Just Like Everyone Else.

When I was a kid I used to get called weird a hell of a lot, as I am sure most of you mutants reading this surely did. Now, I’m talking about when I was a little kid, before I knew what a bong was and during the sadder stages of my life when I would not have been able to pick Bob Dylan out of a line of old men, let alone utter a single word of Klingon. The phrase was most definitely “weird” back then, when pop music still ruled the air waves and Harry Potter was not even a movie yet.

To ask me why I was called weird I probably couldn’t tell you, because I thought I was perfectly normal. I thought that all ten year old girls had posters of Meat Loaf on their walls. I thought that all ten year old girls were teaching themselves Latin. I thought that all ten year old girls wanted to be Sherlock Holmes when they grew up. I thought all ten year old girls attempted to read the Times before school in the morning. I thought all ten year old girls wore orange jeans and BCR’s in their ears instead of little gemmed studs. I thought that all ten year old girls sat on their window sill listening to the radio and wishing they were a million miles away from where they were, who they were and what they would inevitably become. I thought I was just like everyone else.

I was oblivious (as most ten year olds are) to what adolescence would not only bring, but what it would take away. It brought all the things the things I was warned about, as I knew it would – puberty, secondary school, stress, homework, hormones – but it took away a lot more than I thought it would. It took away the innocence of the word “weird” became something all together more negative, making the now freakishness everybody spoke about more and more apparent as my friends began to grow up without me, but still I thought I was normal.

I thought that every fifteen year old girl had posters of Bob Dylan all over their walls. I thought that all fifteen year old girls were teaching themselves Klingon. I thought that all fifteen year old girls wanted to be Allen Ginsberg when they grew up. I thought all fifteen year old girls attempted to read Rousseau’s Discourses before school in the morning. I thought all fifteen year old girls wore hot rocked band t-shirts and BCR’s in their lip. I thought that all fifteen year old girls sat on their window sill listening to the radio wishing they were a million miles away from where they were, who they were and what they would inevitably become. I thought I was just like everyone else.

Then something shifted and I was no longer adorably weird or standoffishly freaky. I became this new breed of strange that still to this day I don’t understand the connotations completely of. I became a “geek”. Now I always thought that geeks were typically people with a deep and unrelenting not only appreciation, but understanding of space, time and science but somewhere the wires of definition have been crossed and sparks have begun to fly. I have found myself tirelessly unpicking the meaning of this word, that so many people label me with and I have to the conclusion that “geek” actually means “enthusiast”.

There are millions of people who think that being a geek or a reject or an outsider, a freak or weird whatever way you want to spin the barrel – they think its cool to be on the outside of the social norm. But take, lets say, a long haired, Satan worshipping metal head and put him in a room with a your typical imaged obsessed teenage drama queen. Now neither one of them are conventionally “geek” material but when placed side by side they show a remarkable reality and that is that we are all enthusiasts and therefore geeks.

The girl will know more about clothing brands, make up techniques and reality television history than the metal head, but he will know how to stretch an ear lobe the right way, why Metallica and Megadeth are linked and just how Tony Iommi lost his fingers – because what they care about, what they are enthusiastic about, they are completely obsessed with. Isn’t that what makes a geek a geek? The unrivalled and slightly unnerving obsession with their chosen fields of expertise and interest?

Now the metal head will think the girl is shallow, superficial and self righteous. The girl will think that the metal head is arrogant, should shave and wear less black but the point is the same. The popular kids bully the geeky kids, we’ve seen it a million times, but what made having knowledge about the planets more socially unacceptable than having knowledge about the price of shoes?

I think as a species, humans have failed at even the most basic of tasks the main one being social identity. Surely the human beings with the insatiable appetite for knowledge based around the advancement of the race – science, medicine, literature, philosophy, politics, law – should be at the top of the social elite, as they have the most to bring to the table. Surely they should be made reality stars, fame should wash over them, they should make headline news and they should be adored as the genuinely interesting people that they are? Why do the people, the real rejects, the real freaks, who have little or no interesting characteristics or ascertainable incentives to live, make their way into our living rooms, our newspapers and our lives with their incessant and frankly boring idiosyncrasies?

We have ended up in a world where the geeks that used to get bullied for being weird as ten year olds and freaks as fifteen years olds writing the articles about the popular kids, stuffing their chests with silicone, reporting about them side by side with war and famine – the geeks end up enabling the popular kids to remain just as egotistical and obsessed with their own enthusiasms as they were as ten year olds and fifteen year olds.

I could now start rambling about how its cool to be a reject, an outsider, a freak – but it really isn’t and those who claim to be proud of being just so, are bullshitting themselves and you my friends. No one wants to be those things and no one wants to be told that they are different. There is no strength in being in a minority and no courage found in adversity. Cynical, maybe. True, debatable. But if you have ever felt what it truly is to be one of these people, you will know exactly what I mean.

The scars of being different never heal, instead what they do is create a mangled barrier of broken flesh around you, eventually shielding you from the constant over analysis of you compared to other people. People mistake this protective layer of damage for strength, some would even say pride, but it isn’t. My friends, my loves, my fellow geeks, freaks and weirdo’s it is only our enthusiasm that gets us through life in no less than a million pieces.

Geeks are the people who never realised that they were not like everyone else. Once you realise it and wear the badge of “I am not normal” proudly, you are no longer a freak, a geek or indeed weird – because you are simply pointing out what the rest of the world already did. You have accepted that you are not normal and by that standard you have made yourself a reject, an outsider and indeed a social oddity. So those of you who claim to be proud of being any of those things, who think that to be a social retard you cannot be popular, to love video games and comic books means you cannot like football or actually want to touch a member of the opposite sex, to wear Pokemon pyjamas to bed or find Anime foodstuffs alarming adorable – you are just as normal as the rest of the world.

Truly original people, freethinkers and disbelievers do not even recognise the word “normal”. I am completely normal. All women in their twenties have posters of Stephen King on their walls. All women in their twenties are teaching themselves Elvish. All women in their twenties want to be Iron Man when they grow up. All women in their twenties attempt to translate Spanish war time transcripts before work in the morning. All women in their twenties wear peace sign shoe laces and spikes in their face. All women in their twenties sit on their window sill listening to the radio and wish that they were a million miles away from where they are, who they are and who they will inevitably become.

I am just like everyone else. Difference is, I have the balls to admit it.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s