In high school, we were taught about how genes and how two kinds: dominant and recessive, are responsible for how traits are passed, or perhaps chosen is the more appropriate term. The dominant gene will always overpower the recessive gene, taking precedence even in the presence of the recessive gene, hence the name. The recessive gene only surfaces when in the company of other recessive genes. It is a tacit, brooding gene that can live peacefully among the dominant ones. It will never overpower the dominant gene and can only reign in its absence. But before I continue, this story needs a little segue (Yes, we’re meta-fictional today).
Of all my romantic encounters, I’ve only been truly honest to one of them. Of course, had I known that that kind of honesty would warrant hours of therapy in the future, I might have chosen a more deceitful approach. Yet hindsight, as they say, is 20-20. And my philosophy professor will continue to argue that while the past cannot be changed, its meaning is as adaptable as evolution itself.
Never mind about my logic in telling her this. What I did say was that I was somewhat petrified of the thought of commitment. A foolish thing to say, I know, especially at quite a raw state (of maturity). Looking back, I realize that I was, indeed, half right. Many years (and scars charged to experience) later, it’s not commitment itself I fear but something much farther down the road. Every nerd, even at the instinctive level knows and fears this fact of life. In fact, anyone who hasn’t resorted to physical displays of dominance for lack thereof knows why — these are the recessives.
Now in this day and age, it goes without saying that we have, in fact, defied the laws of evolution, and that ‘survival of the fittest’ no longer exists, at least not on the physical plane. ‘Survival of the fittest’ has crossed over into the fiscal plain, fittest being the most financially capable (or perceptive at least) of sustaining life.
Yes, life's a bitch in the urban jungle. Recessives continue to be recessive while the dominants have moved on to less tangible displays of dominance. It’s still very animal kingdom-y if you ask me.
I’ve long been aware of my recessive state, not to mention been made aware of it. Yet growing up, I've never been endowed with the tools to overcome it, and have since made conscious efforts to reverse it. Identity, however, is bestowed right down to DNA, and cannot be revoked nor replaced. And even on the fiscal or perceptive plane, I find myself, through the stinging bite of experience, lacking.
Let’s keep all my skeletons in the closet and Freudian sub-consciousnesses securely subconscious. What I speak of is an inevitability and not just a possibility. Being a recessive, how long do you really think it will take before the better half will seek a member of the dominant faction? A fulfilled life, after all, by nature’s definition, is passing on one’s genes to the next generation (one capable of sustaining life, remember?) and beginning yet another cycle. Instinct, a facet of ourselves we have failed to reprogram, dictates it.
Indeed I’m afraid of failure, and with good reason. A factory defect, as my workplace calls it, has no other solution than replacement.
I choose not to begin for the sole reason that I know it will not continue, or perhaps will, but with serious impairment to mobility, as most factory defects, if unchecked, proceed.
Friends will easily call it pessimism. Yet, time and time again, my so-called doomsayers prove themselves right. Chronicles of history, novels, and even the realm of fiction do well to highlight the writing on the wall. Watch the recent movie loosely based on another movie, loosely based on a rumor, and you’ll see the stark difference between dominants and recessives.
Maybe I’ve lost my naïve romanticism. Maybe I’ve come to realize that “Kiss me you passive aggressive fool!” just doesn’t cut it anymore. And neither will “Sorry.”
They just don't go away that easily.
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