I have always been far too curious. It has been inconvenient, embarrassing, helpful. Never dangerous. Not until now.
Curiosity is my normality. I cannot imagine a world where you see something beautiful, something wicked or strange or fluttering, and you do not wish, a deep and burning desire, to touch it, taste it, hear it, be it. I cannot imagine anything worse than staring into that abyss and then choosing to walk away.
When it comes down to it, life is all about choice. Tiny little choices that, essentially, make up our character, the person we are. We cannot condemn anyone for choosing – we can condemn their choice, and be done with it. Society is far too judgemental, and I am so much a part of society. It sickens me.
We all pretend, and some of us believe, that, truly we are different. A few of us treasure this, keep it tight and warm against their belly, cradle it and coo to it in times of solitude. Others feel it like a tumour, a pulsating ball of diseased tissue, weighting them down till surely they will drown in the air. They are disgusted by themselves, by their uncontrollable feelings – rage, jealousy, lust. Things we are taught not to feel because we are ladies. Good and proper ladies.
They talk about progress, but what they mean is science. Darwin, evolution. To be frank, I don't really care much about where we come from. I certainly don't believe God made each and every one of us. We are each so individually flawed. And if they found bones and fossils that prove we come from monkeys, it doesn't really touch me. All right, I will accept it, but it doesn't mean I am anything like a monkey now. It doesn't ever affect me in the way it could. It should, perhaps.
Progress. I do not mean science. With science, one day we will know everything we could ever possibly wish to know, and more, besides. We will create the most beautiful, intricate machines, spun out of pure dust and logic, and we will be kings. No. Progress. That is not progress. What use will a time machine be when women still can't be seen without a corset? When the love between a woman and a woman, a man and a man, will be trampled down into the gutter, amidst the sewage and the rats, declared twisted and degenerate? What will we do with all of that knowledge if we remain so very stupid?
Curiosity propels me. It is not boredom, although I am bored, and it is not my wicked black flame of rebellion – my flame is grey and uncertain – simply curiosity. I wish to know more, and to know how to know it.