In Continuum.

Identities

My friend QinYou,or rather the Chimp as he is more commonly known in camp nowadays,was blabbering about how cool his character is in a certain online game he is playing right now.He was describing how amazing the effects were when he casted certain spells,the way the enemy was blown up into pieces and the items he collected afterwards.Jonathan loves to pour a bucket of cold water over whoever deemed stupid by him,and that was the optimal moment for him to do so.

He leaned over to me in the cookhouse while the chimp was talking to somebody else,and quietly asked me,"Five bucks that QinYou wont grow up in the next five years".I chuckled,and with food still in my mouth i whispered back,"I will up that by a hundred bucks".

The truth is,chimp is twenty bloody years old and he is still acting like a twelve year old kid,obsessed over video games and girls,whom by the way is something in this world he is probably never going to own if he decided to continue living his life the way he does,with his childish mindset and hair.Yes,chimp.Shave.Please.For the love of God,or what the residents of Limerick Ireland would say,"Sweet St Mary and St Joseph!"

Anyway,my point is that chimp probably doesnt realise the importance of everybody's identities,something each of us have.Let's imagine yourself being a game freak like chimp,with the objective of every single book out to up a couple of levels in the game you are playing,earning some quick golds and killing some enemies to get some items off the corpses.That is the only purpose you book out for,and besides the time that you eat,that you sleep,that you fantasize about girls,you play games and only games.

What do you feel,when you feel tired and turns off the computer?Who are you,what is your identity then?

No matter how powerful your character is on the computer,no matter how strong your weapon is against a certain enemy is against some enemy you are never going to bring that out of the game into real life,are you?The moment you turn off that computer,the moment you are using your own name and not your username,you are back to your old self,that unshaven loser with your hair still in a mess and the lunch half eaten beside the keyboard.How would you feel now,that you are back in reality,beaten up loser like you were before you logged on to the game and turned yourself into a cyberspace hero?

It is kinda similar isnt it,with the army?Rankings of officers,of sergeants,of those warrant officers who signed themselves up for whatever reasons.In camp,in that uniform and the rank on your sleeves or shoulders,you are the biggest asshole around.Anybody with their ranks lower than you,they are also lower life forms.You see them as roaches,as dirt and you have all the power and right in the world to squash them under your boots.

But i wonder if these people ever thought about identities,the changing of that the moment they change from one place to another.The moment they change their uniforms,the moment they step out of the camp's gate and into the civilian world,they are no longer powerful,no longer authoritive,no longer the person with the command back inside the gate.You are like us,like everybody else,just another soul on the streets.

I saw the RSM once with his old ass friends.To think that this is the same man you see in camp every weekend is kinda strange,because outside in the real world he just looked like any other old man hanging out with other fellow old men,rotting together.He just looked so ordinary,so normal,and without that same authority he pretends to have in camp.It's pathetic to see him out in the world,out in the real world.And to see him back in camp in that uniform,and to listen to the way he speaks like he always does,seems to give me the idea that he has completely sold his identity,betrayed it to the uniform he wears.

Perhaps it is a sort of refuge for them,isnt it?To escape into a world,a place whereby you can be a totally different person,where you can keep control of things around you,unlike the real world where you are just like any other person,wandering aimlessly in this world until the day you die,buried and forgotten.The cheap thrills to yell at somebody in camp,to feel all powerful and strong for that little moment,for five days a week.Isnt it pathetic,to be running away from life,denying reality like that,24/7?

They are pathetic,these people.Sell-outs,they call them.They are a sort of role-models,though.The ones we shouldnt follow,at all costs.Sort of like a ten-year series back in the school days,but instead of giving you the model answers,they give you the wrong answers,what you shouldnt write.