What Ronda Rousey's Suicidal Thoughts mean to Regular People

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 "Winning all the time 

isn't what's best for everybody. [...]

 Maybe I had to be that example of 

picking myself up off the floor 

for everyone. 

Maybe that's what I'm meant for".

Ronda Rousey: the very embodiment of the word 'motivation' for most people, arguably until her first loss to competitor Holly Holm at the UFC 193 on November 15, 2015.

I remember being extremely saddened by the fact that I could not acquire tickets to attend UFC 193, particularly considering it took place in my hometown, and that my favorite fighter, Ronda Rousey, would be headlining the main fight. I was ecstatic to think that I could witness the most powerful female at the time clash against another professional fighter and presumably win, cementing her rights to be blatantly outgoing and excessively motivated, and her rights to be boastful. However I missed the ability to attend said event, and had to wait until after the match to hear the predicted results.

But to my surprise, and mind you it was not a surprise that I went through alone, I was notified that such a figure of power and determination had lost. I had to watch the painful replay of her loss myself to believe what I had heard. And watching the knockout at that moment, I saw not only a 50 pound kick to the head, but I saw the closure of a fixated and hardened mind. I saw the bringing down of both a figure of force and supremacy. And I had lost interest in Ronda immediately. She had advertised herself as a beastly winner, fulfilling promises and proving herself true each time. She became a figure of truth, a figure which instilled hope in me: if I could not achieve what I wanted in life, it was okay, because I had the chance to live my achievements through her achievements. She made possible the realm of dreams, and merging of dreams with reality. She made me feel as though motivation and my mind could coexist in harmony.

Video: The highlights of UFC 193 - Ronda Rousey vs. Holly Holm.

And as shallow and selfish as that sounds, it all fell and withered away with her in the duration of that fight. But I had not known the actual impact of that fight until today, February the 17th, 2016. I watched daytime television for the first time in months, flicking uncomfortably through unappealing shows until I settled into watching The Ellen Degeneres Show. Usually my television set, upon the hit of the information button, would show me a synopsis of the show, and that synopsis would contain a list of guests. That list would determine whether or not I would continue watching it. It no longer contains that, and I had to sit through it if I were to find out who was featured on the show. And so I did.

I had not expected myself to experience the first interview Ronda Rousey was to partake in after her loss, discussing her loss. I thought nothing of it. I sat there staring but not focussing at what was being said. The figure of power who had inflated herself into a blimp-sized figure of mass destruction had deflated, and meant nothing to me. I could no longer seek her interviews for motivation. I was disheartened. And then something strange happened. Something, prior to this, that had scarcely taken place for the viewing of the public. Ronda began to cry. I could not determine how an already deflated ego could deflate some more, however it did, and what occurred stunned me.

Ronda transformed from a regular fighter into a symbol of utter power, to a hollowed and distasteful person of fame, then to a regular human being. Ronda rendered herself, again to my surprise, even more fragile than she was when she lost her fight. She no longer partook in a fight against another human, rather a fight within herself. Ronda exposed at the very moments documented below, how real it is to be human. She expressed the dangers of the cognition of existentialism, as well as expressing her victimisation due to this cognition:

"I was in the medical room, down in the corner and I was like, what am I anymore if I'm not this? I was literally sitting there thinking about killing myself and in that exact second I'm like, I'm nothing, I'm like, what do I do anymore? No one gives a sh*t about me anymore".

Ronda has shown that she is aware of her impact on the world and its peoples. She has displayed her understanding of herself and what she means to her existence, as well as the existence of others. In fact, her existence is defined by others. This is the very denotation of existentialism: to exist and to know of your existence and to be able to distinguish your existence from the existence of others. When one is cognitive of their sense of existentialism, one continuously attempts to live at the expectations contained within their existence. Once one is removed from these expectations, one is lost and rendered fragile.

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Ronda's fragility comforts us. This is why her interview has received a positive response. Humans respond to the fragility of others with a sense of empathy. Empathy is the breeding ground of relation. Through Ronda's fragility, we feel as though we can relate to her, and instead of being the display of strength, she has now turned into the display of the very notion of the existence of a human: to try, to fail, to admit, and to rise above and try again.

Another element which makes Ronda seemingly human and less of a machine is her dependence on another being: Travis Browne. Travis is for Ronda what she was to us when she was headstrong and sure of herself. She became plastered all over the media, she who was for the first time a realistic figure that we not only look up to, but rely on. We are merely a group of ants working for the queen ant that is capitalism, and as slaves we look to strength, preferably the visual kind, so as to let it enter our eyes and fill our sous with the hopes of a better tomorrow. She was the possessor of an ideal mind, and ideal mindset and an ideal way to approach the execution of all hurdles life places before us:

"I looked up and I saw my man, Travis. [He] was standing there and I just looked up at him and I was just like, I need to have his babies. I need to stay alive. [...] I was meant to have him when I was at my lowest".

However bad her knockout, both literal and figurative (in terms of her deflation), Ronda has scattered herself into a pile of ashes, proclaimed her loss of self, and from that proclamation picked herself up, pieced herself together and has risen into a fiery phoenix of motivation, this time with bigger and brighter flames, forcing onlookers to squint and those with their backs turned hold fast to their napes as her flames scorch their ignorance and impartiality. And again we look, but this time after having regained her trust because of her fragility, we do not look up at her, we look up to her. And she recognises that, hence reaffirming her self-efficacy due to her newly transformed sense of motivation:

"I really do believe that I'm still undefeated because being defeated is a choice; everybody has losses in their life but I choose to always be undefeated".

"Good for you", replied Ellen, slapping her hand down on her armchair.

No, Ellen. Good for us. Good for us.

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Valentine's Day 2016: a Cynical Approach

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Yes, it's that time of the year again, the time when a single day is allocated to commemorate the annual repeating of a singular group of actions and behaviours that are favored by the status quo and even more favored by all abiders of capitalism, in particular florists, chocolatiers, gift cardists and condom factory owners: Valentine's Day. 

It is worthy to note that Valentine's Day is, in one essence, based on the romanticising of St Valentine of Rome who performed weddings for those forbidden to marry -  perhaps, then, love is an act of rebellion, in which its instigators practice careful vigilance by nurturing a concept of human ownership. And this ownership should be showered with gifts to pardon it from being what it is. Either that, or you may take Valentine's Day in the style of Chaucer, who believed that on this day, "euery bryd comyth there to chese his make." Perhaps he is the most right in the acquisition of the meaning of Valentine's Day, as his belief pertains to the beliefs of millions who think they too are mating birds. 

When one takes to pondering the very existence of something, it is natural for one to turn to Google, and gently push their mouse far enough to land on Google's yearning search bar. One then would type a search term, and find themselves honing in on one particular hit, and that is said search term's coexisting Wikipedia page. One then investigates this human phenomenon through Wikipedia, so as to elicit a most brief and basic form of meaning, a form of comprehending, somewhat, its existence. This particular one will indeed be one, as this one person sits alone on the eve of this crazed couple's conundrum of a celebration and reviews its very continuance. And it is this one who is cynical about varied things. One cannot blame this one, for I represent this one. And I know I am not alone:

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And so this turns me into an inquisitor of sorts, fumbling through technological lands in order to make sense of my reality, similar to the digital expeditions younger people go on wherein they ponder: if I send them this certain photograph of me, will they feel compelled to be attracted to me? Will this image remain for their eyes only? Will they too return an image wherein their appendage is bearing and will I be pleased with this? Of course, the answer is no to all of the above. However these younger people partake in this nonsense regardless, harbouring acts of self-exploitation masked as inquisition in order to feel as though they are a part of 21st century society. My inquisition differs, however, in that rather than being an instigator in this self-explorative mess, I am an observer, as are most people who have asked Google the questions above; the many ones.

As the observer, I am thus also deemed the representer of an inquisitive sort, and as a representer of this one, I am a little alarmed at, before viewing the common search queries related to this day, I came across Google's special celebratory logo, which I think is a terrible misrepresentation of the holiday itself:

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Upon closer inspection, I have gathered the following thoughts about the above placed logo:

• Why is the heart so dully colored?
• What does the tissue box represent in this illustration?
• What does the roll of tissue paper represent in this illustration?
• What is the relationship between illustrated tissue box and tissue roll?
• Why is one inanimate object handing another inanimate object an inanimate object?

I then came to the conclusion that Google defines Valentine's Day as a day where two emotionally pained entities can feel better when offered a red box marketed as a human heart (disfigured) to represent love, as said red box contains, upon visiting my mind's database and inferences revolving around said object, many pieces of well-made and well-flavored chocolates. This conclusion then lead me to other questions:

• Why is chocolate being represented as something that makes one feel good when it, in excessive consumption, which is, I must add, meant to be done so by the singular individual who receives this red box, proves detrimental to that one?
• Why does the tissue roll look relieved to be offered said chocolate?
• Could Google be implying that unhealthy eating habits should be encouraged?

Maybe Google's little illustration is inferring that love is manipulation: you are sad, I bought you this, you are now entitled to, on my behalf, feel better, so please eat those chocolates and smile.

I have conjured a better arrangement of Google's visual mise en scène, one that I think better fits:

In my rendition of this arrangement, I have shown the manipulation that Valentine's Day offers all complying customers, wherein the box of chocolates is acting as the sympathiser: here, take something that you will actually use, something that when used will benefit you, as I, a member of the inanimate and overly gifted objects, pity you and your race for choosing to provide me as a token of affection. If you really cared about one another, you would offer each other my friend, the Celery Stick. But make use of Tissue, here, for Tissue is soft and Tissue will embrace Tears and Tissue will attempt to make you look less miserable than you currently do - in all honesty, however, human, I too would be this miserable had I needed to express my affection with inanimate objects on a singular day.

But do not take my cynicism in its entirety; by all means, if you are feeling amorous, go forth and be fruitful in your execution of love. I have felt amorous before. I have known love. I have dwelled in its caves and fallen drunk on its alcohol-infused hormones that danced in my mind and clouded my clarity. I know the importance of pleasing one's lover so as not to loosen the tethering mechanism holding the two in place. However keep in mind that this patronising should occur more frequently than an assigned day. Keep your human happy and purchase severely overpriced luxuries on multiple days. 

Or perhaps take the day to treat yourself with the kindness you deserve. Do not wait for another to add validity and essence to your existence. Lather yourself with inanimate objects. Write down reasons as to why you matter. Avoid the costly and harrowing traps that 'love' sets. Be not ensnared. Perhaps it is a good thing that you are free and alone. Perhaps it is as good for your mind as it is your bank account. Perhaps this is the time for you to obtain distinctness in terms of who you are and what you are doing with yourself. Perhaps one is better than two. Do not let capitalism dictate your thoughts. Do not fall into the trap of nurturing a concept of celebrated human ownership. Just let Charles Bukowski explain:

"Love is a fog that burns with the first daylight of reality", source

I align strongly with Bukowski. And so should you. Before you partake in any idea that capitalism sees fit, just think, what would Bukowski say?

For those of you with partners, I commend you. Celebrate your heart's cleansing, but hold tight to your money. I hold the inability to keep a partner as I believe that the only beings who should be caged are those who can break free: I am neither cunning nor manipulative. I am naive, and I am free. 

Happy Another-Calender-Day-Wherein-You-Must-Carry-On-Breathing-Either-Alone-Or-Alongside-Someone-Else-But-By-All-Means-Please-Breathe-Longer-By-Not-Purchasing-Exessively-Overpriced-Chocolates-Sold-In-An-Anatomically-Inaccurate-Box Day.

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