I had forgotten to light the fire. That's when I noticed the toothbrush wasn't mine. On my way to the kitchen I tripped over the bookshelves and it struck me that I was hungry so I opened the freezer. Slightly disappointed, I turned the TV on and wanting to change the channel I looked around for the remote. It wasn't inside the couch, under the table, or in any of the cupboards I searched for the cereal box. Hmmm, now I needed some milk. Yes, the fridge. It must be there. And surprisingly, there lay the remote, between a beer and some lemons. Now I could turn the TV off and go make myself some hot chocolate. Searching the drawers I found what I had been looking for. Now the lighter was mine. While sitting on the floor I thought about turning on the heat. Granted! Now all that was left to do was to find the slippers I had initially been searching for and make myself some tea. Why hadn't I thought of that earlier?