Currently Playing: Cary Brothers-Forget About You.
Cary, if I keep your Blue Eyes secret, will you whisk me off into your wonderful wonderful world so that I don’t have to deal with this right now? Yes, I’ll manage with all the crap that there is, as long as its yours. I’ll share it with you even, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll tell you mine so that you’ll sing to me and make it all go away. I hate being in this spot yet again. They always do this to me.
If I had known, I wouldn’t have gone. I swear it.
—————
Do you know what the most profound difference is between Superman and all the other superheroes?
Profound being the key word, I don’t wish to point out the astonishing (and unenviable) courage of wearing a bright red underwear on the outside over a tight blue spandex. Now that, I just can’t comprehend. But then, yellow doesn’t really come to mind when you think of Wolverine, so I suppose we’re not supposed to understand anyway.
The answer lies in the disguise.
With all the superheroes, the disguise comes on when they put on their mask, cape, costume and all. For Peter Parker, Spiderman is what conceals his true identity. For Bruce Wayne, its Batman.
There’s the Superhero, and then there’s the alter-ego.
What of Superman?
For him, Clark Kent is the disguise. The shy, clumsy, befuddled, bespectacled man in the business suit is the man in the masquerade.
I have nothing against Superman, but most times I find Clark Kent so much more endearing to me.
So what happens when we like the disguise more than the real person?
What happens when people like our disguise more than our real self?
Sure, we go on and on about just being ourselves and that those who are for real are those who love us for who we are.
But what happens when we ourselves can’t handle who we really are?
Where have I heard this before?
Aw man, I sense the term "identity crisis" looming ahead.
—————
I remember that amongst the many things I missed when I was away, was the sound of the adhan. At the moment, Isya’ has just begun.
Yeah, so I know it was only 2 weeks, but strangely I didn’t feel as connected to England as I thought I would be. That though, I will save for a conversation with whoever’s up for coffee. Your treat.
Enough said here.
