Arkham Earth

I'll confess, I have a cupboard in my room just for masks. Even I'm impressed by how many I've collected - each one an art form in itself, with its own history and make. I'm never in need. I have them all. I have one I take to the gym, to work, church. I keep one for my family - for every friend. I'm somewhat of an actor.

I recently finished my second playthrough of Batman: Arkham City; a universe of colourful criminals and flawed heroes. A circus of miscreant performers.

Don't know if I'm finally losing it or I'm just getting soft, but I started seeing a real side to the game's characters. All their hurts and sufferings. The unfortunate reasons they're iconic in the first place. Each has their own visage where they (and we) find their identity; a former district attorney obsessed with duality who copes with the cruel misfortunes of life by tossing a coin; a narcissistic riddler who leaves clues of his deadly deeds because he wants attention; a homicidal jester who chose a life of madness and anarchy after enduring one unbearable day, and a playboy billionaire who adopted a dark persona to deal with his sadness and rage at the loss of his parents.        

Perhaps I'm getting too soppy over fictional characters - but I see the same thing in our world. We disguise ourselves and make rash decisions that stem from things we've experienced. We live like thespians, carrying our wardrobes full of masks and expect people to understand where we're coming from - when they're just trying get by themselves.

I'll admit I'm a fairly apathetic man, but occasionally I have my moments of caring. It originates from past hurts and burns. Arguably I use to care too much, but more often that not it felt one-sided, so when I found an excuse not to care I rolled with it. It was refreshing to let people go and relax as I watched the world unwind, not bothering to attend to every immediate need. Stay somewhere too long though and you tire of it. I wanted to care again, to feel love and give love. That's where I find myself now.

I remember one day I was with a group of friends swimming. When I got out one of my mates gave me his hand to help me out. I didn't take it. I wasn't trying to be rude - I wanted to be independent. That came at a price. As I looked up, I could see the rejection in his face. Seems like such a trivial thing. I didn't even need his help, I was just getting out of a pool, but that wasn't the point. It mattered a lot to him, and it matters to me now - if only it did then. 'If only I saw it his way,' I say to myself. Nowadays when someone offers me help, I take it.

Is he?

People often tell me stories of others who've wronged them. I try and imagine what the person on the other side is really saying amidst the jumble of emotions. In all my time (a very long time) I've found most people are just trying to do right. They're not inherently bad - just scarred. Such a call to love and see past peoples' personal attacks and meltdowns is...unrealistic at best. No doubt I'll get frustrated with someone tonight and completely forget what I've written and what situation they're in. But I'm a dreamer, so that's what I'll do.

I suppose in the end, we're trying to tell people we want to be appreciated and accepted. I mean why did I bother to write this article? Was it to genuinely explore the issue or to seek acknowledgment and praise? Probably the latter. What strange ways we have...