Act 1 | The Dealer

 "The rules are quite, quite simple.

Look at the cards you have been dealt,

then use those cards to collect more."

We are the mere planewalkers of this realm. A realm so eternal, mythical, and kind that every creation is born with its roles already attuned to his very name, gender, skin, and blood. We are but mere creatures that are destined to serve our roles. And thus, we have our own cards. 

The man is to build for we are the brutes that protect the weak in our societies. The women, the children, and even the other men, the weak men. This is what is required of us, for it is the norms that have preserved our race. Then, so shall it be. The cards are dealt in the men's favor. We are the protectors, so we have to be strong. What is strong? A brute with a voice that dazzles the very air and makes you shiver. Perhaps, not always. "Look at the man you are", said once you achieve something, because why wouldn't you be the "person you are"? You carry the legacy of a card attuned long before Christ was born; we had quills to write our pain away, and coins were nothing as a sheep would be a basket of olives. And what of the feeling? You cannot celebrate, not loudly, unless your voice is of a masculine shape. You cannot sway, but the trees do. Even though they were here before you. Are trees evil? Or do they simply deny their nature? A man does not love, at least not after what he has obtained. He only obtains what he sought. He picks the achievement from its roots, right out of the soil. It is a display of strength and the means to pay back our debt. To whom? The cards. If they are the ones to grant us such strength, you have no choice but to possess a visage that is alluring. Meanwhile, the woman cooks, the old die. The child plays, the children shout. The pink flies while the blue sinks. 

"The rules are simple. Quite simple."

None of it is true.

The idea to attune anything to anyone is inherently evil. This is also why I deny the concept of fate; however, fate is seemingly bestowed upon by a higher being. Our cards? It is quite safe to say that our society injects them into us. At first, it seems like a vaccination for a greater, deeper sickness. After all, deny the inherited legacy of a society, and you are the next threat. There is little room for understanding today, which is why you are to play the cards you are given. For societies that rely on conservative beliefs, the cycle is set before them. All that remains is to complete the cycle. The cycle contains intertwined roles for both men and women (the argument to have a broader concept of gender is unavailable in such contexts; you cannot be vague for them). Then, for whom do we really live for? 

If the cards are socially injected, who designed the deck, and who benefits from pretending it was shuffled by fate? This is but a melting point for societies. This unravelled point does not allow most to fathom what reduces their strengths. After all, they are not made to think, not this way. As Michel Foucault once warned, “Power is everywhere… because it comes from everywhere.” To question such societal norms would be, once again, a threat against your own kind. If it revolves around you, it is ethereal. To question it would be to attempt to dethrone a deity. Therefore, you shall not.

This odd juxtaposition of “entities” and unravelling creation is a concept societies must challenge in order to rid themselves of the labels that reduce their identities, swords and daggers that bleed them, poison that weakens them, and ideologies that quietly eradicate them. Pierre Bourdieu reminds us that “social order is progressively inscribed in people’s minds,” until domination no longer requires force, only belief.

Knowing this, it is not difficult to determine who benefits from this the most. Leaders must maintain their power to establish and preserve their government, and as Hannah Arendt observed, “The most radical revolutionary will become a conservative the day after the revolution.” A government may represent the people who chose it, but it can also transform them, slowly, invisibly, until they no longer resemble the people who once stood by it.

"Look at the cards you have been dealt,

Then use those cards to collect more."

As a player, you are required to abide by the rules. It is not fair to throw two cards at once, to pick multiple cards, or to look at another player’s hand. But what if you simply refuse to play? Is this rejection an act of rebellion, or merely another clause hidden within the rulebook itself? Albert Camus once wrote, “The rebel is a man who says no, but whose refusal does not imply renunciation.” Refusal, then, is not absence. It is presence, tension, and risk. Do you see how your cards are shaping you to be now?

This question is inevitable for those who seek answers about the society they were born into, not the one they belong to. For as Antonio Gramsci reminds us, “The challenge of modernity is to live without illusions and without becoming disillusioned.” If one cannot think on their own behalf, then the machinery of the game remains intact. And if they cannot, you should. Perhaps there are no cards after all.

"What an interesting game. Might I play?" asks the Guardian

The dealer responds, "Every human must!"

The time has been flowing more quickly than I would like it to recently. While I have not surrendered to the cards I was once dealt, it appears that at times I find myself enforcing them, only to pave the path for others. The very cards I would be handed were I to lose myself. How terrifying a thought it is: a man lost within his own concept, even as he believes he is creating a better version of himself.

The Dealer in Paige Parker claims that the only way to deal with this game is to be mad. His proposal depicts us clearly as the products of others’ actions. After all, you cannot decide your birth, and thus, you are born. A vessel of beauty. You are beautiful, and so you shall remain.

All the cards, all the rules, none of them can be your equal. To win is to play the game, and to play the game is to love the game.

This is the first reflective entry for Paige Parker's book, Observations on the Human Condition. I found the concept and narrative quite exquisite. I felt a strong need to look back to understand what the story attempts to tell through my own vision and cards. Could it be elaborated better? Absolutely. Could it be simply a means to understand how to love life and learn to live? Again, yes. However, I believe there is a bigger picture waiting for us out there. And cards might just be the key.