Essay film notes, part 3

Who?… Who am I?

You are a product. A product of your environment. A product of society. A product of religion. A product of some one’s desires. A product of your desires.  A product of experience. A product of some expectations. A product of what you have seen, of what you have read, of what you have heard, of what you have lived. You are a product of what you never saw, of what you never heard, of what you never read, of what you never lived. You are a product of what you will never live. Your world, my world, our world is a construct, a huge mechanism, a never resting factory. You are a part of it. You are a number between 7.8 billion other numbers, not a face, not a name. You might have drawn a lucky one. You might have been born in the right part of the globe. You might have been given the role of the buyer on this grandiose scene. It might not be the starring role, not even the secondary, but the scene is better than what hides behind the curtains. The tears, the grief, the pain, the exhaustion, the desperation are outshined by the spectacle. The lights, the comfort, the commodity, the luxury. Feelings are only seen when they are on the right side of the curtains, that is the only time they count. What’s behind them is only valuable as long as the show’s running, and only what keeps the show running matters. We have different worlds which only go along in some heads.

Buy. Buy more. Buy all. Buy what you need, along with what you think you need and what you never needed. You are what you buy. Spend money, and make more money just to spend more money on things you might already have. The more we need, the more they bleed.

Liver failure…kidney failure… pulmonary dysfunction… heart palpitations… b-b-b-brain failure. Irreversible damage. The buyers benefit the best possible medical care. Their health is in the hands of awards winning doctors and monitored by groundbreaking technology. The lowest your purchase power the unimportant you are. Not even cancer is the same for everyone. Your health is not a right, is an indulgence.

Made in China. Made in Bangladesh. Made in Indonesia. Made in Pakistan. Through the hands of the ones who fabric, assemble, take apart what you buy go by things you might have never had the chance to touch, yet they are the least powerful. No power. No rights. No freedom. No health. Their hands held your iPhone, their hands held millions of iPhones, yet, the “i” in iPhone is still for you and not for them. They create things they’ll never use, for people they’ll never meet, for money which will never be enough, living a life which you would never consider a life.

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