What are the foundations of my self?
When it’s so illusive that it’s become impossible to touch?
When it’s so diverse, it’s practically theoretical?
When it’s so fragmented that it’s crumbled into microcosms?
But if I had to pin my identity down –
If I had to grasp and seize desperately at the particles
of my unthetered constitution,
I shall limit it down to:
Anything by Tarantino, Kurosawa, Hitchcock or Kubrick,
because it is their films that provide the means to my escape.
Because I am trapped by that inescapable sense of authenticity in their fiction,
for it has solidified my belief that there is more truth in a forgery,
than there is within presented honesty.
“Resident Evil” will always evoke a sense of pride and accomplishment in me,
because it was my obsession,
because of the fury and the loathing that it made me experience –
because it made me question my own capabilities –
until I almost gave up –
And on a hot summer’s day, inside my pink room,
I punched the air with weary, triumphant fists –
and reveled in my own, silent victory,
and so madly, so genuinely –
I am here because I’m an adventurer,
a cat – inquisitive and playful in nature.
I said “Hello,” because I found you enticing –
you made me wonder what it’s like to be you –
I am consumed by that overwhelming curiosity,
to see a part of your world,
from your own, unique perspective.
And the only goal for my existence?
Right now? At this very moment?
It is to try and understand and fall in love with as many worldviews and experiences as I can –
while I can –
because nothing purifies me more,
but that momentary taste
of a stranger’s universe.