Promise to collapse beside me

Point to the midnight sky, and weep

With me. My saint, let our love seep,

Drown in it for eternity

Oh, how I’ve sailed across all seven seas,

Seen the North and South Pole, yearning

Turning, searching, tearing—needing

You more than these damn lungs need air.

I miss your hugs, kisses, and care,

I wait for you. My everything,

The horizon was dark and stormy as we drove over a highway. I remember my eyes rolling with fatigue and fighting to stay awake, while my mother and father chatted away at the front of the car, talking about whatever it was they managed to find simultaneous interest in. Angel, my older but drastically younger brother, was fiddling with his Nintendo beside me. The air conditioning was crisp and audible, cooling the faint twinge of pink on my cheeks from having spent time playing outside in the warm spring air, before my mom, unbeknownst to me, dragged me along on what would be the only family trip I’ve ever known.

We didn’t often go out because my parents worked often, so when my father pointed out my mother’s side of the window and urged me to take a look, I couldn’t even describe the feeling that went through me. There, in the distance, read two words with enough power, any exhausted child would rise from their seat screaming with anticipation and joy, and it said, “FERRIS WHEEL.”

Many know it by Luna Park, or Coney Island. The same one with that broken ass roller coaster, always two rides away from getting that damn park a lawsuit. The Cyclone, they call it, but death trap is more fitting. There was also the iconic Spook-O-Rama, or however you spelled it. Either way, (and less importantly for the wholesome-ness of the story, my father forced me to take a picture with that creepy ass reaper statue).

Anyway, from that point on, both Angel and I rousted in our seats, kicking our legs, and talking about hopping on our favorite ride the Thunderbolt. It is the most vivid memory I have where we were laughing uncontrollably, and not solely because laughter was easier to do than cry. When we got close enough to the park, the first thing that hit my ears (besides all the other kids screaming and laughing and running around without a bone to detect danger in their bodies), was “Numb” by Lincoln Park. Ironically, my brother and I loved the band, so despite its dark lyrical messages, I actually found, and still find, the song to be one reminiscent of happiness. After jumping out of the car, my mom grabbed Angel’s hand, and dad grabbed mine. They led us down a block-wide strip of mini-games, blinking lights, pinging sounds, until finally, the gloriously sweet scent of funnel cake invaded our nostrils. Thus, we convinced our parents to let us invade their wallets.

Unfortunately, I cannot remember anything from then on, but maybe it’s better that way. God knew I could sit for hours imagining the rest.

When I first read 1984 by George Orwell, I was severely inexperienced with readings like it. I remember feeling a strong sense of terror and dread because of the themes depicted in so many scenes, particularly when the officials were tormenting the protagonist until he fully believed some number plus another equaled something that was not true (like 4+4=9). It was truly unsettling, but not as unsettling as how I’ve come to understand the elements of control and perversion now.

Brainwashing and thought control are usually depicted as things that are complex and, to some who believe they’d never fall for anything like it, something that would be obvious to point out if it was happening. But what many do not recognize is how we have all fallen into the webs of shopping addictions and/or hoarding, based off of all the things we think we want, or more precisely, the things we think we need because others have it. Thought control does not have to be some government-funded plot (not that I’d be shocked if there was one or a thousand out there), but these addictions to material things are all curated and tailored to us via algorithms and subliminal messaging, including specific psychological manipulations woven into modern-day advertisements which seek to meet as many eyes as possible. While 1984 hosts incredible social commentary about tyrannical governments and the element of controlling others to maintain power, I feel it can apply to how capitalism is utilized to keep us busy and wanting. As long as there is a thirst for more random junk we definitely do not need, there will always be a reason to continue running the wheel and earning money. The best examples of this weaponization would be through Instagram or TikTok, as both are so easy to scroll through and get lost within.

I find that evil is as adaptable as the wind. It can take any form, any shape, and any color, slipping past all senses, including our very ability to feel, until it chills us right down to the bone so that we cannot ignore it any longer. Wherever there is a mind, there are several more somewhere trying to control it. As strange as it might sound, 1984 was the first piece of literature to really expose me to the realities of control. Covert and overt methods such as reducing the amount of fun (or agency) we can have to restricting our diets, or convincing us that, unless we are a pile of dusty bones resting against an office chair, we have not done enough work.