Becoming the non-protagonist

One of the strangest quirks about working in the heart of the city is just how quickly you feel invisible.

All our lives, we’ve been taught that we are special … unique … that we have value, that we offer something that might alter the fabric of society. That without us living, breathing and moving about in the world, society might stop and take note if we go missing.

Whenever I walk into my shift at the city, I can’t help but feel that all of that self-validation is nothing but a bare-faced lie.

There are colourful characters everywhere you look in the city. Angry homeless people, wild cosplayers with pink hair and zany outfits, a man dressed entirely in tweed, a woman wearing the latest Chanel bag, dress and shoes, skateboarders blockading people around them to allow their mate to do a grind … no matter where you cast your eyes, there is something to see if you can be bothered to observe.

In a town as colourful and diverse as Melbourne, no matter how subdued or flamboyant you are, you become invisible. The city itself isn’t even that big compared to global megacities around the world. A population of 4.5 million people is still small in today’s world.

But it is enough to make you feel lonely.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learnt this year, especially when working in events or studying warfare in Ukraine, is just how insignificant I am in the grand scheme of things. I have all these wants, needs, desires and hopes, but none of them really matter. To the people at work, my work is valued but not essential. To the men fighting in Ukraine, their pain and deaths mean nothing, because the land is nowhere close to being recaptured.

All the things that make me, me, are only special to me. You can give me combat boots, cargo pants, knives and in either scenario; at a war or an event, no matter how important, armed and unique I feel, I know deep down, I am just another anonymous grunt, doing his best to keep the cogs of the machine running smoothly.

It is at times like these, I wonder whether I actually make a difference. Whether the event would have ran smoothly, if I was not there, if me actually being there, actually contributed to anything.

Nihilist thinking for sure, but that is the cost of working in the city. You lose a lot of yourself when you do. No matter how special you feel, you’re just another ordinary freak or drone that roams the streets, full of your own self-importance and agendas.

I never used to put much stock in nihilistic thinking, but I can see its pervasive appeal when I have seen so much depravity, random violence and anger on the venue I work at. It’s hard to reconcile in your head just how destructive this sort of casual decay being witnessed every day can be to your well-being.

It tends to make you feel lost.

Which is why I find it all the more important to engage in the things I enjoy and to spend more time with friends. I can feel this urgent need to infuse everything I do with a sense of gratitude. It helps me stay grounded, appreciative and less lost in the grand scheme of life. Perhaps the most drastic example I feel when working in the city, is this bizarre sense of “there, but by the grace of God” whenever I walk past a homeless person.

Homelessness is often a danger that we don’t really ponder about. But for me, so many things have gone my way to make sure I don’t end up on the street and there is no greater reminder than some poor bastard begging for money on the street.

Life can be cruel, incredibly quickly. My parents are getting older, my friends have gotten harder to access, my energy is not quite as bountiful as it used to be, and the cost of living is climbing every month.

Any of those crucial elements to my life could be compromised at any given time. Which is why I feel that pressing need to infuse gratitude into everything I do. I need to be more appreciative of the things I have and own the wins in my life.

By acknowledging and showing gratitude towards the enormous luck I have, I can feel myself pushing away that pervasive nihilism that the city keeps pressing on me.

It is so ironic that in a place where people are the freest to be themselves, the city ends up nullifying everything that made you feel special and unique. After all, you just become another ordinary freak show or anonymous drone that walks the streets.

This is particularly felt more strongly in Melbourne than anywhere else in Australia too, because of the usual colourful nature of Melburnians. A Darth Vader could be blasting AC/DC tunes for cash, right next to some annoyed white-collar executive with a Mont Blanc briefcase trying to enjoy his fifth flat white coffee and no one would twice about it.

To me, that sort of obliviousness to something so odd and peculiar is frightening. When one cannot appreciate just how strange it is to see a pop culture villain standing next to a real corporate villain, it is a sign that the city has dulled your senses.

And to see that I don’t observe such things as bizarre anymore concerns me. Because it shows that, like everyone else in the city, toiling away, I’ve become more alone.

When things are “off”, it is because they are out of the ordinary. And ordinary is defined by the people around you. The people and relationships that you foster, the moment you are born are the community that surrounds you. They help you define what is “normal.” It doesn’t matter if you come from a rough or privileged background, that “normal” is unique to you and your community.

Hence when I don’t notice that things are out of the ordinary, it means that I am lacking in my community. I don’t spend enough time with them, with people I love, cherish or admire. My sense of “normal” is off kilter because I don’t spend enough time with my people.

The city has a detrimental effect of breaking down people’s communities. You are surrounded by other human beings but have no connection to them. Hence you can look at an Elmo singing in Cantonese, right next to some homeless person and not even bat an eye. You got no stakes in those stranger’s lives.

Yet if you somehow recognised either of them, as part of your community, as part of the extended family you have curated in your lifetime, you would not hesitate to donate money to their bowls.

Working in the city has made me realise the importance of being grateful for the people around them. They’re the ones who recognise how unique I am, they’re the ones who notice what I wear, how I act and why I am special.

And I will return that favour of seeing why my friends, family and love, are unique, special and amazing individuals that I need to cherish more.

So, don’t let the city get to you and make you think you aren’t extraordinary. Go back and get in touch with those you love.

They will see you for you.

~ Damocles.