Marionette

The two dark red stage curtains opened revealing a dreadful looking wooden marionette standing in the middle of a stage. The marionette was very plain, it wasn't clothed nicely or painted with bright colours. It seemed unfinished almost like the marionettist made it a couple minutes before the start of the play. The only details it contained were it's soulless black eyes and an emotionless mouth stitched closed that gave the marionettes face a grim, dead look. Then, the sorrowful marionette began to dance as eerie piano music played on in the background. The dance was poorly done, uninspired; you could tell that the marionettist was controlling its movements rather than giving the audience the illusion that the marionette danced on its own. The dance did not entertain said audience, in fact the entirety of the theater was as quiet as a mouse other than the piano and and the tic tic sound of the marionette hitting the stage. It didn’t matter anyway. It didn’t matter the owner of the theater who, in the end, would be receiving a big paycheck no matter what the audience thinks of the puppet’s dance, and it didn't matter to the marionettist, for the same reason. And, of course, it didn’t matter to the marionette.

Nothing matters to a marionette.

Two years ago I was suspended from school for three days on the count of “violation of safe schools policies”. I made a satirical comedic video that was labelled racist, misogynistic, homophobic, xenophobic, and other words that named the various groups that I had apparently offended. I nodded my head to most of what I was blamed for; I even thought I deserved to be suspended. Above all, my parents more upset than anyone else, as they wanted me to become a mechanical engineer, rather than a comedian. I was told that I had embarrassed the family name, that I was disgraceful, unfunny, trying to be someone I’m not. At first, I confidently took the insults, completely oblivious to the fact that a couple of comments would snowball into one of the worst episodes of my life.

Then my mind began to torment me. Voices would repeat the words “unfunny, useless, talentless, disgraceful, disgusting”, until my confidence crumbled, until I began to be afraid of what I created and what I could create. I told myself that I wasn’t good enough to become anything, because everything I made would just hurt people anyway. Then I began to be afraid of myself. So, I locked my creativity inside my mind and threw away the key. I stitched my mouth closed, hoping that none of my creations would seep out. I decided to dedicate my life to being something I don’t want to be because that was what my parents wanted. I handed them my strings because I was too afraid to be in control anymore, but, ironically, I was afraid of the future they would give me as well. Tormented by the thought that the marionettist was making me perform a dance that was not my own, I shook my fists at God, asking why he would make me live a life I didn’t want to live? Is this some form of entertainment? Did he take pleasure in torturing useless adolescents? Why me?

I decided that the only way to cope with such a hellish future was to submit to it. So, I decided to cut out my emotions. I wouldn’t feel bad for myself anymore. I would follow a path that my parents and peers could be proud of. It didn't matter what they told me to do, I would do it without a single complaint. I just wanted them to love me again. I shed no tears other than tears of dark red colour that crawled down my skin as I sat in an empty bathtub with a razor blade between my fingertips. I comforted myself by thinking that it didn’t matter what I became as long my parents and peers would be happy. It didn’t matter how I felt. It didn’t matter to anyone. It didn’t matter to me.

Nothing matters to a marionette.

Then I realized I was wrong. I was wrong to only take interest in what the most close-minded parts of society had to say. I was wrong to be so blinded by negativity that I kept forgetting about the people who always supported me. I was wrong to give away my life when it would only make me suffer. I realized that even when I was suffering most I was the one who could make it stop. I was only ever happy when I was in control of my life. So, I decided I would continue to do comedy and ignore people who refused to support me. The only people I tried to impress were my friends and sister, both which were on my side since the beginning. I decided to take control again, to cut the stitches that bind my lips together, to write my own play, to perform my own dance. And most importantly, to live my own life.