The society that constantly preaches being different is the very society that punishes anyone who “goes too far in being different.”
The society that constantly preaches being different is the very society that punishes anyone who “goes too far in being different.”
―
Atrona Grizel
I was exposed to
young children sharing photos and videos of their obscene body parts taken with
their devices and uploading them to social media. They either strike poses, or
dance, or—because they were raised in an adult world full of filth—perform
erotic moves. When I look at this, I see only one thing, and it disgusts me:
their assimilation into social media culture. These children are probably
lonely, and their families either do not care for them or, even if they do,
offer no understanding, because only children left to their own devices like
this—and thus hooked to the few heart buttons that appear on their screens as
happiness—can do such things. One cannot imagine these children living in a
sincere, warm, happy home. At best they come from wealthy families that are
materially sufficient but spiritually lacking, families without any real
emotional relationship. Left far too much alone with the internet, they learn
everything from that filthy world, and because they learn it at such a young
age, it radically shapes their personalities—making it much harder later for
them to diverge from society. Sometimes I hear slang terms I do not know being
used by children who are not even half my age. The only emotion I feel when I
hear it is disgust, because what should be pure has been soaked in filth—and
inevitably will be—and that cannot be changed. On top of that, there is a
homogeneous youth culture full of “tough guys teaching adult things,” and a
child who cannot yet bear alienation will inevitably adapt to this sick norm.
―
Atrona Grizel
I have seen
people whose laughter leaves no trace of consciousness. They laugh in the same
tone, the same rhythm, the same way. Someone might call that a “unique way of
laughing,” but because I sense the primitiveness beneath it, I cannot dismiss
it as merely a simple laugh. They laugh, but I could swear none of them have
ever sat down to reflect on that laughter, because they are not the sort to
make a laugh into a matter of thought. Yet because I constantly analyze these
kinds of details, they have become maddeningly impossible for me to ignore.
―
Atrona Grizel
If “human nature”
is “good” but society corrupts it, then the only reason is that human nature
itself is “bad”; if “human nature” were “good,” no “evil” would come from
society.
―
Atrona Grizel
My mother used to
“research” study techniques on the internet and, the moment she read them,
automatically try to apply them to me, because she has a passive, consumer
mindset. In doing that, she did not consider whether those methods apply to
everyone, because for her to consider that—assuming she could consider it at
all—there would have to be a warning embedded in those “techniques.” She
assumes those methods will fit me the instant she reads them, because she does
not know me, and she sees everyone as the same. In her eyes there is such a
thing as “human nature,” and I am subject to its rule. But the irony is that
even if she subconsciously sees everyone as the same, she will always insist
consciously that she sees people as “different and special.”
―
Atrona Grizel
Consciousness is
not a curse but a throne, because only consciousness itself determines whether
it will be a curse or a crown. Even if consciousness can be a curse, because
this curse belongs to itself, it creates it itself, and that means this is
actually a cursed throne, but a throne nonetheless.
―
Atrona Grizel
There are moments
in my relationship with my family when I feel like a babysitter, because they
can turn even the most trivial things into reasons to yell and scream. When I
stood up to them, they would confiscate my computer or cut the electricity, and
since I had no life outside, I would just stay in my room for hours,
daydreaming to pass the time. They actually did this during my childhood as
well. I remember that when I was very young and got angry at them, insisting on
expressing that feeling, the first thing they did was not to show understanding
or affection but to seize my devices and force me to stand on the other side of
the door until I apologized. This means that, in a way, I apologized to them
for expressing my feelings. My way of communicating with them has always been
like this, meaning there has never really been any communication at all. And
according to them, the only one responsible is me, “an angry teenager.” That
might be partly true, but it was a phase, and it belonged to the beginning of
my adolescence. Back then I was extremely angry and openly opposed them because
I believed it could change something, simply due to inexperience. This caused
me to drift further and further away from them, because their flaws had reached
a point I could no longer ignore. But as my adolescence continued, my anger
gave way to alienation and indirect aggression. Whenever I expressed what I
felt, I was punished, and nothing improved. So circumstances forced me to keep
my anger inside. That anger actually came from their inability to communicate
at all. Sometimes I wonder how they were even able to get married, but then I
realize that almost everyone is like this: shallow and unaware enough to never
feel the absence of communication. Sometimes they would leave letters on my
desk instead of speaking directly to me, telling me that I “should care about
my future,” and that if I “got good grades, they would buy me a new computer,”
because to them love was something material. Whenever they said that, I felt
like saying, “Instead of a computer, get someone who will understand me,” but
if I had said that, I definitely wouldn’t have been understood. In those
letters they always began with “our dear son.” Dear to whom? We were clearly
just strangers living under the same roof, not a family. These kinds of
implications made me question whether my own feelings were a fantasy, because
they were never validated and stayed entirely inside me. I did not love them,
but they acted as if they loved me, which made me question whether my feelings
were real or fake. That’s why I could never fully own them. I just felt them;
that was all. And then there were the looks they gave me from my bedroom
doorway, always sending the same message: “We are two good parents, and even if
this abnormal teenager who thinks he’s something doesn’t appreciate us, we
still feed him.” When I was alone in my room, I would constantly glance at the
door, wondering if they were watching. And I couldn’t close it, because when I
did, since they could no longer control me, they would either break the lock or
remove the door entirely. Because of this, I developed a constant sense of
alertness and forgot what comfort feels like. Those looks followed me outside
too. My father would stare at me directly in front of everyone, as if mocking
my existence, and the people around either didn’t care or automatically took
his side. Once, when I told a teacher, “I don’t want to have a relationship
with my family,” he replied, “You’ve made me very angry as a father,” and told
me that if I didn’t go hug them, “things could go bad between us.” He said it
automatically. He didn’t know the truth and wasn’t even curious, because to him
the situation was obvious: I was “an aggressive teenager.”
― Atrona Grizel