Thoughts | Last night I dreamt that somebody loved me...

The past couple of weeks have been challenging. On one hand, I experienced the worst day I ever had since I moved to Oxford, more than a year ago. It wasn't an isolated event either: in the past few weeks, I experienced some truly horrendous days in which it seemed like all the curses cast by my father had finally found their way to me. On the other hand, I also experienced some of the most beautiful and inspiring things that happened since the new year. I went from being the least alone, most blessed creature in the planet, to the loneliest thing that could ever dream of existing, all in the span of a few hours, again and again, over days, in a way that only Vulcans could possibly understand.

I won't describe everything that happened. This is not an usual log, by any means. I'll probably skip weeks 2 and 3 anyway, I am not out of that cycle yet. But I would like to write about what happened today, because if I don't write I'll forget. And I really shouldn't forget this.

 

 

I have been thinking a lot about what is it that makes a good person. It's been too long since I read Plato's Republic, but I remember Marcus Aurelius' Meditations, in which he optimistically said that "Man is born for deeds of kindness". After the Bishop saves him from being thrown back into prison, Jean Valjean (Les Mis), dedicates his entire life to the pursuit of goodness. So do Frodo and the Fellowship of the Ring in their efforts to take the one ring back to Mordor to be destroyed (The Lord of the Rings). I too aspire to be a good person. But what is it that makes someone good?

Tonight I went to the first in-person session of what is called the "society game". Every year, the RPG-Society comes up with an original concept for a game. Not Dungeons & Dragons, not Vampire the Masquerade, not Shadowrun... Something new. This year, it's a thing called Terminus, a story about a post-apocalyptic world in which people have survived underground for a hundred years.

The first thing we did after everyone was in the room, was form a big circle, and go around it with each person saying their names and pronouns. Names and pronouns. There were several "she/hers" and "he/hims", a fair number of "they/thems", and even a few "any pronoun will do". Here's a provocative thought: Probably all of the students in that room would call a trans person by their preferred name and pronouns. However, I don't think they do it because they respect trans people. I think they do it because it's "cool" to respect trans people. It is the kind of thing that gives one brownie points in modern society.

Why do I say that? Well... I have always preferred being called by my second name, since I was a child. For a long time though, that was a struggle. Most people made it a point to call me by my first name instead. There were many reasons for that. Some did it because they found my second name too foreign and difficult to pronounce. Some because they didn't wanna give me the satisfaction. Most people didn't really care about what made me feel more comfortable. They didn't think my wish to be called by my second name merited any consideration. And that was life. Now, however, everybody calls me Heather (both at home and abroad). The change works in my favour, but it's important to understand the reason why people now call me by my preferred name. It's not because they suddenly realized I am a person whose wishes merit respect. Not because they think I deserve the courtesy of being called by my preferred name. They call me Heather, because now there are societal brownie points given for those who call people by their preferred names. 

During freshers week, I was a stallholder for the Star Trek society. After setting up my stall and finishing preparations to receive the freshers, I asked a member of the organization for a chair. Her answer: “I’m sorry, we can only give chairs to people with accessibility needs.” That seemed absurd. Was there a shortage of chairs in a building designed to hold written exams? After all, I, like some other members of small student societies, would be at this event for 8 hours. The union member remained adamant: “We were told to take away the chairs from anybody that doesn’t have a medical need.”

Offering someone a chair is a kindness, but not of the type of kindness that gives you points in what we will now term the "woke scale of goodness". No. For that, the recipient of the chair must be a member of one of the many sub-categories of people whom the thoughtlessly woke recognize as "special". And if you're not getting points for being good, why would you do someone a kindness?

What am I saying? Does offering someone a chair makes one a good person? Of course not! I should think it takes more than an isolated act of kindness to a fellow human being to achieve goodness. But offering a chair to someone with an accessibility need makes you look good. Calling someone by their preferred name and pronouns makes you feel good about yourself, without the annoyance of actually having to try and be a good person.

 

I couldn't stay in the room for the society game. Not because of the pronouns, that was inconsequential. It wasn't the game for me, that's all. It was a pity, because I was very excited about it. I had imagined all of us around a large table, having the sort of fun I had during Trinity Term with Hoard of the Dragon Queen, or perhaps several smaller groups around multiple tables, with players swapping places like pieces of Australian chess, depending on where the story took us. I had envisioned myself slowly discovering my awkwardly tall character, exchanging looks and perhaps even hatching an in-game plot together with the one friend that would certainly be in the room... Perhaps even make some new friends... Well... It was not to be. In the end, the Society Game had no plot and no structure. It was just a bunch of people in a room talking to each other, kind of like a drinks receptions without any drinks or a party without any music. There were too many people in the room. It was overwhelming, and, ultimately, not for me. 

I should have just left, of course, but I was foolish. Instead, I excused myself and sat outside in the cold for three hours, watching to Dark on Netflix, listening to music and waiting for something that (whatever it was) would never happen... But while I waited, I did some thinking... And I realized that most of the people in that room, the people who so proudly display their tolerance of diversity by demanding that everyone in their discord server announces their preferred pronouns,... They are no different from the students who have been torturing me for the past several weeks. Knocking on my door, spilling food over my belongings, invading my privacy, disturbing my meals, harassing me online... And if the people in that game room lived in this house, they would be doing the same thing.

Over the past several weeks, I have been the target of much unkindness. I have seen the things I have spoken twisted by people of ill intentions. I have been denied the benefit of the doubt. I have been declared guilty of things I didn't do. Condemned by the tone of words written, but never spoken. Attacked  by people who don't even know me... And there is no help to be sought. I am trapped in a system engineered for people who are not like me. But such is life. This is what I must endure. And because there is no other guide, I turn to literature. To Kipling,  in this case, who instructs me to keep my head, trust myself while making allowances for others' doubts, don't give way to hating, and rebuild myself with worn-out tools. 

Which brings me back to tonight, and those three long hours, in the pavement of St. John's College, by the marquise, "atrapalhando o tráfego". Waiting for something that would never happen. Because I want to remember the loneliness of those hours. But I also want to remember to not be tired by waiting... And perhaps in that endurance there is some goodness...