Identities

by Rie

I’m thinking of a hat rack. It’s such a weird image.

And that was an awful way to start a blog post. I’ve been very conscious of first lines recently (mostly because I’ve been editing the first lines of each opening chapter again and again and again).

I think it shows the state of my mind. It’s weird.

Whenever I think of identity now, I think of hats, you see. I think, this is where your brain and, therefore, you go home.

How do you actually choose an image? And I’m conscious there’s some sort of element of choice. There are so many to choose from, too.

It seems like such a sum neutral thing – neither good or bad, just there. But, I don’t know, it seems like a trap.

Maybe it’s because I’ve been stuck in a rut as the quirky, happy-but-sometimes-depressed girl who spouts random facts. And I feel weird when that is taken from me. I like the little oddities that form my identity: hates shopping, can’t handle fashion for her life; low key but opinionated; middle-aged in mind, etc. Sometimes I feel like I’m play acting a manic pixie dream girl.

Well, I am sorta manic.

The trap is in the play acting. The desire to act in a manner consistent to what others see as my behaviour.

I have once worn two identities (dark secret of my past, ha). I’ve always wanted to be two. And, so, I made myself become two. It’s easier with the internet. Might explain why I’m so muddled.

Now I do it in writing. And I think that’s where I play with the edges of identity most.

I think of reviews which decide a book is horrible because the person acts stupidly/erratically/out-of-character. I think of knee-jerk reactions to sudden changes in a person’s personality in real life.

I think of the fear of being indistinguishable from the masses. How can you tell one fish from a school of fish? Or, to extend my previous metaphor, how do you distinguish one hat from another?

I walked the streets of Sydney and thought of everyone: you are the same as the previous face. My face is the same as the previous face. There is nothing striking. There is no need to remember it.

Then, I think of fashion and how that’s meant to be a manifestation of your inner self. Certain stripes of people wear this, these kinds of people could pull stripes off – in essence, you only have two seconds with me today, try and know me!

It’s the knocking against the box: I am not a character in a box, don’t try and pigeonhole me, don’t try and know me.

Know what I want you to know about me. That I am predictable and unpredictable at the same time.

What a hassle these thoughts are. No wonder my brain is buzzing most of the time.

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