martes, 12 de enero de 2021
The violence in me - 2011: How Thoughts Create Physical Reality
There is a memory that I would like to share, a memory that emerged very recently from an event that took place in such a young moment of my infancy, that I could barely remember and pay attention of the details of this event and how much it actually impacted me, along with the kind of movies that I used to watch with my father since I was very young, especially the action movies.
My parents used to have a mini van, one of those with a big trunk, in which I liked to sleep whenever we had a long trip, and such was the chase on the evening that we returned to the house, and a man suddenly appeared from the corner of the house and tried to rob us, I remembered that my mother and my bigger sister suddenly took me and my little sister in their arms and ran out of the car, screaming and running towards the interior of the house, while my father was fighting with the robber on the ground, I started to cry worrying that my father could get hurt or worse. I jump from the arms of my mother and ran to a corner of the door, where there was a big hole from which you could see clearly the street.
In the very instant that I looked through the hole of the corner, I saw my father punching the face of the robber over and over again, and the moment I saw that, I started screaming and crying, I was worried for my father, but also for the other person, because I didn´t wanted them to hurt each other. I was very very young; and how this picture of seeing my father punching that man, influenced me, because after that day, I remember how my parents will talk about it within a certain "tone of excitement" in their voice, as if it was a triumph that made of my father a hero for a moment.
Whenever my parents saw any of us (me and my sisters) fighting between each other or with other person, they would tell us that it was bad, but suddenly that moment turned into something that was "good", because it was explained to us that the man that tried to rob us was a "bad person".
Now that I had the chance of visiting this community of self-defenses, and more specifically the therapeutic center for rehabilitation of drug addictions, along with the chats and conversations that are taking place every day on the community and up to three times a day, while listening to the sharing, words and history of the people who are going through the process of rehabilitation, I came across a moment within my own personal story in relation to violence. And this happened while a man at the inside of the rehabilitation center, shared how he was about to kill a couple of co-workers with a machete and how he used to believe that that was something to be proud about.
As I was hearing the words of this man I could remember how I used to hold such ideas in my mind, and I couldn´t stop wondering "where the fuck does that really come from?"
As my father couldn´t spend a lot of time with us at home, I would get any chance on the weekends to be around him, and the moments in which that could happen, was when he would sit on the couch to watch an action movie (Terminator, Rambo, Robocop, etc.) One of the favorite movies of my father was Gladiator, it still is, but something would happen after that day, from which I would start to pay attention to the whole portrait of the "Hero", I mean obviously the definition of "Hero" it´s so basic and so unexplored at that age that, I am not seeing a "Hero", I am seeing a human being shooting, stabbing, exploding and killing in every possible way other human beings, but with the same "positive aura" around the character that represents such aggression and violence that is justifiable between human beings, because it´s defending a higher "good".
It´s ironic to what degree we are willing to play such roles and representations for a moment of recognition, a moment in which we are able to shine amongst every one else around us and believe for a moment we are more than the others, we are especial, and we have reached the top of the tallest tower to save the princess for which we are willing to fight and kill ourselves for, just to end up in a broken and dysfunctional marriage at the end.
I continue in the next post