Hope in Fire

I'm not much of a statistical or technical genius. Math is not my friend, and although science can be interesting, I have to work hard to do well at it. My idea of being "funny" and "creative" while writing a lab report that's boring me to tears consists of writing a long conclusion with big words and colloquial phrases, throwing in some French, presenting a carefully designed body suit to stimulate sweat, and finishing off with, "And this is precisely why fantasy writers and scientists don't mix." I'm afraid my mom was not nearly as amused as I was. But as I moved onto my second lab report, I realized that, in fact, science just might help writers out more than we imagine.

Although fantasy has always been my main genre, I recently developed a love for literary fiction. It doesn't have a strict definition, perhaps for the simple reason that it is a very free genre. Wikipedia, the omniscient website, says, "In broad terms, literary fiction focuses more on style, psychological depth, and character, the plot may or may not be important." The way I see it, LitFic writers are a bunch of psychos who can find meaning in a banana or piece of plaid cloth. And coming from me, that is a great deal of a compliment, and probably why I'm beginning to associate myself among these "psychos."

The second lab report that I strained through yesterday was about a fairly simple experiment. The first thing I did was light a candle, then stick a glass over it. Within seconds, the fire flickered and burned out. Then, I was instructed to fill a bottle with hydrogen peroxide and yeast, produce oxygen, and stick a balloon over the bottle to fill it with the oxygen. Then, I lighted the candle again and almost completely enclosed it with the glass, though this time leaving just enough room for me to stick the neck of the balloon under and allow the oxygen to slowly drain out, filling up the glass. Instead of flickering, the fire grew even stronger than the first time I lit it and did not threaten to burn out at all. The oxygen ran out and I snuffed the candle. The obedient student that I am, I "Observed and recorded what I saw in my laboratory notebook." But it took me a couple hours to truly realize the implication of what I had just done.

Every day, we are pressured. We are tossed around by society. Forced to conform. Ogled by friends and strangers alike, always under the judgmental watch of the people around us. That critical eye that seems to be maliciously waiting for our next slip-up. Face it: We're all that eye at one point or another. Even if we don't realize it at the time, I'm sure all of us can think of some point in our lives when we just looked at someone and thought "Wow, that doesn't belong." Whether it be someone's choice of shoes or the way that they say "hello," we're always watching each other. Some people are more critical than others. It's hard to resist looking at people, and at least considering what they say and do. The problem is when we become the glass.

We're all the fire. Small, weak, and vulnerable. But when given oxygen, we can shine forever, even growing brighter. It's the suffocation of society that burns us out. Our friends. Our family. Our acquaintances. Our church members. Our schoolmates. The person who serves you your dinner at a restaurant. The person who helps you find paint chips for your newly remodeled kitchen. Everyone. Everywhere. We're all being watched, and we're all watching. Some of us are weaker than others, but we're all capable of being taken out if strangled.

We all try to fit an image of perfection. For most of us, that image is out of our reach, no matter what we do. So often superficial and unrealistic. How do you think we even get that image in our brains? From everyone around us. From what they want. From the fake personae we all do our bests to portray. We try and try to be perfect because we assume that everyone else around us is, and that they all want us to be the same way. We try to force ourselves into the boundaries of our friendship circles, cultures, and cliques. We try to associate ourselves with the people that, in reality, we want nothing to do with, but need to be with because they're the ones with the friends. And it's ridiculous. All of us are drowning in our own imperfections. Why do we always think that the next person is better off than ourselves?

I've developed a hatred for society. Hatred for the masks around me. Hatred for the very mask I put on and wear every single day because I want to escape the prying eyes of everyone around me. Maybe if we all took our masks off, set aside our biases for once, and looked at each other with clear lenses, things would be different. Maybe we could all stop living in our own facades and be honest with each other for once. Because honestly, I'm sick and tired of having to guess who someone is, guess their past, their current state of emotions, and the truth behind "I'm fine."

I miss kindergarten because when I was five, no one felt like they needed to fit a certain standard. You didn't put your mouth on the drinking fountain and stealing crayons was obscene. But beyond that? You were free to be who you wanted. You were your own person and people actually encouraged originality instead of trying to force you to be someone you weren't for the sole purpose of pleasing the other fake people around you. I know I'm not alone in this. So many other people around me just want to stop. But how can we? All six billion people in the world aren't simply going to decide to take their masks off on the same day. It's a risk. It's a terrifying chance. But personally, I think it's worth it.

The ideal? It isn't to stop watching. It isn't to stop looking, or thinking, or even talking. The ideal is to stop judging. The ideal is to stop wearing our own masks. It is to be honest, to be real, and to be reasonable. To stop expecting others to live up to the same standards we hate them for trying to make us fulfill. Because we're never going to get there. We're never going to be perfect. We'll always be trying. And that goal is far too dangerous. I think the suicide, self-harm, depression, and eating disorder rates speak for themselves. Maybe, if we all stand up one by one, we can we can save some of those lives from death or ruin. It's a chance, but it's worth it.

So how do this idea, lab report, and literary fiction all tie together? Well, I guess I just found the allegorical meaning (literary fiction) behind my science experiment (lab report), and it all developed into this idea. You, me, and the people around us: We're the flames. It takes a glass to burn us out. Suffocation. Something unnatural. Something that shouldn't be allowed. Something that we shouldn't let take our oxygen away. So maybe it's time we stood up and inflated those balloons, letting our air loose into the flames around us. Fueling the fire that is our people. Changing society around and letting it breathe, one by one. Because the longer we let this horrible act of watching, judging, and killing continue, the worse it's going to get. And soon enough, if we don't stop it, all the fires will go out, and we'll be left in pity and death.

You've got the power in you to let another flame breathe. It's our choice. Will you take off your mask? Will you take the unrealistically tinted glass off of your eye and inflate the world? Once a few of us start, with the right kindling, our actions will spread like wildfire.

I sure hope we can. I'm tired of flickering.