II - The X-Men

The two young men had met almost two years ago, in one of the many house parties that coloured Leeds academic life. None of them would have been able to remember exactly whose party it was though, or when exactly it took place. It was just one of many parties, one of an infinity of nights out, drinking, having fun, meeting people, that every student experiences during their time at University, especially when they move out of their parent’s house to study.

            Leeds, specifically, was a great place to attend University. It was small, but not too small. It was as cheap as England can be, definitely much cheaper than London. It was relatively safe and it had one of the biggest student populations in the country. In fact, for someone like Leonardo, the whole city could seem at times like one big campus, since his time was spent entirely either on campus, in the city centre or one of the student neighbourhoods.

The great majority of students lived either on campus, or in one of three student neighbourhoods: Woodhouse, Hyde Park or Headingley. Woodhouse and Hyde Park were closer to the University, Headingley was closer to the rugby stadium, had many bars and restaurants and was a bit nicer overall. Living on campus was very convenient, but that meant living in one of the University halls, which were usually reserved to first-years and exchange students from foreign universities. Leonardo and Jean-Pierre both lived in Woodhouse, five minutes from each other.

The night they met both of them were a bit tipsy, as it is customary in any house party in Leeds or in any other student town in the western world.

Someone introduced them to each other and they exchanged names:

‘Hi, my name is Leonardo.’

‘Hey, I’m Jean-Pierre. I’m from Belgium. Where are you from?’

Out of all the questions of the world, this was Leonardo’s least favourite one. He never quite knew how to answer it.

‘I’m Brazilian… sort of’, he said.

The tall black guy in front of him looked at him slightly confused, ‘what do you mean, sort of? Are you from Brazil or not?’

‘Yes, I am. I was born there. The thing is, I actually grew up in Portugal, and I’ve lived in a few other countries before coming here… so I’m not really sure what I am…’

‘I see… I actually thought you were American, you sound American… did you ever live there?’

‘No… it’s just… I’m one of those kids who were raised by television… I used to watch a lot of American TV series and movies, I still do. I guess that’s why I sort of sound American. I’m a product of globalization/Americanization. I grew up listening to all my heroes speaking American, so I think that’s why I sort of sound like them. But not quite… I guess I’m like one of those ancient artefacts that you buy in a Moroccan street market for a decent amount of money, believing you have a great deal in your hands, but that you find out straight away that you were tricked as soon as you realize that everyone else has one that looks exactly like yours. Then when you wash it a couple of times the paint comes of and you can see its made of plastic instead of real ceramic.’

Jean-Pierre smiled, showing off his immaculate white teeth, made even whiter by his skin, which was black as coal. Than he said something Leonardo was not expecting to hear not even a million years from a random guy he just met at a party:

  ‘What if you got it wrong man? What if you’re the exact opposite? Perhaps you are the rare artefact in the Moroccan market, which looks just like all the other copies but is actually the real thing. Even the salesman doesn’t know you’re the real thing so he sells you at normal price. But what he doesn’t know is that he is selling a unique piece that is unlike any of the others. This one is not made of plastic, this one is five-hundred-years-old. This one is worth more than all of the other ones put together times one thousand. Being different may be a curse, but you are all the more interesting because of that. I mean, look around, this house is crowded with people. This street is crowded with houses. This city is full of streets. This planet is crammed with cities, cars, pollution, buildings made out of concrete and glass and shatters made of plastic and tin. The world is over-populated with six billion people who will turn into twelve in a decade or two. Who has time for normal people these days anyways? … Do you like the X-Men?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You know, the X-Men…Wolverine, Storm, Professor X, Magneto, Cyclopse… those guys.’

‘Yeah, although Magneto is not an X-Men, he’s their enemy’, said the geek inside of Leonardo straight away.

‘Whatever… He’s still a mutant. I like the X-Men too. And why are the X-Men so interesting?’

‘…Because they have super-powers.’

‘Wrong. They are COOL because they have super-powers. They are STRONG because they have super-powers. They are SUPER-HEROES because they have super-powers. But what makes them interesting is the fact that they are different. They are not like anyone else. They’re their own thing. Everyone hates them because of that, everyone hates them because they are different, people are jealous of them because they are special.’

‘Sorry, I’m a bit lost here…’

‘You’re a mutant. Just like the X-Men. The only difference is that you don’t have any super-powers or maybe you just haven’t discovered them yet. People will hate you, they will exclude you, they will make you feel different. What you need to do is to embrace it. If you’re a mutant you’re a mutant, for the better and for the worse. Don’t try to be something you’re not just because you want to fit in. Remember, there are already too many people in this world who are all too willing to fit in.’

Jean-Pierre was a mutant too. His family had come to Europe from Africa many decades ago, finally settling in Belgium where Jean was born and where he grew up. But even if he was Belgian by birth, upbringing and citizenship, the colour of his skin made him different in the eyes of many of his compatriots and fellow Europeans.

Leonardo sometimes remembered something Jean had said to him on his sense of identity. He told him, ‘when I’m in Belgium people look at me funny. They see I’m black and they assume I’m different from them, they think I’m not Belgian. Even though I was born there, even though that is my home. Then when I go back to the Congo, to visit my relatives who still live there, they treat me differently as well. ‘They call me “the European boy”, “the Belgian boy.’ No matter where I am, I’m always different, I’m never one of them’.  

   Leonardo understood perfectly what he meant. Never belonging to the community, never being one of them. Jean and Leonardo liked each other straight away because both could understand what being different all the time was like. They were both mutants, like the X-Men.

The Traveller is listening to: 

Lonely Day (System of a Down, 2005)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DnGdoEa1tPg