Near to the turning point of having a 30th birthday only months away, must confess, in retrospective, I've had some points in my life were I have fallen into the social spiral of wondering myself "What am I supposed to be?" instead of "Who I really am?". **Even I have gotten trapped inside this malign cultural construct. **
You may also know it as an identity crisis. Sorry folks, maybe I am not the cool gal that y'all might think I am, mostly because as a matter of fact I do consider myself a pretty normal-average human being. At least I did hope I was.
Instead, a simple conversation with co-workers a few weeks ago has put the basis of my personality in perspective. In contrast with other women's interests with pretty much the same cultural, economic, and generational stratus than me, I ( not surprisingly) concluded that no, I am not a normal person.
Not that bothers me btw; but as a anomalous representation of my specie I can't help to wonder WHY. Why am I not even nearly close to want to have kids as most of 30 year old women? Why I could care less about pop culture gossiping? Why I found horribly tasteless popular trendings like the 50 Shades of Grey films (dull)? Why I don't like flowers bouquets? Why I'd never ever wear uggs? And most importantly:
Why do I like what I like?
This existentialist exploration it’s a fruit of a very naive comment to my equal fellow co-workers: I told them I loved Marilyn Manson; and one of them replied back he was a creepy character because he collected “human parts”, to which I sentenced: “Weird? But I do the same! I collect teeth... and love bones and skulls”.
Yeah, those are not my teeth
Horrified, they stand quietly in awe.. only to shrink shoulders moments later on my account because (and I quote) of how "obvious for me that kind of answer was since they already knew how of a freak I am."
And then it hit me: Why do I like something most people run from and evade due to an evident reminder of death? I should be repeling skulls, not wearing them around my neck, rigth? Why and when a jolly regular little girl grew to be a bone enthusiast (no pun intended). As well, at that very same instant I realized I was an unaware collector of skulls and crossbones… wait! Fake ones, of course. Calm down, friends.
Now, stop frowning. I do not keep animal bones or chicken leftovers in a box under my bed (that'd be a reference to Girl, Interrupted as you know: I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested) an DO NOT hurt little creatures. I haven't even had a cast or a fractured arm! I just like the shape of human bones. Now that I am mentally mapping my possessions I own innoxious skull related bric-a-bracs that go from Jack Skellington plushes to real human teeth.
Somehow I feel attracted to the very symbol of passing, and trust me on this: I am not obsessed with death nor do practice some some of death cult like santería. I´m not even mexican!... because of the Day of the Dead thing; not cuz I think fellow mexicans are evil witches (-facepalm-). And guess who gets all excited about Halloween decorations in a country where we do not celebrate all hallow’s eve? Yep, me! It's like my special Xmas.
Here’s my theory: I just got over exposed to it to the point where it became ordinary and usual. First of all I must clarify my family is not integrated by a bunch a sociopath graverobbers, I didn't attend strangers' funerals as a kid or wondered around cemeteries (how about yuk!)
By overexposure I mean that I just got to see a lot of it on Mtv... I mean, when I was in my pubescent years I was (and still am) a huge fan of rock metal music and everything related… let’s say that Dimmu Borgir music videos are not that shocking anymore. Namely, there's a lot of skulls, bones and screaming in those isn't it?
Also I am a major fan of horror flicks, zombie movies, ghost and ghouls films (watching The Conjuring right now!); I used to say The Crow was my favorite motion picture ever (a living dead avenger, hello?). Subconsciously, I was just giving overdose after overdose of terror to my teen boiling brain. Without knowing I shaped it like clay into the form of a cranium.
Fortunately, I was raised well enough to not become a Satan worshiper. Not that there’s something wrong with that, just skip the human sacrifices, kids.
This is a formula that would have had twitched any parent’s nerves out. But not mine, my mom in fact was very minded to replace a whole wardrobe with black clothing after I was 12 years old. She got me everything she saw that had a skull on it. Maybe my family thought that if they oppose it, I would fervently desire all those odds and ends even more rabidly. But it wasn’t a rebel adolescent phase at all, it never faded away. Actually I was a very quiet champ so there was nothing to get over to.
Me now... like right now.
Almost 20 years later I do still have a lot of skull and bones related trinkets and love then dearly. Aesthetically even yet I keep my skin quite pale, dress in black and have long Morticia’s hair as a reminiscence of a cadaver. It’s silly and found it even embarrassed to say; but my friends have cope with the fact that I (without conscious purpose) like to flaunt myself as a John Carpenter’s vampire -sight-.
Far from renouncing to what I love and distant from coming under the feared 30’s identity crisis, I have embrace the issue that I’ll be a old odd woman with a love for skulls. Maybe you have a more empirical theory that could explain my atypical fondness for bones. Thoughts?
Thanks for reading. Do you have any weird passion? I’d love to hear you up.
Interesting for sure. I'm 33. When we think about bones, we are thinking of our structure, foundation, our health, and that is good to focus one. Love the skull. My passion is in oatmeal.
WOW! I never thought about it that way! It's kinda great, actually...
And... "oatmeal"... what?
Muy bueno!
Grax!