It costs $54.99 on the official IKEA website.
But for me, it is worth the price of my emancipation.
I bought this lamp almost two years ago.
After I had to move out, I took it to my parents’ place and kept it stored.
Fast forward Jordan aka Satan’s Shithole 2016-2017, followed by London, England 2017-2018. When I returned back home I found it in the living room conquered by my father.
I did not like that.
The first thing I took with me when I moved to my current place is the aforementioned piece of lighting equipment.
Pause. Are we seriously talking about a fucking lamp?
I’m not angry, sir. I’m actually very calm with a gentle smile on my face.
Resentment? Yes. Grudge? Maybe. But I’m not alone in that long cue of father-hating sapiens.
With every white hair erupting from the surface of my drug-depleted body, I gain more insight into how I think, how I think I think and – most importantly – why I think what I think.
This is not hating, sir.
This is simply the emancipation of “me-me”. (Get it? I stole the title of Mariah Carey’s 2005 album. Shout out if you know what I’m talking about)
It’s not at all about the lamp itself.
It’s my way of saying “Hey, father, I no longer can bend over and allow you to use and abuse me. Yes, you’re older now, but in my mind’s eye, you’re still the same fucking asshole I wanted to use as a scapegoat for being what I am. Please pardon my language.”
Now excuse me while I turn off my lamp and go to bed.
Categories: The Journal