A Personal Story: How The Messy Artist Came To Be Unabashedly Nerdy
Have you ever heard the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise?
Okay so I missed another post yesterday.
After promising I wouldn’t.
Oops.
In all honesty, I got lazy. Went out early in the day, came home late, and was too excited to game and watch YouTube videos to write. For what it’s worth, the blogs weren’t the only thing I procrastinated on yesterday. Neither of my other two writing projects made any progress, so, you know, you weren’t the only who suffered, dear Reader.
To make up for it (ish), I’m going in a bit of a different direction with today’s post. I’ll be telling a bit of a personal story, and what I learned from my experiences. This is essentially in the vein of my good friend Gabrielle Warren’s posts: life experiences and lessons learned. Do check her blogs out, they’re often a very uplifting read.
Alright. Without any further ado: it’s story time.
You read the title. This post will be about my nerdy side: my love for certain sci-fi and fantasy franchises, my enjoyment of video games and books, and how I came to stop feeling embarrassed about them.
“What?” I hear you cry. “You were ashamed of liking nerd stuff?” (I don’t know, I assume you’ll just use the blanket term ‘nerd stuff’).
Yes, yes I was. Now, I attribute this unnecessary contempt for the culture to three things in particular: my age at the time and all that came with it, the lack of fellow nerds, and the fact that I had not begun to discover myself back then.
Let’s start with the age issue.
I mean, I’ve been what one could call a nerd for as long as I remember. An obsession and adoration of Spider-Man started at age five, my gaming career began with my first ever console, the Gameboy Advance SP, at age seven, and my first owned comic book came when I was ten years old. It’s been a fun time.
But between the ages of 7 and 12, the seeds of this shame were planted. The first instance of note I can remember is during P.E class, when I was… 7 maybe? Somewhere around there.
As my friends and I were getting our kit on, dreading a run in the cold early spring air, we started talking about Spider-Man, my favourite superhero. It was 2004, and the second film in Sam Raimi’s acclaimed webslinger trilogy, Spider-Man 2, was set to come out soon. One of the other boys said that he loved the first movie, but didn’t watch the animated series because it was a “babyish cartoon”.
Which left me like:
Now, being a fan of the Spidey animated series (the 90s one that was still on in 2004), I didn’t agree with this at all. The show was not “babyish”, it was an engaging animated tale of my favourite superhero of all time, tackling not just the adventures of Spider-Man against his dastardly foes, but also the personal issues faced by Peter Parker, making for riveting drama as well as scintillating spectacle.
Of course, being seven years-old at the time, I couldn’t quite articulate that. Also due to my youth, I was an absolute sheep to whatever the cool kids said. I had just heard a guy insult my favourite show, and I felt enraged. So what did I do?
I nodded along, chuckling, and mumbling “yeah, so babyish” in agreement.
You have to understand, the sheep mentality was real. Having the confidence to express my own opinion was a luxury I had not yet experienced. This continued when I was 13, navigating through my tumultuous first year of senior school.
When you’re 13, popularity is, like, everything. If what I’m into isn’t cool, then I’m not into it while I’m at school. This mentality was nothing less than an affront to my very individualism, but alas, my dumb adolescent ass didn’t realise it then.
Also important to note is that the 13-year old mental state is akin to that of the “new vampire” physical state in The Vampire Diaries. Just like when you first become a vampire, as a 13-year-old, your emotions are heightened and everything is so intense. Sense goes flying out the window, and all you can focus on is your raging popularity-lust. Combine my then-neurotic self with that kind of social attitude, and it’s no wonder I never truly came into my own as a nerd then.
That’s enough self-criticism for now. Next on the list of shame-causers? Isolation.
Yes, much like Ego the Living Planet or Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, there was a time when I felt alone in the world. That is, alone in my love of all things nerd. You see, there simply weren’t very many people at school who were into these phenomena as much as I was.
That’s not to paint me as some kind of wunder-fan, vastly superior to all in my knowledge of games and comic books. On the contrary, this made me feel isolated from people who just didn’t share my opinion on what was cool. I was like Junot Díaz’s character, Oscar Wao, without the fat or crippling social anxiety around females. I needed a Robin to my Batman, a Krillin to my Goku, a Troy to my Abed.
Due to my young age and subsequent lack of life experience, I did not see this lack of interest as the logical occurrence it was. This divide was most apparent in senior school, during my early teenage years. Most of the others played FIFA and Call Of Duty, opting towards games with fast-paced multiplayer experiences. I, on the other hand, preferred the single-player, narrative-heavy games, such as Assassin’s Creed II, Ratchet and Clank: Tools of Destruction, and Batman: Arkham Asylum. Others only watched the superhero movies, I chased the intricate stories of the comics. Others talked about their favourite porn stars, I wondered about whether I was more firebender or waterbender.
Again, that isn’t to suggest I was some kind of loner. It’s just to point out that it made sense I felt mildly alone in my nerd culture; I had different interests than most. However, it didn’t make sense at the time.
And that led to the shame.
Instead of seeing the differences of interest as logical, the 13-year-old Messy Artist saw it as a personal slight towards him from the universe itself. Since few others liked, watched, or played what I did, I assumed there was something wrong with me.
There wasn’t, of course. The popularity of the Marvel Cinematic Universe today is testament to just how damn cool this all actually is. But there was no MCU back then. No one to bounce crazy theories off of and write funny fanfics with. And that left me with no one to be nerdy with, which led to the topical personal shame.
I’m totally over it, for those who may be worried. What you’ve read so far are stories of the past; I am a nerd today and damn proud. I’ve discovered who I am, and I kinda love the guy.
There are many people to thank for that. Let’s talk about them.
As mentioned earlier, one of the reasons for my undeserved remorse was that I had not quite discovered myself when I was 13. Hell, I know I still have so much more to learn about myself before I reach peak-Messy Artist. But between the age of 13 and now — I’m 19 going on 20 this year btw, hi! — I’ve certainly grown as a person.
Part of that growth? The shunning of the shame.
A key facet in the growth of my unnecessary shame towards being a nerd was my fledgling self-confidence. I wasn’t always the playfully vain, perfect human specimen I am today. It took time for me to gain confidence in myself, and consequently gain the confidence to be open about my interests, my likes, my dislikes.
As I grew in confidence, beginning around age 15 and continuing exponentially at 16, I managed to shirk that incessant sheep mentality. I started talking more openly and passionately about all my favourite shows and movies. My friends began to understand that I leaned towards the Light side of the Force, was a firebender at heart, and would totally love the ability to double-jump in real life. Instead of agreeing that I only liked the male characters in everything I read, I argued for the recognition of the badass female characters I loved.
I mentioned people who contributed to this growth in confidence. I want to use the last part of this post to thank a key few; name-drops inbound.
First and foremost, I thank God. All praise is due to Allah.
Thank you to my parents, who always support me in every endeavour. I owe everything to you guys.
Thank you Mariam, one of my best friends for years, and the person whom I label the key to my confidence. I don’t know much, but I know I wouldn’t be in the position to write this post without you.
Thank you Zara, my muse for five years and counting. You’ve inspired countless poems, many retellings of a precious chapter of my life, and even a Vogue article. I write because you exist.
Thank you Matt, my fellow poet and comic book nerd. If not for you and the group you accidentally forged for a podcast that never happened, I’d still be lacking in people to talk to about all the narratives I love.
These are the people who first come to mind, but they’re far from the only ones. If I could, I’d thank everyone whose influenced and inspired me. If I ever win an award that actually warrants all these thank-yous, I’ll do my best to.
So, to end, the ultimate moral of this story? Be confident in what you love. Appreciate yourself. As Kevin Hart says:
For those who actually played along, the answers to the game are as follows: the “ONE” image came from a poster for Rogue One, the two image was from a poster for X-Men 2, and the Roman numerals three image was from the inside of the “O” in Game of Thrones’ title image.
And that’s that.
Till next we meet,
Sarim
