The Mark (Ponyville Station)
Hello there. I guess if you're reading this it means I've considered these scribbles to be so good that I've decided to publish them, or perhaps I've died and you're my future wife or child looking through my possessions, or maybe you've stolen my things and are now going through them in which case I'd appreciate it if you stopped.
But seeing as how you are reading this (either legally or illegally) I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Pax, I'm a white pegasus colt with a brown mane. I work as a diplomat for the three princesses. I love my job, it's very rewarding to bring peace between ponies and I do get to see the fruits of my labor, but one thing that just bores me to tears is these terribly long train rides. Don't get me wrong I like a train ride through the country as much as anypony else, watching the world pass through the window, the hum of the engine and all that, but when you do it every few days, the same tracks, the same sights, one has to find ways of entertaining themselves, so I've taken to writing.
You see wherever I go I end up waiting at least an hour or two in a train station. In a way I've begun to look froward to my layovers and wait times because when I'm there I almost inevitably see something interesting, have a fascinating conversation, or just have thoughts I'd like to get out, and I figured this would be a great outlet for them. You should know that all the stories I write in here come from real ponies, and they were all aware that I was writing it down, and knew that I might one day publish it (or have my luggage stolen.)
I'm currently on a train bound for Canterlot having spent the last two days in Ponyville with Princess Twilight. I rather like visiting Ponyville. It's a quaint little town, friendly ponies, nice atmosphere. I wish I got around to Ponyville more often, I've considered retiring there one day. I'd tell you about what I was doing but it was fairly boring stuff, mostly papers and requests for appearances. Princess Twilight is fairly new to the crown, and as royalty she will also be a diplomat, so I've been meeting with her occasionally to teach her about the art of diplomacy.
While I was sitting in the terminal, waiting for my train to arrive, I had an interesting conversation with a young filly that really got me thinking about some things, so I've decided to make it my inaugural entry in the "The Diplomats Diaries" (It's a working title, okay?)
The look and feel of Ponyville station matches the rest of the town, quiet, simple, removed, flanked by meadows on either side. It's a very peaceful place, unlike many train stations I visit which are full ponies rushing to and fro, focused on their objective, not slowing down for anything. But this place was unique. I sat outside, about 20 or so feet from the tracks on a wooden bench, my bag next to me. There were 3 other ponies on the platform, they all seemed relaxed and not in a hurry to get anywhere at all.
I sat on my bench reading the daily paper, when I saw a young schoolfilly coming from one of the adjoining fields, looking a bit discouraged. The small, orange, purple haired pegasus sat down next to me on the bench. She looked a bit tired, I assume she just wanted a place to sit down for a little, but she wasn't going to get away without a conversation.
"Hello there." I greeted.
"Hm? Oh, hello." She replied.
It seemed to me like something was on her mind.
"Something on your mind?" I asked, naturally.
"Ehh, I guess, I don't want to bore you with my problems though." She said.
"I make a living out of being bored by ponies problems, there's always room for more." I assured her.
"Well, it just feels like I'm never going to get my cutie mark. I keep trying and trying and I just can't find anything I'm good at, I feel like I've been wasting my time." The tiny pegasus explained.
"Ah, is that it? You should be glad."
"Huh? What are you talking about?! Why would I be glad?!" She exclaimed
"Cutie marks have a funny way of limiting ponies you see." I replied
"What do you mean?" She inquired
"Do you have any friends who have their cutie marks?"
"Yeah a few, I guess."
"Tell me, since they got their marks, have they started caring less about studying things that doesn't pertain to it?"
"Well yeah sort of. And they usually become more interested in things that do relate to it." She said
"What would you call a person who knows a lot about one thing and very little about everything else?" I asked
"Limited" She said, starting to smile a little.
"All the while you've been trying lots of different things, learning things about a pretty broad range of pursuits, right?"
"Yeah! I've tried everything from hang gliding to pastry making." She said giddily.
"You see you haven't been wasting your time at all, you've been using it a lot better than those with their cutie marks, you're a lot more worldly, you've experienced so much more, don't stress about not having a cutie mark, you have something none of them have, experience." I told her, while her smile grew bigger.
"I've never looked at it that way, thanks a bunch mister, I really feel better!" She said, her smile now beaming.
Have we all really become so defined by a picture on our butts? So many ponies don't realize two very important things about cutie marks.
The first is that a cutie mark has a much broader meaning than many come to think it does. My cutie mark is a dove holding an olive branch, this is known as a symbol of peace most everywhere. I got it after breaking up a fight in grade school, my teacher was proud of what I did and said I should consider doing this for a living. Does this mean I'm only cut out for diplomatic work? Of course not. There are hundreds of ways to make peace. I could be a psychiatrist or a counselor. Maybe I could be a repairman, why you ask? If something is broken aren't you more at peace once someone fixes it? Your cutie mark isn't a one way street.
The second problem with the way we view them is what I told that little pegasus (I later learned her name was Scootaloo). Just because your cutie mark might show you a special talent you posses, it doesn't mean it's the only talent you posses. You can go on to do a great many things that have nothing to do with your cutie mark. You may take pride in your cutie mark, that's absolutely fine (and encouraged) but don't let that narrow your mind. Don't let it constrain the things you do and see. There's so much out there, try to take it all in.
A lot of ponies are fortunate enough to have found their passion through their marks. They find a career which nourishes this talent, and lead very fulfilling lives. But there's many who don't. I feel very bad for them, they aren't passionate about what they do, and they just sort of go through the motions. All because their flank is telling them to.
Scootaloo, if you read this someday, whether it because it's become an international bestseller, or because you earned a cutie mark for theivery and took my bag, a word of advice, when you get that cutie mark, don't let it determine who you are.
Well It's been nighttime for a while now, I can start to see the lights from Canterlot. I guess this is the end of my first entry. This writing really does pass the time, I'll think I'll keep doing it, it's very relaxing. Besides, I always get an interesting tale out of sitting in Canterlots crowded, huffy, terminal. Hmm, tales from a terminal, that gives me another title idea for my little journal here, how about "The Tales of Pax?".... Well on second thought that kind of sounds like an anatomy textbook. Oh well, I'll keep thinking.
My Thoughts Run Wilde (Canterlot Station)
High ceilings, chandeliers, marble statues, fine art, ponies wearing expensive clothing, such images might conjure up an image of the cultural center of a town or city, a high society gala, or perhaps an exclusive country club or lodge, but here in Canterlot it's just the damn train station. This station has quite a bit to offer, art stores, places that sell fine jewelry, it's probably the only train station in Equestria where you can get fine cheeses and vintage wine while you wait. Sure sounds snobby doesn't it? I know, I love it.
It's gotten rather late here in Canterlot, and the station is a bit crowded with ponies heading out of town for the weekend, and other ponies visiting the capital for the weekend. I like to watch the ponies that unload out of the trains. I can often guess where they're from based on their clothing or accessories or other little details. Watching them always brings back memories of my travels, some good, others not so good but it's fun to reminisce at any rate.
I'm still enjoying this writing business though I'm not very good at it, I suppose it at least looks like I'm doing something productive which is something people like to see in their political officials. I'll be headed back to Ponyville and from there I'm flying to Cloudsdale for a meeting about something regarding the mayor up there. Hopefully I'll have something more interesting to write about by then.
The ponies here in Canterlot, as you may have guessed, can be a bit stuffy. Many of them make snide little comments about the fashion sense of tourists. Ponies from Canterlot like to feel important, so rather than working to a point where they would be considered important they just classify every other member of society as being below them. It's a lot easier to wear French cuffs than it is to apply yourself. You'll find their lives are rather empty, always criticizing whatever they can, telling people what to wear, where to eat, what to listen to. It seems some ponies have such good taste, they can't enjoy themselves.
It's easy to call these people snobs, and you'd be right. But there exists equal snobbery in their opposite. All too often people who consider themselves "simple" or "country" have a sort of spiritual snobbery that's undeniable. The elite of Canterlot brag about their fashions. The proud country ponies brag about their lack of fashions. It's funny when you realize that these two groups that seem so different have so much in common. This is not to say that all ponies that enjoy finer things or all ponies that live simpler lives are wrong for doing so, but let us never think we are better than anyone else because of how we live.
The walls are lined with many paintings, mostly portraits of various political and military leaders. In front of me there is a large portrait of Whinny Churchill, who once said something that I think about a lot in my work, "Diplomacy is the art of telling somepony to go to Hell in such a way that they ask for directions." Why do we commemorate these ponies with paintings of themselves anyways? What is a portrait really? Who does the portrait really show?
Portraits seem to reveal more about the artist than they do the model. I once saw a painting of a former dictator, the ponies he ruled over all despised him but he controlled them so he couldn't really be done away with. The lines of the portrait are so sharp, so deep, almost violent, it looked as though each brushstroke was another knife piercing him. I gathered that the artist was probably a citizen who had been forced to do this. On the other side of the spectrum, I once saw a portrait of someponies lover. It was painted with such care, the brushstrokes were light, and careful. The brush was pulled across the image so softly, as if not to harm the image.
Portraits seem like very simple paintings, but they're a lot more than what they appear. Portraits show people only as they wanted to be seen. You may see a portrait of a general wearing his freshly cleaned and pressed dress uniform, his hair just right, his hooves freshly polished. You won't see is him in his armor, covered in filth and blood, hoping and praying that he'll see his home again. You may see a painting of an influential mayor, shaking hooves with the ponies they govern. No one would paint them in the darkest hours of the night, working away at their desk, wondering if the work will ever stop so they can spend time with their all but estranged family again.
It got me thinking, and I've realized that most ponies are just walking portraits, like the ones who were demeaning those tourists for instance. Always displaying themselves in the most flattering way possible, never letting on about the pain that may lie behind the canvas they've painted themselves on. We all know it's there. We know that no pony goes through life without suffering. So why are we so afraid to show it? I understand that no one likes to show weakness, but maybe if more of us unveiled what lies behind our masks, maybe then we could really work through the things that haunt us, maybe through our weakness we could become strong.
Wishful thinking? Maybe so, ponies like to make others think there's nothing wrong with them. I suppose most are content to show others their portrait without showing them the wall it hangs on. They'll show everypony the colors and the artistic style with which it was created but won't say a word about the easel that supported it. And of course no pony will ever hear a word about the one who painted it.
