“Sue was here but now she’s gone. She left her name to carry
on.”
Ah, yes. The timeless signature in the toilet stall. These, and others like it, were what would
greet me as I did my business in the toilet stalls back in primary school. There
were fewer in high school - stall signatures, i.e., at our high school (Wolmer’s Girls’ School) we were
constantly reminded that we were ladies. (This didn't stop some who’d get their
crassness fix, evidenced by a few scribbles – and other unmentionables. I
digress.) Usually, the notes seemed to be written kind of lopsided, as if the
author had done the scribing as she (and, I imagine the same was for the boys, so,
he) was on the throne. Always, though, the unwritten rule: No overlapping. So,
each notation of presence, “carved in stone” – until the next coat of paint –
was not only as legible as could be. No, it was also written with enough space
between itself and its neighbours. After all, if you’re trying to stand out,
why would you go for fusion?
Surely, there were also love notes as well as the ones that
would not be fit for polite company. But, those aside, I was thinking recently
that we, (I mean, people in general), have come a long way from stamping our
names on the timeline of humanity via toilet stalls. Pretty sure it’s still done, but, gettn to a point here. I’m also sure there were practices that preceded that one. Whatever they were, from
generation to generation, the authors mainly have been after one primal thing:
making their mark.
We all have a desire to not be forgotten. As well, there’s
an inherent desire in each of us to stand out; do something unique; be
distinguishable and memorable. Some go
for the weird. (I think I wrote about that in a post a few years ago during
Charlie’s elongated “Winning!” moment. Maybe we could safely include many of
those wacky stunts dressed up as reality TV.) Some go for the bad. (Public shooters
in mass killings, for example, come to mind.) Others go for none of the above
and try, in some other way, to distinguish themselves. And, when that’s done,
it’s tied in with the desire to be remembered.
Funny thing is, as the quote goes, “No one on his deathbed
has ever said, ‘I wish I’d spent more time at the office,’” the memories that
likely matter to most of us would be those had by loved ones after our timely
departure from this weary sod. In that moment, would we really care whether we
were responsible for finding the cure for cancer? OK. We might care about that.
But, y’know? All the achievements and what not, how far down the list of
priorities would they be – if they made the list at all – in terms of what we
want to be remembered for and whom we’d want to be remembered by?
I guess life’s like that. (This is not where I intended to
be when I started this post.) We get here. We have dreams and goals and work
hard to achieve them and do. But, in the end, it’s really the relationships and
the love that matter.
So, where had I
intended to go? That social media have provided us with new, freshly painted,
ever-expanding walls on which to write. There’s a lot of space for those
individualistic notes – and write away we do. Sometimes, given the ease of
access to our material/notes and the speed with which they can be shared, we have
to indicate that we’re quoting ourselves when we quote ourselves!
I dare say that for some, writing these notes is not so much
about making a mark on the frail human fabric of life. Nor is it about doing
something to be remembered by. Instead, it’s simply a way to grasp life in manageable pieces; to keep from being
overwhelmed; to keep from suffocating.
#writeorsuffocate
Claudia
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