Reality: Deceptive Perception or Perceptive Deception?

Went to the theatre last Friday night and saw Wicked. I abhor musicals, but it was a well done play and I actually enjoyed myself.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the production, it is billed as being a prequel to the Wizard of Oz, and tells the tale of the relationship between Glinda, the Good Witch of Oz, and Elphaba, the Wicked Witch of the West. Ostensibly, the most apparent moral of the story is that there really is no such thing as pure good or pure evil. Some critics have said that it is a allegoric statement on U.S. politics and the deceptive appearances of so-called good and bad actions, as well as people's need for a scapegoat or enemy.

It's funny how some people never grow out of their childish need to label "good" and "bad". Some days I wish I could see the world purely in black and white. Alas, I live a life mainly within the varying shades of grey. (I'm told that some of us live in technicolour ... but I suspect they may just be on a really good acid trip).

In any event, I guess I have a hard time with labels, particularly those that assign value judgements to the recipient of said label. My children have learned early on that name calling isn't acceptable as far as I'm concerned. It's quite amusing to hear one child chastise the other because he was overheard telling the dog that she is a "bad girl" for urinating in the house. They have some vague idea that there are inherently 'bad' people out there in the world, but that for the most part, good people can do 'bad' things sometimes and still be 'good' people.

I guess the question is where you draw the line. In last night's play, you find yourself empathising with Elphaba far more than you do the weak, vain and superficial Glinda. And yet Glinda becomes Emerald City's goodwill ambassador, the "feel good" poster girl. Why? Because she's cute and perky and physically fits the bill (blonde all the way, baby).

So maybe that's why I hate labels. I don't think I've ever fit any bill. As a child of a rebellious Asian man who deliberately stayed away from his communal roots, living in a French-Canadian city, I never fit in anywhere. Add to that fact that I was just plain weird as a child. I dressed in a fairly eccentric fashion (thanks to my mom who groomed me to be some kind of child of the fifties, I think), I had no idea about popular musical groups or dance moves, I had no idea about anything deemed to be "cool". So I didn't fit in as a Canadian and I certainly didn't fit in as part of the Korean community.

As I got older, I stopped desperately trying to squeeze myself into some kind of a mold, and started trying to carve out my own identity. I've grown to embrace the differences and now hate to be one in a crowd of many. My daughter, bless her little heart, is fiercely unique and also refuses to succumb to the masses of pop culture. I wonder if it's genetic?

While out with a group of people last week, a question was thrown at me: is there such a thing as an absolute good or bad, or is the standard simply a societally imposed one? It's a tough question. I still have yet to come up with an answer in fifteen words or less. I wonder if I ever will.