Today
is my birthday. Like anything, a birthday matters as much as you believe it does.
In this case, I am not much of a believer. Maybe I stigmatized birthdays around
sixth grade when I had the shitty, but presumably inevitable, epiphany that I
am going to die? Why celebrate the increments on my march to the abyss? Eventually,
I triumphed over middle school. I cultivated the opinion that every birthday is
a choice between celebrating life and dreading death; and I strove to commit to
the former.
I
was asked yesterday which birthday was my favorite. Eager to dance through my
memory bank, I looked in, but was surprised to find no record of past November
sixths. Perhaps my mixed perceptions of birthdays created an ambivalence onto
which no memories could latch? Whatever the cause, I found myself lacking
history in a prominent life category. I, putatively the best scholar of my
life, realized how little I knew of my story. I pondered: “Any story I tell
about myself must be unfounded.”
I
believe that people can control their emotions by creating an understanding of
their given situation which fulfills their needs. I convince myself of stories
of who I am in order to be happy. However, as stated before, the veracity of
these stories must be dubious. Essentially, I benefit from creating an altered
image of myself. Therein, I found a connection between myself and Consuelo, and
through such, an understanding.
Consuelo
does not change her identity by manifesting the altered image of herself that is
Aura. She merely improves her emotional state by pumping vitality into a “story”
of herself that fulfills her needs. Primarily, Consuelo needs to be loved by
the general, so she conjures and deploys youth and allure in order to attract
Fillipe. As Aura is not Consuelo, who I say I am is not me, yet these stories
do not require accuracy to be powerful.
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