I Don't Believe in Biographies

Prologue

I don't believe in the purgatory or the red beings with the arrow-shaped tails. I don't believe in intrinsic goodness or badness, and I definitely don't believe in genies that come out of bottles. Especially the small and narrow ones, because I know for a fact there's no way a genie could ever fit in there. And even if they could, they would probably break their backs from the awkward posture. Actually, I don't really know. I don't know much about anatomy. Now that I think about it, I don't know much about anything. But the one thing I do know is that the genie from Aladdin - whatever his name is - seems perfectly sound to me.

I don't believe in carpet cleaning companies and the food pyramid. I don't believe in mermaids, nor do I believe in brunch. I do, however, take online quizzes very seriously. But there's one thing I particularly don't believe in and never ever will, even if you showed me a thousand PowerPoints, or tried to bribe me with a puppy (which, if you really knew me, you'd know I'm not the biggest fan of puppies; I prefer kittens, much softer, calmer creatures, which, to be honest, is probably a reflexion of what I lack the most, kind of like my soul's last resort to try to find the one thing that I need so deeply that I ignore it, but I don't really ignore it, I try but obviously it doesn't work, it's like I can't keep my mind off it, but that's way besides the point), and it's something that, funnily and interestingly enough, is so commonplace that I bet I'm the only one on this world to ever take the time to actually analyze it.

I don't believe in biographies. And I can understand if that's one of the silliest things you've ever heard. Maybe not the silliest thing, since there are much sillier things happening in the world, such as the meat industry constantly bringing the planet closer to its impending death, but let's not address that. There is just something of the utmost irony in spending a few decades trying to build a life of your own for it to end up being told by someone who's never brushed even the tip of your mind. I keep hearing stuff about walking a mile in somebody else's shoes, as though it would let you understand exactly who that person is. Which seems ludicrous to me, because I'm sure we can all agree that, to some extent, all shoes are pretty similar. So it's not about the shoes.

It's about the soul. It's about your handwriting and the way you talk about desire. It's about the way you brush your teeth and what you write in birthday cards. It's about what you wear at funerals and the way you eat your corn on the cob. I'm sure you can see where I'm going with all this: it's about what you can't change, and most importantly, it's about what you can't share.

And so I'm sure you can understand why I get frustrated when I see the dictionary's definition of biographies, which, according to the Merriam-Webster, is "a usually written history of a person's life". As I previously explained, a biography doesn't tell a person's history, and certainly not their life. I don't want that to happen to me. I don't want my name written with the pen of a random author, as though I was a character in their own story. I want only the accurate, the genuine - I don't have time for random facts found here and there by someone who's just trying to give a good ending to their story. And frankly, I don't have much time at all. I'm running out of it. I'm turning fifty today, and although it might seem young for most people, I can't help but acknowledge the fact that the finish line is imminent. Truth is, you can escape loads of things. You can change your hair and your clothes, even your name. You can start over in another country, thus escaping everything you left behind. But no one can escape death. Even I can't.

It frightens me, to be quite candid. But it's a weird kind of fright. It's not hectic, I'm not bouncing around and biting my nails, or staying up all night staring at the ceiling. And it's not exactly sad either; I don't even remember the last time a tear ran down my cheeks. It's more of a heavy, grievous, burdensome fear. I can sense death every time I get out of bed, and I can recognize it in each and every one of my wrinkles. I can taste it in the first sip I take of my morning coffee. And so, as any human would, I try to escape it in every way I know, even though I'm completely aware of the fact that I can't. I tend not to get up in the morning, nor look at myself in the mirror. I don't eat or drink much. But, today... Well, today is different. I woke up when the birds were still dreaming, and I jumped in the shower. I brushed my hair and put on some of my favorite perfume. I'm wearing fresh clothes, and my face is painted for the first time in years. I've decided that today, I'm telling my story before somebody else has to do it for me. The last thing I'd want is a biography.

Now, this is far from being the first time I decide to sit down and write. I'm a fiction author, that's literally what I'm paid to do. And I know it might seem a bit odd for me to hate biographies with such passion since my job consists of writing stories. But the difference is that I don't just tell what I think is my character's story, I create it along the way. This specific aspect allows me to have much more leeway than biography writers who can't invent anything, which is probably what separates this from the rest of my work; I'm not allowed to lie. No tricks, no shortcuts. Just the raw, unapologetic truth. It's a little scary, but I largely prefer that than to have my story told all topsy-turvy.