Letter from the Cities Editor

Dear dear reader,

I want to be the one to tell you that nothing you do matters. Hold on. Stay with me. We live on a spherical rock in the middle of nowhere, we pretend that small rectangular paper holds some sort of value, and we abstain ourselves from our wildest imaginations because of arbitrary rules created by some dead white man. Do you really think that anybody gives a flying falafel about what you do? Do you really think that a couple generations from now anyone would remember who you were? Do you really believe you’re that significant of a person?

I apologize. I don’t mean to attack you, but I’m having my annual epiphany that I don’t matter, at least not in any metaphysically significant way. So please let me convince you of the same.

We live some eighty odd years if we’re lucky. In that meager sliver of time, we follow the general meandering path set out by society. This path doesn’t fit most of us and those of us who are brave enough to wander off are ostracized as deviants by those who are too scared to. You have to go to school, figure out your passion, somehow turn that into a career, perform your personal best and keep pushing forward because that best is not good enough, and stick to your chosen occupation until you retire (which you literally can’t even do anymore).

I wait to reach “life checkpoints” before I start living for myself. I don’t know why I exist but I want to make the most of it. I don’t want to just let life pass me by. The problem is that I’m a bit of a conformist. So I’m taking small steps to be spontaneous and indulgent. I have always wanted to drag. I just ordered an orange wig before writing this letter. I don’t have to wait to be out to everyone before I can start exploring my gender and sexuality in the joyful and cathartic way that I deserve. It doesn’t matter seeing that I will be mushroom feed in about sixty years. I grabbed my crusty dusty set of paint brushes; tonight, I paint my Mona Lisa. It doesn’t even have to be good because I don’t have to be the best at everything, or really, anything at all. Bad art is still art. Some millionaire “collector” will buy it from the ruins of the apocalypse and frame it up in their mars mansion.

I can understand that a good dose of nihilism isn’t comforting to everyone. I do however believe that you should at least take yourselves a bit less seriously. The more time I spend here on earth, the quicker the minutes seem to pass. I don’t want to wake up one day and find that I have used up my minutes and be filled with regret. Excelling academically isn’t the only way to success. Take a breath. Sit down and have a coffee with a friend before you run off to your work. Pick up a bizarre hobby. Adopt a chameleon. Write for the Wake. Whatever you do, live on your terms. I’ll just be learning how to glue down my eyebrows.

Maniacally,

Vishalli

Cities Editor