For the sake of context, this piece was the product of an assignment for my AP Literature class, in which we were to write a sort of imitation of Chaucer's style using characters/stereotypes found in high school. I decided to go for somewhat of a self-parody. This is the result. Yay!
Only for the most dimwitted person would it possible to miss the Pseudo-Intellect’s confident strut down the school hallways, the way he angled his head most peculiarly and pridefully. He had a gleaming smile that broke through the dread of the stressed majority of students, and though aloof as he often was, his happiness and undying optimism, even when tinged with arrogance, was contagious; for many, being in his presence was enough to make them stand up a few inches taller and be buried in their books a few inches lower. He always carried two or three books under his arm at all times, in addition to his loaded backpack. There were rumors that his backpack was actually filled with bricks, to give only an impression of having a heavy workload, but he, unflinching in the face of these accusations, dispelled the myth by opening his backpack, revealing three 2-inch binders filled to the brim with binder paper. His accusers apologized.
He apparently read the dictionary in third grade, for fun. As preposterous as that claim was, he was, however, in any conversation, able to produce an air of intelligence and assertiveness; his voice was commanding and his speech was persuasive, and all were keen to hear what he had to say without a desire to interject. Of course, he did not really read the original Latin Bible or Swann’s Way as he claimed, and was rather intent on displaying his thin facade of knowledge. To the more intellectually honest and well-read, it was obvious that the Pseudo-Intellect lacked the necessary information or capacity to warrant such boasting, but it was hard not to be at least slightly impressed by the convincing show he put on day in and day out in each of his seven classes.
So when he found himself on the bus, sitting next to a pretty girl he had not been introduced to, who could have blamed him, with all of his assets of persuasion and showmanship, for telling a tall tale? He most often drew from his childhood, which was in reality pleasant but usually made dramatic, which he then laced with brilliant archetypal plot structures or philosophical reveries. Some of them dragged on longer than others, but there were those, such as the one which is currently having its beginning delayed, that latched on to the listener for reasons of awesome entertainment and the occasional genuine epiphany. And now shall the Pseudo-Intellect’s tale begin:
***
When I was little, like say—I must have around five years old? I spent a lot of time outdoors. And by that I mean the little patch of dried grass in my backyard. I was kind of that proverbial kid that turns dirt with a stick all day, and I remember my mother would always be piping at me to read books and do SAT prep and that I was going to get skin cancer from being out too long even though it was clearly raining. I mean, the rain is what makes it fun, you know? That’s when all the worms and roly polies come out, and when you can actually get a fistfull of dirt (or rather mud) without it just seeping through your fingers.
Anyhow, the playing part isn’t the important part. Being outside, that’s when I was able to connect with nature, you see? Being under the sun, under the trees, singing with the bees, Transcendentalist mumbo-jumbo. Out there in the open air, I was able to really discover myself, and—and clear my thoughts. Before that, I used to think that Santa Claus existed, and that ball was life, and that absolute morality was derived from my parents. There were a lot more assumptions, of course, but I won’t bore you with the details. From the day I was born, I was conditioned to fit in, to conform, to become a sheep of society. But I couldn’t allow that. Never. Especially not after seeing the world, being out in nature, and having revelled in the beautiful sensations outside. The discrepancy was simply too great, and for a while I was in this existential conundrum, unsure of what general philosophy I was to adhere to. I was stuck between the world I saw, and the world I was told to believe in.
I was young, full of energy, but I felt old then, as if the whole age of the universe had just sort of descended onto my shoulders, resting on my back as I sat on that patch of dead grass, churning moist dirt. I dropped my stick. I looked up. I sighed. And then I hung my head, staring down at the ground, silently muttering questions of “why?” and “how?” to the slow-moving worms beneath the soil. I was at once angry and defeated, feeling helpless. The sky seemed larger than ever before.
There, I ruminated over the essential questions of life. Though it was hard, and I often found myself frustrated and without direction, I came to an epiphany. It happened so suddenly, you know, just—out of nowhere. All the answers just rushed into my mind like a raging wind, like the clouds parting, like—
Nonetheless, metaphors aside, here’s the answers that I found that afternoon. Firstly, I realized that in order to succeed in this society, you have to be the best. Like, best best. You can’t just pretend, you can’t just—just fake it all. Act like you know everything, as if glossing the surface and using big words could vindicate you from pretentiousness and arrogance—no, you have to actually know it. Otherwise you’re just a faker, and fakers can only go so far.
Secondly, I realized that honesty isn’t the best policy. Being honest, and the worshipping of it, is just really a tool by the insecure and weak to try and pry the truth out of people. Really, truth be told, honesty is overrated. Appearance over reality. That’s my jam. You got to show people what you have, sell it, force it down their throat and them choke them with it, pump up your muscles and tip on your toes, use any means necessary to lower other people down. Now—now that may sound a little mean, or cruel, but hey, that’s just life, you know? That’s reality. Survival of the fittest, yeah? That was a great realization. Helped me a lot.
Thirdly, it was that you have to know yourself before you know other people. I mean, in a mystical sense, you can only see in others what you see, or at least understand, within yourself. So to me, it’s important for me to keep on thinking deep thoughts, internally probe, search hard and long to know myself, and even more importantly, to expand myself. Not physically, of course, I pride myself in staying fit, but intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually. I’ve read all the Wikipedia articles on Neichte and Kant and Aristotle, all their ideas on God and truth and metaphysical stuff. I’ve read Jeffery Chaucer, Shakespeare and all his books and poems, but I also go out of my way to read more recent things too, to keep myself current and all. It’s not all books though, of course. At school, I carefully observe different kinds of students, how they act, how they write, how they talk. Doing so has really opened my eyes as to how I can get better. Get better at what? Well...everything, of course. But anyways, just watching, it helps me avoid social faux pas, and little things like that, small things that would hurt my image, that would diminish my social status. That’s how I stay on top of the game.
So yeah, minus the rather lengthened explanations, that’s what I got from playing outside as a kid.
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