I was raised in a family of debate. If I could prove an intellectual argument right to any member of my family, he/she still wouldn’t change her/his mind but that didn’t matter. It only mattered that I had had a chance to say what I wanted to say. I lived on a permanent soapbox with a particularly incisive audience of one: my brother. He was irrational, illogical, and unfettered. In short, the perfect opponent. Under his whimsical and bullshitting logic lay a quicksilver mind and stubborn will, and it was with this whetting stone that I sharpened by wit.
Nowadays, I find myself in the most enjoyable debates, of my life, with classmates almost daily. It forces me to think about whether I am wrong or right. It forces me to think about what my very basic notions of society are, and then take a step back and think about why those notions are in place. It also, unfortunately, forces my friends to listen to endless debates about the meaning of gender identity and prescribed roles and whether ethics are universal. And unless this stuff is your cup of tea, there’s no joy in it. It just sounds like babble, bullshit, or pretentious woolgathering. And it’s fucking annoying.
So, I find that my tongue is curbed, if not completely silenced. Because while vast, sweeping, endless debates on the nature of everything in life are my cake, close and personal friendships are my bread and butter.