#firstessay

The Barbie Movie and Chris McCandless

*Note: In reference to Into The Wild, I reference the story and Chris McCanless with the reverence of a fictional character, simply living in the story and that is all. Chris, the character in a book. I have nothing but deep respect for Chris, the real man, and his loved ones. 

      I don’t know anyone who didn’t love the Barbie movie. Every woman in my life (not including my mother) raved about it. Teachers, friends, vague acquaintances I follow on instagram. How much it made them cry, how accurate, how personal, how totally and utterly perfect the movie was. I had high hopes going in, fully dressed in all the pink I could scrounge out of my closet. Expecting to watch a movie that would make me cry, sob, feel seen and feel understood- I left the theater feeling… none of those things. If anything, I was a little discontented and I needed to pee. On the way back home, me and my mother tried to decipher why exactly we both failed to experience the same world-altering-life-changing-film experience we heard our peers sing praises for. 

      The book Into The Wild by Jon Krakauer was a part of my AP Lang classes required reading this year.  A nonfiction recollection of the life and death of Chris McCandless. McCandless grew up in Annandale, Virginia where his father worked as an antenna specialist for NASA. After graduating from Emory University he donated all his money and decided to become a traveler/hermit/hitchhiker of sorts- rejecting worldly things like money, objects, deep connections with others, and any contact with his family. On one of his stints, McCandless travels through Rural Alaska for months and dies after running out of food and consuming a poisonous plant. This is an arguably reductive summary, you can find the full wikipedia pages for the book and Chris’s story here and here. Throughout reading this book, my class had several discussions about McCandless and the book Into The Wild. What could have driven McCandless to do what he did? Did he have a death wish, going into the Alaskan wilderness with no survival training and knowledge, frighteningly low amounts of food, and no gear? Were his actions justified? Do we relate to his decisions, his actions? Some people argue McCandless was simply a free spirit, that his rejections of the material in favor for the individual and intangible were ones we should strive for. Others are confused with his choice to totally desert his family, to the point where McCandless’s mother sent a private investigator to look for her son upon his supposed disappearance. Some felt he was sort of naive or unintelligent, going into the woods in the dead of winter utterly unprepared. While my peers gingerly gave their takes on their sympathies and gripes with McCandlesses story and McCandless himself I found myself feeling a similar feeling from earlier that summer. A sort of wall, a barrier. I found myself fully unable to sympathize with McCandless, totally and utterly. 

    Why? What is it about McCandlesses story that makes it so difficult for me to resonate with? The answer here is, at its core, the same reason I found myself discontented with the Barbie movie. With regards to McCandless, a few notes are vital. Chris McCandless was white, very upper-middle class, immensely privileged and fortunate, wealthy, and educated. Still, he rejected all his fortune and privilege for a life in the woods. Rejecting his family, loved ones, friends, and anyone who cared for him. As someone who has very different values (developed through my identity in a Pakistani and Muslim home/ as a Pakistani Muslim person), herein lies my hangup. I find it nearly impossible to understand or sympathize with someone so steeped in privilege, only to pretend it doesn’t exist. His rejection of family, immense wealth, and deep privilege in nearly all aspects of life. Now, that is by no means Chris’s fault- failing to acknowledge or understand his privilege and its complexities. He was 20-something in the 90’s and read Tolstoy in the woods! I don’t expect him to know the first thing about race or privilege. But there are some things that irrevocably make it difficult for me to truly, really truly, sympathize with his story. Someone a few prongs up on the privilege ladder might take more of his story to heart, understand it more, and be able to see his story for just and only that, his story. I am in a position to see the bigger picture, this story in the context of larger things. I am unable to sympathize with his story due to factors outside of both of our controls. This doesn’t mean either of us are at fault, and it doesn't mean I should be expected to change how I feel to suit his story. I have no inclination to change how I feel about McCandlesses story or his choices.  Some might argue I should get a heart and try to understand what he went through. And I’m not saying I feel gleeful or joyous at his demise, not in the slightest. It is just that I, as someone a few prongs lower on the privilege ladder, shouldn’t be expected to be more sympathetic to someone whose values and choices are both a) only able to of happened as a result of his privilege and b) miles away from what I value as important in this life. 

There are 3 things that i hate the most; pretending, adjusting, and going home alone. To tell you frankly, im doing this most of the time. Once upon a time i was obliged. I don’t know what, i dont know why. But i felt obliged. I met 2 persons in my life. Yes it was fun, having that roller coaster feelings of joy when im with them, always cheering for more adventures upon going home. Yes it is fun, doing the 3 things that i hate the most.

Let me segregate the ideas that i hate. Once in a lifetime experience that i felt that there is a person i most wanted to be closest with. Cliché but no feelings attached. Then there’s this night when he’s. Yes he is. When he’s so good at making me feel like my worth is something that cannot be taken seriously. To break the record of clichés, i really don’t know why. I believe in the saying that three never works. That is when my first most hated thing will come in; pretending. Pretending in many things i don’t know because i don’t want to show him the side that I’m eager yet I’m hiding. Pretending. Pretending in a way that im always in between to show my not so serious affection towards this friendship i am calling. And to tell you again honestly. I don’t know why.

Then, my second thing i most hate will appear; adjusting. It’s hard for me when i adjust. But what can i do. Punyeta nga namang inferiority complex to. To think of it, im really sick of it. Forcing to believe in the things i should be believing when the contrast is right infront of my eyes, i often i ask my self why and fuck this shit i always come up with -because this is who you are.

Why? Why do i need to adjust? Why do i need to adjust to his preferences? Why the fuck is he not opening up to me when in fact I’m the one who’s always there? Why the fuck do i need to adjust when I’m hurting? Do i really need to adjust because i do not belong?

Out of attitude, i really feel angry. Making me feel that it is two not three. That I’m the only one whose alone when in fact I’m with them. I really feel angry. When the person i wanted to be closest with is with someone i’m closed with and i am envious. I really feel angry because he is close with people and not with me. Am i the "ibang tao" that he's saying? I really feel angry because why do i need to be the bigger person every time. I really feel angry when i am always told to understand him when in fact i need to be understood as well. I really feel angry because i was never understood. Not yet experienced. Not yet loved. Do i really feel angry or I’m just hurt?

 Ceaselessly Being People say that music speaks where words can’t, and that the human spirit is the most powerful force of nature. I say that we are made up of stars, so of course we make and are the most powerful forces of nature. We are together beyond black holes, hurricanes, and tornadoes. We move mountains, we shape rivers, and we create love, in all forms of the word. Music gives us the strength to dream things we’ve never thought possible, and the ability to climb to the stars. It becomes us and we become it, in the deepest, most physical way. Music has become a part of our daily lives in the cars we drive, the phones we carry, the showers we take, and the concerts we go to. My favorite music courses through my veins and gives me hope, love and joy beyond anything else I have ever felt, and as human beings, we live for that kind of feeling.  

Red slabs of stone raise out of the grass like broken glass. The smell of smoke and dust linger in the air in a surprisingly welcoming way. The drive into the north parking lot is surrounded by small cottages and other dwellings that seem to hang off of the hills that climb all the way up to Red Rocks. Every time I drive up there all the other shortcomings and such in my life seem to fall by the wayside, and all I can do is take in the beauty of the landscape. I always comment about how truly lucky we are to have such a beautiful venue to see shows at.

The moon is always brightest here, and the music, always the loudest and most powerful. They say that you are the product of your environment, and the product that you’re made into in this beautiful venue is one of existentialism. Even walking up to the amphitheater, the parking lot is flooded with music, dance, laughter and feelings that seem to be of a higher source. I’m not much of a preachy religious man, but you can’t help but feel the depth at such a high altitude. It's as if when we get really excited about something, our spirits are heightened and we become drunk off of adrenaline. Liquid courage courses through us and we lose all sense of embarrassment and become who we actually are, without even having taken a sip of alcohol.  

If you think about the most incredible, breathtaking moments of your life, were you alone? Your first kiss and your first love, amongst those moments show that experiences are so much more magnificent when shared. Walking up the stairs to the amphitheater was no different from most other incredible experiences I had had, in that I was with someone I could share the experience with. It was her second time at Red Rocks, but her first concert. Her breath was already taken away by the time we reached the ticket booths, but it took me until we were looking down on the sweeping plains and the stage to lose myself amongst the beauty. The last three weeks of gaining anticipation had led me to this moment and I could hardly wait. Here came the adrenaline that was coursing so thick through my bones now that the palms of my hands slid with ease down the hand rail, right down to the very front few rows of the outdoor stage. Here we waited for the opening bands to emerge from the rocks and begin preaching folk music laden with lessons learned from the stars.   

The waiting was made so much easier by the people around us who were also eager for the main act to come out. One man, sitting on my right, was from Washington. He had driven with his girlfriend all the way to Colorado to see the band not only headline at world renowned Red Rocks, but also play up in Aspen at a music festival. Here I was thinking that I was the biggest fan of this folk band, but my forty-five minute drive to the foothills paled in comparison to what those traveling from different states were giving to be here. There were also eight people behind us that lived in Telluride that had come down for the weekend for this one night, and they couldn't have been more ‘existentially’ drunk off of a real liquid courage - Pabst Blue Ribbon. These few connections made the entire experience so much better, as we fed off of these strangers' excitement the entire night. Feeding our own love for the music and the air that hung that night.

The temperature had dropped steadily with the sun, as the last remaining light shone over the crowd and onto four gentlemen, as they walked to the middle of the stage and stood next to their respective instruments. One of the gentlemen in the middle grabbed his microphone amongst the increasingly ecstatic crowd, paused for a moment as if to collect himself from amongst his surroundings, and tenderly eased out the words “Red Rocks”, letting out a chuckle. “We are Mumford & Sons, and we’ve been dreaming about this moment for a long time.” Well, gentlemen, so have I.

During my freshman year of high school, Mumford & Sons released their first and only album to date entitled Sigh No More, and since then, I’ve seen them at a music festival in California, as well as in Telluride. Each one of their songs has followed me throughout my entire high school experience: Late nights, rough weeks, long vacations, heartbreak and triumph. Their words have formed my character and outlook on my own actions.

Midway through the concert, the band played a song called “I Will Wait”, which is their new single. The lyrics are sung, “Well I came home, like a stone, and I fell heavy into your arms/ these days of dust/ of which we’ve known/ will blow away with this new song/ and I will wait for you.” These words held such deep meaning for me when I found this song while searching for their new unreleased material about a year ago, but now here I was with my girlfriend at their live concert at the most beautiful place in the world. It was as if the words were spilling out of God’s mouth and directly into my soul and body. My girlfriend who is a year younger than me and still a senior in high school turned around and looked right at me as we both continued throwing our hands up to the constellations and dancing as if we were one legged dogs. Mesmerized by our surroundings, we both stopped dancing and stood still. The world paused and so did our breath. The amphitheater smelt like home, and the energy in the air could be felt by edges of our fingertips. The night air, now warm, sat still for a moment before white confetti that simulated snow, began to fall from the sky. I don’t know if our breathing or the entire crowd actually did stop for a minute to take everything in, but it felt like the world ceased to exist for a moment.  

My past experiences with Mumford & Son’s music all came to me at once in an overwhelming sensation that made me giddier than a little boy on Christmas Eve. The lights, the moon, the red glow of the rocks, the people I was sharing this with, and the mistakes I’d made in the past all culminated in this one night, and made me think. I feel that the most popular things in life are those that give us the ability to dream. Whether it be as concrete as our computers, phones, cars and television sets, or as complex and enigmatic as the art we create, the people we love, the constellations we draw or the music we listen to. What makes man great is his ability to create something from nothing. It's our "ladder to the stars.”