I’ve had this dream of being famous. Ever since I can remember, I’ve always wanted to be renowned for something. Specifically, I wanted to be renowned for something positive. However, I could never decide exactly what I wanted to do that would allow me to achieve fame.
I’ve wondered to myself for a number of nights when I lie in bed about how The Greats achieved their fame. I’ve wondered if they sought out fame as I do; I’ve wondered if fame was thrusted upon them; and I’ve wondered if they never intended on being famous. The Greats are remembered as great for a reason but over time the reason can be forgotten. Instead, the name simply remains.
Do I want to be that way? Do I want to be a name from the past that has lost all its meaning? No. No, I want to be more than that. I want to be a name that retains its history. I want to exist as a person, long after I am gone. If I am to do this, how will I go about it?
Only then did I think about those who are forgotten. I thought that The Forgotten Ones aren’t forgotten because they’re not famous, but because nothing of them was left behind. If a soul were to simply vanish without leaving a trace, anything behind, how would we ever know it was there? The Forgotten Ones are the ones who never existed; that is the reason they are forgotten. Not a face, nor name, nor something to recall.
Did I want to be a Forgotten One? No. Insanity is what such a thought was. So where did that leave me? Left as one of the ones caught in-between. I was simply in the middle, neither famous nor forgotten. And somewhere, deep down inside of me, there is a person pleading that that is enough. He says that the best people to remember are the ones that you can’t quickly recall. They are the ones that you search for, through diaries and letters and photographs. They are the ones who are truly famous.
To this person inside of me, I’ve asked why he says such things. He tells me that fame fades away with time. He says that the famous, The Greats, they all eventually fade away with time into names, without a reason to recall the name; and in time, the name too disappears, turning them into The Forgotten Ones.
I told him that such thinking was crazy. He argued that it was not. He argued that those who are neither famous nor forgotten always can be remembered because they did not just fade away but left traces behind. They did not attain fame which later became reasonless and nameless. They instead touched the souls of those closest to them. And that which is good, that which tied to the soul, is always remembered.
Only after pondering on something so ludicrous for some time did I begin to realize that that person inside of me was right. He was correct in every sense of what he said. It became clear to me then that fame could be redefined. Instead of it being someone whose name was left in spotlight, it was someone whom I could recall at minor moments. That someone would be tied to my soul.
And then time passed. It kept flowing along as it instinctively does and I realized that I no longer wanted to be famous. I wanted to reject the superficiality of fame. I wanted my soul to be bound and entwined with another. I wanted to be the difference in the most positive way, something only the good could do. I realized that what I really wanted, was to be remembered.