kadytheredpanda

Title: Inferiority Within
Fandom: Adventures of Tintin
Rating: PG
Length: 444
Content notes: angst, amnesia
Author notes: This is my first post in this community. :) I usually have the headcanon that Tintin is an orphan whose real name is Augustin Remi, but this is a look into the “Tintin has no memory of his past” type headcanon others have. All I can see is a sorrowful Tintin hiding under the surface.
Summary: There are two sides of Tintin: the one everyone sees, and the side he conceals.

0000

No one ever asked me to sketch myself, and I am fortunate for that. Not because I’m a terrible artist, but because I’m sure my self-interpretation would disappoint.

Everyone I encounter revels at my enthusiasm, optimism, and determination. I do have those qualities. That enough is true. To identify me as simply that, however, would be a mistake. That is only one side of the coin.

If I drew myself it would be with charcoal. Charcoal is messy and easy to smear. I would be blurry, smeared, and gray when I finished. That may be a quiff, or it could be a cowlick. Or it could be both. Or the freckles on my face may not be such after all. They may really be charcoal bumps along cheap sketch paper. My eyes, my skin, my hair, my clothes. All are various shades of gray adulterated by fingers brushing and crashing against them and weathering from outside elements. If there is a person on the paper I could or could not confirm it to you.

I would interpret myself as such because that is the side no one ever sees, because I don’t want anyone else to see it. I am blurry, smeared, and gray because I’m not exactly sure who I am. I cannot recall anything about my childhood, except something that had to do with puzzles. I have no idea how old I am. I have no idea where I came from. I have no idea what my name is.  Sometimes I’m not even sure if my hair color is really red, even though my logical side reassures me it is. Sometimes I’m just not sure.

For most people the person they most intimately know is themselves. I don’t even have that. There are times when I look at my reflection and ask myself who I’m staring at. The more I think about it the more I want to collapse onto myself. That facet that I always present is so that I can recover some sort of an identity and so that I don’t completely crack. That facet of myself is the kind I always strive to be the best I can be, so that I can live the best I can be in a storm of uncertainity, so that I can function, for me.

And for Snowy.

And for Captain.

And for my friends.

And for Belgium.

And for Europe.

And for the world.

So to go by only my public self when characterizing me would be not just a mistake but also a lie. And yet it is a lie I am willing to grow for as long as I desire.