[An Anecdote On Prosopagnosia]
It takes some time to distillate this thought in my head but the daily unceasing struggle in the form of internal monologue usually goes like this "Why is this person so cute?", "Does this person have ears?", "Is this Aramax or just someone his height wearing his clothes again?" (the answer is always Yes and Yes, Aramax and his Duplicata, plus a clan of wanna-bes, or it could be just Fashion, as Aramax calls it.)
The realization as to what is the only pertinent question with regards to the condition of prosopagnosia has hit me quite late - it is often not "Why do I find this person attractive?" but "Why do I always find One Specific Type of person attractive?" At the end, this is a Nature/Nurture debate. On nature's side, perhaps I'm genetically prone to be weak to some People, with certain features and traits. On nurture's side, I honestly do not recall seeing men like Aramax walking about in my early years. To my Aramax: it is fascinating to touch You... your bearded face, the soft hair sprawling over your chest and body; to smell the Vétiver on everything you touch; to witness the depth of your soul: brute heart of a brute like you, for an ephemeral moment, suspended and displayed like a prism in front of my very eyes.
Baby, you put a spell on me, and predictably, you turn away.
"Such is life, deal with it. Or die," you would say.
I have well considered the possibility of this - for the rest of my life, I would be scanning for Something Like You in the crowd, wherever I go out in the open, thinking finally, maybe, you'd come up to me, light up a cigarette, and say, "What a ride, huh?"
Writing in the imminent departure from my personal hell, December 2019.
