The Power of Myths

The first time I encountered the word myth was in the context of my English class, discussed as a traditional sacred story, a form of literature, which usually expounds on the acts of gods and goddesses, and which attempts to explain social practices or other natural phenomenon. The literary form expands the natural world into something else which is remarkable and extraordinary; a supernatural thing that goes beyond the mundane.

A few years ago, my friend Chris, a public relations specialist, introduced me to the concept of “myth-making”, or the power of an individual to create his own reality. He underscores the power of perception (rather, what is perceived) as something that will ultimately define a person. He says that every person has two aspects: the “real” one, and what is perceived. The two realities blur sometimes, so much so that one cannot delineate what is real with what is illusory, but he emphasizes that the need to delineate is unimportant: both define the type of person one is going to be.

This idea reminds me of an aspect of astrology which not a lot of people are familiar with. There is the zodiac, or the sun sign, which supposedly defines who a person is. Most of us are familiar with this concept. Then there is the moon sign, which supposedly defines how a person is perceived. The two are not usually the same, so a person can be an Aries, but is perceived as a Sagittarius. According to my reading (which I got online), I am a Cancer (adaptable, moody, loyal) but is perceived as an Aries (courageous, impulsive, confident). Those two signs are usually as different as they get.

I don’t know how true those readings are, but I just wanted to underscore the difference between one’s “real” personality, and what is perceived. It is rare that the two are the same.

This idea has many real-world applications. In high school specifically, you are usually defined by how your peers perceive you. If your peers see you as a “loser”, then you begin to think of your reality as that of a “loser”, notwithstanding your many wonderful qualities. When you think about it, it sounds silly, but I personally believe it’s the truth. We are defined in two ways: by our own choices, and by the context (read: perception) society imposes on us.

This is probably why we try so hard to gain some control over how we are perceived. As much as we wish that only we could create the terms for our own life, we know that that is impossible. We are as much a prisoner of our current social context as everyone else. We try to make sure that how we are perceived is the same as how we feel about ourselves, and we try to limit the incongruence, but we can only do so much. We really do not have that much of a choice on the matter, except to that part which we can change about ourselves.

Which is where my friend Chris’ advice comes in, which I think is one of the best advice I have ever gotten in my life. This isn’t his words, but I hope to distill through a metaphor what we have discussed and debated and lived as a life philosophy for years. I hope you find as much wisdom in it as I did.

We are pebbles, but we must aim to feel and look like mountains. Create your reality by controlling (as much as you can) how you are perceived. At the worst, we will be mistaken for boulders or hills, but those are still significantly larger than the tiny stones people will easily discard or throw away. At some point, you will find that you have become a boulder, or a hill, or a mountain, for real.

Simple versus Complicated

I’ve always been fond of using the word “character” to describe something I like. That chair has “character”, that shirt has “character”, that building has “character”. I’m not sure where I picked that up, but I enjoy describing things or people that way. I guess it’s because, in my head anyway, when something has “character”, it means that it has a story to tell, as opposed to, for example, a chair that is really just a chair, or a shirt that is really just a shirt, or a building that is really just a building.

Which is one of the reasons why I’ve always found the notion of a “simple” life fascinating. How is it possible? Even a person who has practically nothing in life, and who has never left his house, is still a complex individual, if only because of his reasons for having nothing, or for not wanting anything. No one is ever truly simple; we are made up of rationalizations, impetuses, emotions, thoughts and ideas, so much so that to ascribe the word “simple” to any of us is to insult the very nature of our humanity. Even people who do not think are complex, if only we take the time to understand why they do not think in the first place. 

I remember my grandfather, the son of a married man and his mistress, who grew up in one of the poorer towns of Pampanga. He was a farmer, who managed to raise 8 children properly, all with college degrees, and who all work as professionals. He lived a “simple” life, simple in the sense that he is not greedy, or lustful, or ambitious. He just wanted to give his children a better life than he had. So I’ve always thought of him as a simple man, one not prone to self-aggrandizing stories, or ambitious dreams. He preferred the sidelines, always shining the spotlight on everyone else except himself.

And then he told me this one story, during the Japanese-American-Philippine war, when he joined the Hukbalahap movement, which was then a military arm of the Communist Party of the Philippines. He was a rebel soldier, one of many who wanted to fight against the Japanese empire’s invasion of the Philippines in WWII. He never elaborated on his reasons why he went and joined the Huks, only that he did, because, as he said, he felt it was the right thing to do at the time.

And he recalled the time when he was caught by Japanese soldiers, and he and his comrades were arranged neatly in a row so that they could all be killed efficiently. He was kneeling on the ground, with a rifle pointed at his head. He was waiting for what probably seemed like the inevitable when the soldier shot the gun and, of all things, tripped. My grandfather swore he felt a bullet fly next to his head. He thought it was the most amazing thing.

Then chaos ensued. My grandfather realized that another group of Huks came in before the soldier could try shooting at him again. Some more fighting went on. My grandfather kept his head and ran, seeking cover. He was astonished that he managed to make it out of there alive. He could not believe his luck.

And he told me that that is the reason why he considers his life, and my dad, and uncles, and aunts, and his grandsons and his granddaughters’ lives as gifts. He was supposed to have died, and yet he didn’t.

After that story, I could never look at my grandfather the same way again. How can someone I thought was so simple have a story so wonderful and complex? I learned, once again, how people, even the ones you know, can surprise you.

I realized simplicity is an illusion. To be human, necessarily, is to be complicated.

Featured photo taken here.