When Has My Authenticity NOT Shone??

There is no way of me divulging this without me emitting some inflation, a hefty slab of pride, but I’ll admit my legitimate conscientiousness of self-authenticity.

I don’t recall when I have been deeply inauthentic to who I think I am. I understand the boldness of that claim, but being true to myself is something that has literally weaved my life and shaped my personality.

Such a vivid sense reveals itself in my manifold accounts of brashly self-proclaimed authenticity. That was discovered in coalition with my music exposure: High-school, one more year to go, good grades and a profound distaste for the clinical, rationalistic environment of a school since day 1 at the fu***** place, — not to mention the power-hungry teachers so parochial beyond comprehension… — and what archetype of modernity activates within me? Slim Shady. My brother introduced me to his first album, and I was certainly not resistant to this novel bad-boy energy.

So I bleached my hair, pieced my ears and learnt every lyric. From then on I ceased to even go to the lessons which inspired zero interest - so most of them. I’d arrive on the bus, early in the morning in adolescent glumness, then walk out the gates to a nearby forrest. It was cold many days, a thin cotton sweater in winter served poorly in retrospect, howbeit that cold air and time to sit and think and build a wigwam nourished me more than those lessons. Looking back I regret that I didn’t start doing such earlier, for now, as a man — somewhat — I don’t even have any qualifications anyway: A’s and B’s I was, top notch until the last year, when a spirit penetrated me and changed my course - for the better…

From the on I realised my own authority. Parental constraints got weaker as I got older; and that amplified when I would fall in love with the the fumes of a green herb.

To solidify my case as being authentic from the womb, I’ll let you know I’ve wanted to be a performing musician since I was 9. I wrote my first song then, and still, at 24, I’m pursing that same dream, that exact nucleus I noticed at that young age I’ve nourished in much opposition to the clamours of family judgment, social isolation and disconnection, judgment; I’ve kept my inner eye on that dream through the storms that crash with the rains of doubt, through the waves of my neurotic disposition, through everything life has cast my way which has whispered or screamed I cannot be who I wish to be.

Very few things of myself I am sure, one being, however, my position within a framework of the world: Culture is an island, and in the middle of the island is the city, beyond the city is jungles and beaches, and then Chaos. Well, I live on the beaches, the outskirts, in the forests. I’m an artist, the man who thrusts his hand into the unknown depths to extract potential gold, potential data or wisdom to be eventually assimilated into culture, into the city. (Sometimes it can take a little while for it to reach the nucleus of the society.)

So, when I am asked in this challenge to think of a time when my authenticity has shone, I would say the vast majority of my life. (According to my fiancé, this is quite rare. She’s right.) I could tell you two similar accounts of my friendships ending on the premise that I came to clarity about our incompatibility and lack of overlap in interests - and characters! I don’t regret ceasing contact, I don’t think I will: I take pride, and always have, in being myself; and to open up on a deeper level, a fear of mine profound enough to state is of having my freedom taken away, my mailability and ability to be myself, who I truly feel I am: that is my greatest fear, that someone could deprive me of it.

Some, but not many people can do what I’ve done: the solitude, the solo experiments with drugs, the dive into rich literature classic and psychoanalytical, the exploration of the inner feminine, the essential time withe oneself to explore ones own psyche…

The flip side of the coin: I have no memories of sublime experiences with friends. Always I had acquaintances, but never once growing up did I feel like I really had a friend:, nobody could penetrate into me.

My employment story needn’t be spoken of much, for you should understand I was, a few times, pressured to delve into that sickly world of job-hunting at the bottom of the sea. Turned out not so well, and every single time hurt the genii within me somewhere trying so hard to be heard, trying to usher me to a greater personality. It did.

Conventions might as well be giant claws to me; I don’t want to get scratched by them and would preferably avoid them. At work now in 2021, I watch the monkeys doing their jobs. I see their patterns and often they make me laugh, for such kind of judgement without a little comic tonic can turn a bit bitter indeed.

Well, I’ve not much of a clue as to what one could extract; I’m honestly not writing with the hopes to elicit some ethereal sensation, an electric urge to be yourself, rather I’m quite bluntly letting you know that I have always been myself, and I always will. I shall make zero compromise, period.

I started this piece mentioned how my ego would inflate when I outline how adamant I am about my authenticity. I want to end assuring you fine readers that I am a fool in many ways; I pity myself the same as the next guy, I laugh when I can and love it like you do, I get anxious and a little stuck in my head but all I really want is cooperation, love; I’m afraid like you, unsure, striving on with a hearty heart, sailing down the river of Time.

I have so much more to learn, and I’m fully aware there are mistakes ahead of me — and a fair few behind me. I get nervous when I wee, I pick my nose, bite my nails, and the list could go on, but in the words of Slim Shady: “I just don’t give a f***”.

“A time when my authenticity has shone?” In all honesty, I say it would have greater utility in asking me of the times when my authenticity hasn’t shone. There are some, seldom as they may be.