On the Insignificance of Brian Foo

Contrary to purpose, reading Voltaire makes a Candide of me. Upon reflection of the story, I must confess that I also believe I live in the best of all possible worlds. Or rather, in this grotesquely imperfect world, I inhabit the best situation. I am incredibly blessed with the right amount of wealth/poverty at the right times to enable me acceptance into the right "programs"; doubly am I blessed with the right talents, for presentation and positive impression, regardless of substance; triply am I blessed for my unparalleled education up to this point; but most thankful am I for my passion and strong sentiments, for though they cause me much suffering and chaos in this life and make a fool of me in many circumstances, they also bring my life a fullness I seldom witness in others.

To whom do I owe these blessings? Society. The Democrats. Countless social welfare programs and nonprofit organizations. Most of all, my parents.

I feel I have a heavy debt to pay to society. I am standing on the shoulders of giants, my purpose yet unfulfilled. I must give back. I must give back. This is why I'm in college: to better understand my world, the power structures of human society, the troubles and sufferings of people who are without power, and the means by which these people can be empowered. The only way to live up to the gifts I've received in the past seven years of my life is to pay back: sevenfold, elevenfold - help people, keep paying back evermore.

(However, for the people to which I am most indebted, my parents, my contributive efforts are most impotent. I am a plague upon their lives. I traumatize my brothers. I am terrible. I know not how to amend my deeds; right now, I seek only escape from further witness.)

Seeing my life in this light, Brian Foo becomes very small. Transient. Ephemeral. A joy, but not deeply significant. The story of Candide makes me count my blessings; he is one of the best blessings in my life right now. However, the story also makes me think about the temporary nature of blessings: my life is going to be long and eventful, whatever joy or pain I feel I have experienced thus far will be nothing compared to the accumulated joy or pain I have yet to experience; Brian may be joy today and sorrow tomorrow; I don't know, it doesn't matter right now; I'm so young, I know so little about the world, I'm an unbroken idealist and abstractionist, I have a lot of hurting left to do. I embrace the coming suffering as it is the only thing in life that I am sure leads to growth; or if not growth, then signficant change; I do not ask for pain to come to me; nor do I brood, placing upon it dooming expectation; I think nothing of it, yet suffering will come of its own accord. That said, I am prepared.

Sometimes I want him to be my everything. This is magical thinking. I express it in saccharine platitudes, causing cavities in both our mouths. Other times, like in his cold moods of quietness when he ignores me, he becomes but a passing snowflake to me: unique? yes. lovely? surely. significant? not at all. There will be others, I don't care. I can't tell, and I won't hold my breath.