Random: The Young Socialite

And so as I think, as things go, I go back to one thing, of which I always think: the world of social interaction that is all around me. Fire, rabid and furious, harrowing and to be feared! Well, maybe. Social interaction, in part because it happens to be a part I observe more than take part in. In part because it is an integral, seemingly non-scientific type of occurrence in this overly natural world. Volatile, ever malleable, unpredictable, swift. It is such a curious little thing to be playing with, to throw around in your hands like a lump of plasticine, pinching and stretching, to test its limits; to fling it at the wall, to test its strength; to freeze it and burn it and smash it, to drive it beyond ashes.

Who is the Young Socialite? Is she a socialite in part because she is young, or young because she is a socialite? Or both? See, I could possibly frolick the whole day long in parties, the rolling hills of friends, the pounding beat of the drum stirring life – the unbeaten, high life, bitterness and trial scarce, pain and sorrow absent and unknown. That is the ‘young’ of some people, and so socialitism is affordable. Or perhaps, I am young because I am a socialite. That is rather understandable and straightforward in comparison to its converse, I should think.

But anyway, let us just put this Young Socialite as a female character for now. There is a throbbing spiritedness in her gait, yet it is perfectly balanced by poise, confidence, not a lowly swagger but an assured waltz past each place she goes: and every place is another ballroom to her, territory marked and well-known. Why? Majority of the territory is of bustling people, not landmarks or little features in your landscape. People, faces, each crystal clear in her sharp eyes, zooming from one to the other, alert, but not afraid. Eagle-class. Because people hardly change, so she can say she knows her territory well. But then again people do change, but she adapts faster; faster than the fly can zip out of reach, the chameleon blends in, or unleashes a flying tongue that pulls the sorry fly right into the trap.

Fire, perhaps? Yes, a little fire does catch onto those around her. Dazzled is a word some use, yes; those refined palates that claim to roam the skies, yet consider only the superficiality of everything and anything. But ‘fire’ is for those that peer deep into the undying rage within her, the remarkable appetite for more, that strikes fear into some, and fire into others. Ambitious fire, jealous fire; pretentious fire, zealous fire. It is far from respectable. Either way you have fallen prey. Even your fire is testimony to the ferocity of the grand blaze where you caught the fire from anyway. Your defiance, your opposition to the hierachy and powers that be; like the rise and fall of the rebellious against empires, your efforts will probably come to nought, allowed to reach its puny height before collapsing on itself in defeat and realization. Realising the depths of your own cause, why you even oppose. It is fear and anger that drives you, and fear and anger that ends your cause. Why it should have taken off in the first place, no one knows.

The Young Socialite is a master of the masquerade. The fire, the might? It is all powerfully concealed, like the waiting cloak-and-dagger. There is no greater power than the deception of the lack of it. It is a cheery smile this mask always seems to be: no frills, genuine, and testament to her capabilities. That is but one layer, true as it can be. The greatest motive for the smile is the submission of many to their insufficiencies, giving stay her apex throne. What I really do mean, is this: She will seem to swoop down to the level you are at (truly an easy feat), and play out her cards simply and straightforwardly, as if she could be read as clear as glass. No devious intent, is what you can believe. But of course she plays cards at every level and with everyone around, perhaps you may notice or perhaps you may not; it is worse if you do, because you not only realise how miniature you are, but that there is no hope of playing cards the way she does. Perhaps it doesn’t immediately occur the requirements of doing so, but dismay is at hand. Insufficiency lends to fear, envy and anger. Fear lends to hopelessness and despair, whereas envy lends to ambition. They seem to take you in opposite directions but really both pull you pretty far downwards. Anger is so dubious we often ask what it leads to. Revenge? Maybe. Resentment, denial, and other things seem more common. From there onwards, it mostly heads downwards faster than fear.

The Young Socialite is not at all abashed at how she plays the game. It is simply a matter of layers, really. So from the outside, we have the simplicity, honesty, down-to-earthness of her dealings with everyone and anyone indeed. Beneath that is the layer also already mentioned: the ease of changeability, flexibility, blending, combined with the approachability/proactiveness dual trait (they are simply passive/active modes of each other). But what remains beneath this layer? It then is the motive and push, if we must be so explicit. If it is granted the motive is to soar, then it is the ambitiousness of the motive we look at. In another less prominent place, the motive of social pleasure does exist. Not the pleasure of the apex position, but the (not-so-simple) appreciation of the pleasure interaction provides. It is not so simple because it sometimes ties itself in with the ulterior motive.

There is a final and deeper layer, often, more like the motive for the motive. Where cometh this, why cometh this? It is a question that stumps so many, or rather, never even occurs until you search long and hard. What is there to an already-very-detestable ambition? Ambition. Familiar. Making the difficult, not-so-obvious link to a low level point of view, it occurs the ambition was fuelled by fear of insufficiency, or the anger it produces.

This Young Socialite is a successful person indeed, pride lying in the transformation of fear and anger into devastation, after many layers of coats and masks were worn, that is.

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