I was walking through the aisles of a second-hand book store when I stumbled upon a book. The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera. It sounded so philosophical. The juxtapositional title intrigued me even more. The unbearable lightness? How can lightness be unbearable? Honestly, after reading the book over the course of several months, annotating it densely, and pondering upon it for weeks afterward, I still can’t tell you. I have a few theories, but that’s all they are, just theories.
I don’t want to divulge my theories (yet). I want to indulge, instead, in discussing something that has been on my mind lately: humans’ innate need to be witnessed by others. “We all need someone to look at us,” writes Kundera. I agree. I believe we long for someone to look at our lives, acknowledge us, and validate our existence. We just want to be perceived. Although I would argue that someone else’s perception of you doesn’t confirm your existence as a human being, I won’t deny that I am also instilled with this need to have an audience in my life. I’m certain you won’t deny it either.
Milan Kundera groups us all into four categories, depending on the kind of look we wish to live under. This is what I want to unravel together. The first category longs for the look of an infinite number of anonymous eyes, or in other words, for the look of the public. Although celebrities are the first people that come to mind, it’s not just them. I know a lot of people personally who are like that. In fact, with the surge of social media influencers, it looks like almost everyone belongs to this category. But why? Why would someone seek strangers to perceive and judge them and enjoy that? Why is it only the attention of the unknown eyes they seek? Is it insecurity? Are they too afraid to be known? Or afraid to let someone get too close? Do they trust someone else’s definition of them rather than their own? The answer to this is probably simple, but I’m unable to grasp it.
The second category is of people who have a vital need to be looked at by many known eyes. “They are the tireless hosts of cocktail parties and dinners.” Kundera thinks that the people in this category are happier than the ones in the first category. When people in the first category lose their public, they feel as though the lights have gone out in the room of their lives. However, the ones in the second category can always come up with the new eyes they need. They needn’t be anonymous, just acquaintances. The only difference between the two categories is you’re more in control of your “eyes” in the second one.
Then there is the third category, the ones who need to constantly be before the eyes of the person they love. He says their situation is as dangerous as the ones in the first category, because one day the eyes of their beloved will close and the room will, once again, go dark. This, I can agree with confidently, as I can recall many instances in my life when every waking moment of my life seemed to revolve around one person, and I felt as though there was nothing worth my attention but them. They are still alive, but not in my life anymore. And as “dangerous” as it was to lose them, I’m still very much alive in my life, too. So maybe it’s not that bad. Or maybe I’m just being biased. The book's main characters Tomas and Tereza belong to this category. The context behind that is irrelevant here, but let’s just say they’re both trapped in love.
Finally, there is the fourth category, which he calls rare, as these are the people who live in the imaginary eyes of those who are not present. They are the dreamers. I like the sound of that. I want to be a dreamer. The author draws an example from one of the characters named Franz, who traveled to the borders of Cambodia for a woman who didn’t love him. I want to clarify that this category of people don’t simply conjure up people who never existed, but their conscience is so strongly flooded with someone–a concept of them, a glimpse, a smell–anything that they manifest their full person into their daily life even though they are not physically present. “As the bus bumped along the Thai road, [Franz] could feel her eyes fixed on him in a long stare.” Anyway, Franz was so convinced that she was as enamored with him as he was with her, and they lived “together” for a long time before he traveled to Cambodia. He was living his life in a constant dream state. And he was as happy as he could be. It was the happiest time of his life. I don’t remember what happened to him in Cambodia, but I do remember not wanting to be a dreamer after that part. This category is, in my opinion, the most dangerous one because it takes away from your conscience, and how will you ever know? We could all be dreamers right now, and we just wouldn’t know.
I don’t know which category I belong to. To quote myself from an article I recently wrote: for a long time, I would have the incessant urge to be seen. To be heard, to be confirmed. But one day I asked myself if I really valued anybody’s perception of me, and I realized that I didn’t. Since that realization, I deliberately made the circle of people I want to look at and be looked at much smaller and more meaningful. And once I stopped showcasing my life to others, I started feeling more alive.
This book starts off with Nietzsche's concept of ‘eternal return’. Kundera poses it as more of a question: if you knew that your life would recur in exactly the same sequence of events, from start to finish, over and over again for eternity, would you still want to live it? Or would you want to opt out? I thought about that question a lot. I asked all my friends that question. Would you still be fine with doing this forever? And the general consensus was no. But I think I would. I think the point is to strive to be so intentional with your life that you wouldn’t mind living it again and again because you’re the one shaping it. Maybe the question isn’t Would you be fine with doing this forever? But rather, would you be fine with living like this if you knew it was going to repeat forever? Maybe he is urging us to take charge of our lives, instead of letting it pass by passively. Maybe true happiness is longing for the eternal return. Maybe I’ve strayed too far from the subject of the article, but maybe it doesn’t matter that much because it will happen again and again.
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