I have a tendency to avoid things because they are popular. Now that I'm 21, I've decided to write a story about how this plays out. Enjoy. :)
21 Years of Hipsterism
Many moon cycles ago, long before the popular adoration of bonsai trees and vinyl records, Palomino Bergsy was born to the beat of "Young Folks" by Peter, Bjorn, and John. He grew up, and 16 years later, he adopted the nickname "Palo" by those around him who refused to use four syllable words, much less four syllable names, because it "defined them as persons of popular discourse" and "didn't allow for repugnant abbrevs of superfed elonged lang."
5 years later,
Palo was riding his horse Belligerent underneath the Stone Arch Bridge while composing extra long sentences and refusing to drive on the freeway, when suddenly, he dismounted at the sight of a life-form near the water's edge. As he approached the small creature, it began to hop towards him, and he could tell it was a frog. He turned away to leave, when the frog began to speak. He began his monologue as thus:
"My boy. I have spent many days and nights here, and there have been many men and women who have crossed my path. Some come quick, some come slow, some are happy, some are low. But you do none. You ride in, rather presumptuously, as if no one in the world has ever done what you have done or acted how you act. How old are you?"
"21." Palo replied, feeling stunned and defensive at the sudden offense of the amphib.
"Ah." The frog gulped. "Now I understand. And what is the impetus behind your decision to become an equestrian rider?"
Surprised at the frog's impressive vocab, Palo felt compelled to reply. " Well I guess because I want to carve a name for myself. I want to be unique. I want people to see me and know who I am."
"Honorable intentions, I suppose." The frog croaked. "But would you be any less unique if, say, another person came down this beach on a horse and said 'Behold! I raise horses for a living, and I do not like your horse. It is rugged and boyish.' And what if this person proceeded to dog you for your interests, most of which he has more knowledge in. What then?"
Palo was taken aback. He didn't know what he'd do in that situation. "I guess I would feel pretty worthless. The guy just proved that he's better than me."
"Hmmm. 'Better,' eh? So... uniqueness is a competition?"
Palo defended himself, "Of course not. It's a spectrum."
"A spectrum? " The frog leapt from his position and quickly hopped past Palo and onto Belligerent, the horse. "On the left side, you have the unique-less. Those who are just like everyone else around them." He hopped off the horse and hopped onto Palo's foot. "And on the right, you have the more unique. That's a bit immeasurist, is it not?"
"What?" The fake word confused Palo. He sat down, careful to keep the frog safe on his foot. "Well... then maybe it's not a spectrum. What if it's a fact? Person A is unique. Fact. Person B is unique. Fact. Person C is NOT unique. Fact. If this were true, then Person C was the same as Person X, which makes Person X NOT unique because he/she is the same as anyone else, which makes... no one unique."
"A fact." The frog chirped and began to hop around the surrounding rocks as he ranted. "My friend, you have just proved you are not unique. You are confused, and are now confusing the moral of the story. Everyone ages, grows, changes, and experiences. That makes you unique. If you want to carve a name for yourself and be unique, then you've already done so. You have only to exist to be unique. When someone says to you, 'I listen to Phoenix,' and you know the band, but you say 'Oh yeah? I listen to Care Bears on Fire,' simply because you want to be more unique, you have successfully alienated yourself from that person, rather than relating to them. Whether you are writing, listening, making, using, or creating, the newness of the universe will always continue, and nothing will ever repeat, because it comes from someone different each time."
The frog's phraseology was like a contagion to Palo. It spread through his head and into each of his limbs like a proverbial wave of unabbreviated dihydrogen-oxide . He suddenly felt older. "So... What you're saying is that I'm already me, and I don't need to try to create something new, I can just like what I like... Because I like it."
"Sure." And with that, the frog was gone, leaving Palo cathartic and human. He didn't want to ride his horse anymore. He didn't want to lengthen his sentences and only use words in the vernacular of the hip. He wanted to drive his car to his friend's house and eat pepperoni pizza while watching The Emperor's New Groove.
So he did.
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