question The ‘State of Being’ Human? By Derek Brunen i recently travelled home for the christmas holidays. Home, meaning, to see my family. i hadn’t been ‘home’ for two years. Or rather, this was my way of thinking. Over the course of those two years, an anti-state had progressively taken hold of my ‘being’ As i would attempt sleep, questions, like neural infec- tions, would wash in, clutch me by the ideals and throw me into convulsions. Questions like: ‘Should i dye my hair?’ ‘What do people think of me?’ ‘Who, the fuck, am i?’ and ‘Where did i come from?’ Questions, i have to assume, that torment and challenge everyone. That’s right, the plague of the 20th century. i diagnosed myself as having a standard case of ‘identity crisis. But, like every ‘one’ else, i suppose i thought that my case was special. Confused and afraid, my father ran from the scene, leaving my mother and i behind. Young and frightened herself, she took me and ran in the ‘other’ direction. Living like nomads, we ran for a large part of my childhood. Spreading across most of Western Canada, we were perpetually on the watch for something, someone or someplace to sustain us. Somewhere to settle down. Somewhere to hide. i was convinced that a trip home would clear up this case of confusion, as though it were an eye-watering allergy caused simply by Vancouver pollu- tants. As though it were something to be cured. As though i could be cured. Forever on the move, i transferred schools thirteen times by the age of eleven. Early on it became apparent that i required some methods of analysis with which to make my adjustments. How could i make sense of these new situations? Where, or how, do, or does, ‘I’ fit in? It was difficult ‘being’ the new kid all of the time. Meeting new people. Making new friends. This was the difficult part. Becoming friends. Because it meant learning new languages. New forms of expression. New lingos, from mathematics to marbles and motorbikes. What i needed was a way of interpreting these situations (unfortunately, Levi Strauss wasn’t about to help me out with a structural breakdown). There was an advantage to being the new kid: i was experiencing these situations from a distance. IDENTITIES spring 1998 / planet of the arts 19 calls into i firmly believed that my ‘direct’ lineage and where i had come from were the determining factors in who i was and was to be. i had thought that per- haps a trip home for Christmas would help stabilize my position or affirm my direction in the world. Of course, in Western Canada, i met mostly with English and Euro-Canadian culture, but everyone in every school that i encountered ‘spoke’ differently. Out of necessity, i started learning how to read. Books, yes, but also people and situations. i started paying close attention to the things that people were not saying. i read the things that they did, how they behaved and with whom. What were the circumstances surrounding each sign? i understand now that, when you're new to a situation, things do not often make sense because things have their own sense. Just as i thought that things were beginning to make sense, just as i was becoming a part of the whole, an organ in the organism, we would move and everything was in question again. It might go without saying that i had some excess baggage with me. i had taken aboard a load of expectations. i expected to find things that i thought i had left behind, things, i thought i had lost. Like my toaster. Or myself? But now, really, i don’t think that these were mine to begin with. They were just means to which i had become accustomed, ideals that i had construct- ed. It didn’t occur to me that if you don’t have a toaster it doesn’t mean that you can’t make toast. You just find ‘other’ means. My mother finally found sustenance in my stepfather when they settled down in the place where we began our journey. Together, they also discovered the blunt end of most relationships. Opposition. And this, as in most cases, translated into abuse. i won't bother with the details but anyone who’s ever been directly or indirectly involved with these situations senses that there is always something going on other than what is overtly being said. So, to avoid ‘unnecessary’ conflict, you start reading the symptoms. And over time you begin to realize that everything is a symptom and that communication and understanding don’t begin and end with a swear word. Things happen in-between. And signs carry potentially endless meanings, dependent upon your perspective. Like water in your eyes, i suppose. At Christmas, i was expecting my family to relate to me as i percieved myself. i think i viewed myself as an ‘individual’ As separate. As a ‘serious’ art student with a world of potential. But, rather, they ‘spoke’ to me in terms that i had once relat- ed to. They spoke in the only way in which they understood me; they spoke in terms of our past. Terms that i felt i had outgrown. They didn’t relate to my new ‘perpetual now attitude. For almost two decades, my mother and stepfather would remain in brutal opposition. Each defending their own ‘position’ Imprisoned in a sustainable way of ‘life. One of opposition. A ‘state’ of opposition. A state of ‘being. A static existence. This way of thinking translated into a miserable reality. My trip didn’t quite meet my expectations. In fact, i felt like i had slept through the entire thing. Three weeks felt like one of those dreams that won't let you touch anything. Now i realize that it was because nothing there belonged to me. Because, perhaps, i was just reaching and holding on to something that really wasn’t such a concern. i left feeling like i hadn’t retrieved anything at all. Except rest. i came back with a feeling of renewal and maybe that was all that i needed. Nonetheless, they grow older now and they tire of the yes/no thing. They're too tired to venture into the world and find someone, something or someplace else to (temporarily) sustain them. But perhaps over the years, their positions, boundaries and definitions ceased to hold the same significance and gave way to something different. Perhaps, they began making sense for themselves. Perhaps, they became the ‘other’. Marriage, two kids, separation, divorce, whatever, eighteen years later, they’re still with each other. i understand, now, that i had been expelling so much force trying to pre- serve my ‘self’, that i began to lose sight of who i could become. My eyes were full of water. i didn’t see that there was an entire world of new and incredible people and experiences to explore. It didn’t occur to me that i could change, that i could become someone else. i could become other peo- ple. That iam other people. iam more than ‘one’ person. i had believed that ‘who i am’ meant maintaining an identity, or a person? Maintaining a sense of place? Growing up not outwards? Sticking to your roots like a tree? But life is far more complex than trees. More complex than families and lines, hometowns and heroes. There are endless fields out there. Playgrounds woven of people. Spaces for the new kids at school. Space to become friends. Space to become others. To me, they appeared different when i was home. The old stale-mates weren't in position. They were out meeting new people. They seemed more alive. i think the world was, ever so slightly, tugging at them again. i think they were changing. And as a friend once submitted, “If everyone were a witness, the world might be a better place.” i don’t know. Perhaps we just need to wipe our eyes? oO) age: 54 hit and run: ran into an art school anecdote and sped away in a mid-60’s fishing story. age: 46 failure to follow stipulations within new local policy #1: all persons reserve equal right to complain and are, by law, subject to complaint age: 12 quantity possession of television and refusal of outdoor activity test age: 13 skateboarding in private domecile and refusal to surrender personal information calis into question The ‘State of Being’ Human? By Derek Brunen irecenly travelled home for the chr mas holidays Home, meaning, to ce my family.‘ had ben ‘home’ fortwo years. Or rather, this was my way of thinking (Over the course of those two years, an antistate had progressively taken hold of my ‘being: Asi would atempt sleep, questions, like neural inf tions, would wash in, cluch me by the ideals and throw me into ‘convulsions. Question ikeShouldi dye my hair’, What do people think ‘of me? Who the fack, am and ‘Where did i come from? 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