Posts tagged ‘Memories’

How I Relate to Wolverine


I saw Wolverine last night. As much as I hate Hugh Jackman for being an adoptive parent pod person who inhales adoption rainbow farts, I love X-Men more. Out of all the comics and cartoons I saw when I was growing up, X-Men always made an impression on me.

I think the beginning of my fascination with X-Men was due to the camaraderie found between all of the mutants. Most other comics feature superheroes that go it alone or with a sidekick ala Batman and Robin, but the X-Men are a group of similar people connected to one another by their differences. Yes they may be freaks that don’t fit in within normal society, but they share a common bond and a mission. I always craved that mutual understanding from others like me. I wished and longed to feel as though I was not just a freak, that I was not alone. There is a part of all of us that needs to feel we are not alone, a need to share, and the desire to be understood.

While I liked most of the characters in X-Men, Wolverine was always my favorite character. I loved him long before Hugh Jackman brought him to the silver screen. Brooding and mysterious men have always been my crushes. Even when they are cartoon characters there is something that draws me to that characteristic. Rather than a type a character like Cyclops who is preppy, has the pretty girlfriend, and the hot car, I’d go for Wolverine with his motorcycle, shaggy hair, and brooding stare any day. I wonder if this again has anything to do with my desire to fit in with someone who understands what it’s like to feel like an outcast.

Towards the ending of Wolverine, Wolverine/Logan has been shot about six times (including two shots to the head) and his body starts to repair the wounds it has endured. He recovers easily but when he stands, he does not know who is or remember how he got there. He is completely alone as the love of his life lay dead a few feet from where he rose, however he does not remember her. The only piece of his past he has available to him are the dog tags slung around his neck with his name embedded upon them. He grasps the tags and wonders who he is.

It was sad to me that his memory was taken away, but I think I may have found it markedly sadder than others in the theater because I related to that, to him having to go and make his way on his own, his identity unknown to him. With his identity unclear and no memories of his past he is forced to choose who he is rather than just being who he was supposed to be. Just as he went his own way, I go mine with no memories of my past, no history to mold me.


May 7, 2009 at 9:12 am Leave a comment

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