Living Under A White Rose…

LIVING UNDER A WHITE ROSE…

The following script entails an erudite consultation between a wise man and his grandson who has become intimately infatuated with his astute male companion, Léon. Although his heart envisions to foster an ineffably flourishing intellectual intimacy with Léon, he is impeded and quenched by an existential conflict in coming to terms with his queerness as he battles the generational religious, societal and cultural dogmas that pathologize and relegate his sexuality. Gradually, through multiple rounds of abductive philosophical reasoning with his grandfather, Théo gains the metacognition required to challenge his blind beliefs and confess his truth to Léon.

[Grandpa] (Enthusiastically, with tears glistering in his eyes) Oh my sweet son, how much I’ve missed our daily sagacious talks. Those memories glisten like cherries in sugar syrup as I traverse down my train of thought. How hast thou been? How is thy comrade, Léon?

[Théo] (Reciprocates Grandpa’s enthusiasm) Oh my gifted grandpa, our sagacious talks still resonate within the depths of my unconscious mind like the melancholic melodies of mockingbirds, such as the time I bluntly rambled about the nihilistic nature of religion, debated the utilitarianism of marriage or theorised the secret behind the Shakespearean sonnets. It is these same talks that embellish my companionship with Léon. As I stare into his Athenian soul, Adonic muscles and Appollian face, I feel liberated from the idiosyncrasies and insanities of this material world as I am dwelled into a parallel reality where my limbic brain prays that we were more than companions. Yet I doubt he’ll ever be mine and I’ll ever be his in this heteronormative world.

[Grandpa] (Pointing his finger towards the sky) Son, reality is inherently empty as we humans are condemned to cultivate meaning from the meaninglessness of life. Aristophanes once said that long ago humans, irrespective of gender, were affixed in pairs each having their own heart, brain and arms while sharing a singularly common soul. Deranged by their perfect affinity, the Gods split the creature into two humans who were displaced into the real world where they were destined to search endlessly for their counterpart in order to revive their meaningful bond from its millenary slumber. Son, you are among the few blessed souls to have found your other half, Léon, Is it not better to confess thy truth to him than die in emptiness? What dost stop you from taking the tone of confession?

[Théo] (With slight trepidation) Grandpa, as much as I question the metaphysics of reality, I am still condemned to live within its restrictive walls. It is religious, societal and cultural dogmas that have repressed my truth for Léon as much as my eternal queerness. As I sift through religious texts, I pray that I be dead than alive for I am a sinner, abomination and monstrosity to the sustenance of humanity. As I enter the societal system, heteronormative politics regularly consume me, instilling the life I am expected to live to which I miserably and falsely reciprocate in order to avoid the jarring judgements of society. Moreover, the movement that once fought for our acceptance have now radicalised their agenda and created a gender identity epidemic that has repulsed society to which I do not wish to associated with. I believe I should live as I always did, under a white rose, where I secretively suppress my idyllic desires and conform to the norms and constructs of the real world.

[Grandpa] (In a slow and mellow tone) My dear Théo, your mind speaks the ideology of the laymen of my generation. I am not one of them and aspire you not to be. Back in my day, human thought muscles were weakened by the manufactured forces of religious, societal and cultural norms which we humans usefully created to discipline our animalistic roots and forge a fruitful existence. Yet in the process of doing so, we have unempathetically discarded the existence of natural forces like human thoughts and emotions thus creating constitutions of cognitions that corrupt innocent souls like you.

My views on queerness are not restricted by these cognitions as I’ve told you that a philosopher’s mind is like a river flowing, always adapting and is never impeded by restrictive ideologies.

[Théo] (In shock and awe) I always believed that my queerness would upset you yet its astonishing that our viewpoints confound each other. Grandpa, I am as lost as a wandering barque in the Atlantic, tell me, is this unconscious desire of mine immoral in any way?

[Grandpa] (In a calculative and systematic tone) Son, morality can be expressed in an equation. It is the sum of our freewill, consequences and intentions. Your queerness is not an existential choice so is not an act of freewill. Your queer interactions pose no threat to yourself, him nor the sustenance of humanity. Your queer desires are not born of bad intent but rise from humanity’s deeply-rooted burning need to connect. Son, your desire seems to be amoral as opposed to moral or immoral.

[Théo] (Enlightened and Curious) Grandpa, enlighten me, if my desire is amoral, why must I still speak my truth to Léon?

[Grandpa] (Rises and looks into the vista in front speaking in a tone of finality) Son, our existence as humans primarily depends on us mediating between two worlds. One is the material world we live in where life is quenched by the relative illusion of time and bound by impediments in the form of religious, societal and cultural dogmas that hinder the fulfilment of our desires. The other is a hypothetical parallel world where time is infinite and no impediments exist to obstruct and repress the fulfilment of our desires. Yet for many this world simply resides within the depths of our futile minds as we continue to live in the material world suppressing our desires, under a white rose. As ordinary as it is for humans to live under a white rose and betray their desires, it suspends us in a whirlpool of guilt that conjures upon us at the grave where we die as unfulfilled souls.

Son, you have met your soul mate with whom you wish to forge the utopic fantasy that you behold in your parallel world. Therefore, I once gain ask Is it not better to confess thy truth to him than die in emptiness? Is it not best to quit living under a white rose and turn those roses into passionate shades of red?

Well, the dilemma rests in your hands now, as time calls me to leave. May you flourish a fruitful and idealistic existence while staying as humble and sapient as you really are. Thou art mine own lief son, so much ranker ver since i did recite the “to beest ‘r not to beest” on mine own lap nearly 15 years ago. Promise me you’ll make a wise choice. Farewell!

[Théo] (In tears, taking a tone of realisation) I will, my gifted grandpa. I will turn those white roses into passionate shades of red.

Grandpa’s figure fades into the mellow air, as dusk gleams its golden elegance over the jagged hills and gently-lit hamlets while the firry sky paints the background of this ethereal landscape. Hurtling back to the material world, Théo stares smiling into the grave of his long-lost grandfather that boasts the words “The Earth has music for those who listen”.

No sooner does Théo call Léon to a field of red roses where his truth is confessed and reciprocated allowing him to forge the utopic visons of his parallel reality. Together they flourish a fruitful life as two erudite young philosophers consulting troubled individuals just as Théo’s grandfather did to him when he was struggling to live under a white rose.