Nothing exists in isolation, and so it goes for a man’s personality. It shrivels and fades out of existence if it is not supplied with continual contact with society. It is a mechanism of communication, with a flavour and shade that brands itself special. Out into the boons of the jungle, forest or a deserted island, a man’s personality succumbs to the silence of the world. It need not speak or muse over the intricacies of social affairs, for they have no place in a land barren of human schemes, twists and turns. The animal within him grows prominent, ascending to the fore as the active principle by which he lives his new routine.

Like a balloon lifted by bouts of helium, our personality takes flight only by the persistent influence of others, and the necessity to interact with them on a near permanent basis. Away from this influence, tucked away in our silos to rest and retreat, the helium slowly passes out of us — but not nearly enough to pause the chatter that occupies our minds the rest of the time. The body recharges at night but the personality is charged during the day. It grows in a fashion like that of a phantom, never truly taking living, authentic, form. It grows like yeast on the skin, expanding to a definite size, and firming up to a fixed shape which forever demands cosmetic care.

Of course such a thing exists by varying degrees according to the potency of society and the prevalence of large quantities of human beings. It is self-evident that personalities have greater variety, complexity and sophistication in urban sprawls and proportionally less so in towns and villages. For there is less pressure amidst these smaller human hives, where the necessity to interact with others is sparing in comparison to that of cities. A man will contact and exchange with others by a basis which more often merits reason than pleasure. And it is in this particular condition that we may identify the factor which creates diseased personality traits: the pleasures of personality.

A man’s love for specific tastes, weather and other basic propensities, rely on preferences in-built to his body’s natural rhythm. Many of these are artificially learned by what he has picked up in his infancy and early youth, as he imitated his family and community members. Yet a good share of them are also inherited by a genetic order particular to his heritage. Contentment to life and its natural cycles of season and struggle is a far easier task to manage when a man’s psychology is based on such a comparatively small number of tendencies. In cities, where personalities are mind-numbingly elaborate and sophisticated, this number multiplies into ridiculous degrees; where happiness is often no longer a possibility beyond the promise of minutes or hours.

Yet personalities don’t really have an existence of their own! They are tools, grown on top of who we are, in order to serve a definite purpose. A man ought to be very careful when looking over what it is he thinks he likes and dislikes, so that he may be sure that it is truly he, himself, that likes and dislikes in such a way and manner. Often what he thinks is presumed through the lens of this alien-helium-balloon, and not at all characteristic of the real man behind the iron mask. It is indeed startling to realize how many things are created simply out of the complication of an instrument over-developed, lopsided, and set into motion like the forever charged, energizer bunny!