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Sometimes you look at yourself in the mirror, any mirror and you wonder why that nose looks as it does, or those eyes—what is behind them, what depths they reach? Your flesh, your skin, your lips—you know that that face which you behold is not yours alone but is already something which belongs to those who love it, to your family and those who esteem you. But a person is more than a face or a bundle of nerves and a spigot of blood; a person is more than talking and feeling and being sensitive to changes in the weather, to the opinions of people. A person is part of a clan, a race. And knowing this, you wonder where you come from and who preceded you; you wonder if you are strong, as you know those who lived before you were strong, and you realize that there is a durable thread which ties you to a part you did not create but which created you. Then you know that you have to be sure about who you are and if you are not sure or if you do not know, you may have to go back, trace those who hold the secret to your past. The search may not be fruitful; from this moment of awareness, there is nothing more frustrating than the belief that you have been meaningless. A man who knows himself can live with his imperfections; he knows instinctively that he is a part of the wave that started from great, unnavigable expanses.
***** The Pretenders - F. Sionil Jose
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Renton: Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit crushing game shows, stuffing junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that?
***** Trainspotting (1996)
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