Fame

I have got three spheres to my existential aspirations. Fame, wealth and power. These humbugs are euphemisms for my fear of obscurity, poverty and failure. They are a foul taste in my mouth. They are mortar, sinking down my throat. I am a person. I am more. You will see, in time. I will be at the height of my goals. These goals, and the yardsticks to define them, are very western and I must admit they are quite curious. It is a continuous strife to be at the top of some societal hierarchal construct. I am a star. The fetish in my community is competition. I am kept busy with ‘noble’ works and activities that will preserve my existence. I am bigger than life and I will not be forgotten. I am famous. I need no further identification.

There are a few dimensions to my quest for fame. They are somewhat rooted in some personal ethics. It blows up to become a public show and it never gets contained afterwards. My life stops being mine and every bit of me belongs to you all. These dimensions were meant to put things in perspective and gear me towards self-actualization. But I have come to believe that I am nobody if you don’t see me. But how can you not see me? I mean I am at the height of rank, credit, character and reputation. My ‘excellence’ at these has propelled me to some mini-stardom. This is where I lose wits. My self-consciousness has become hinged on some external validation.my satisfaction comes from the ratings you put on me. I am on TV. I am verified on social media handles. You think these things are mundane? Can you drive without gas? I need gas. It is not mundane! You all have my life in your hands and every bit of me isn’t mine. I am famous. I am not myself. But that is okay. I am not a nonentity.

It is nice to be recognised. If you understand what it means.