11/28 2025
They say that "history does not repeat itself, but it rhymes." My recipe for lasagna from last year might change slightly, but it's still lasagna, and it disappoints me every time.
Maybe it's true, maybe not. It's hard not to believe it, though. As I've written about before, I think there is some truth to the matter that we inherit the worst part of ourselves from our parents --- our defense mechanisms. But what about the best parts?
And no, this is not one of those "actually, unemployment decreased by 1000% percent while---" no, absolutely not. But I do find it interesting that what happens when two people meet and come together and look at their history, most of the time? If they don't look that far down, not much. Totally different. Occupation? Don't mention it. But, have the courage to look one level below? Dr. Freud? Yes, I'd like to report an Oedipus of the first degree.
I hope it's not true, I hope it's true that change comes through one person breaking through that impossible barrier, that impossible distance between you and me, to inherit the dream that was left for you and for me and for that 'festival for the broken hearted' which occurs everyday in the lunch-room to blossom into something else. And out of nothing, everything, and suddenly there's infinity branching outwards --- wasted hours that we spent on the couch in isolation, all wasted, utterly wasted, wasted hours for the future now in play.
Of course, I would be naive to think that's the way it goes. Hence why I'm writing this. What happens if the best parts of you are the parts you are most ashamed of? Let's look at history: Cleopatra died by pushing her own snake to her neck. Ptolemy drowned in his gold armor, trying to avoid his fate. Cicero had his tongue served on a silver platter. It would be very safe to try to avoid such a fate.
Yes, I'm sorry to say if you've got this far this is one of those posts which only could exist when somebody has spent too much time at a university without overwhelming fear of ending up on the street. Yes, I'm one one of those privileged ones that could always return to my parents and stay there to get back on my feet eventually, and then of course end up in the lap of my sister or mother or brother or father and get married and have kids. Yes, I'm sorry to say. But perhaps that's the point of this post.
Because what happens if that's the thing I'm most afraid of? That I'm nothing more than an echo of what came before, still moving through the pain of yesterday, only finding comfort in the tomorrow, and never being in the today? Do we have the strength to change that? I think we have to at least bank on that we do. Otherwise, what would have been the point all along?