Doctor Who: Compassion, Isolation, and Space for All

     One day, in my Seventh Grade year, I remember the robotics club was opening its doors to newcomers on one of its first meetings ever. The presidents of the club were telling us that anyone could join, and that they'd teach us the ropes of how to build, and how to think like an engineer. Of course, a wide-eyed Matthew took this opportunity up, knowing that he wanted to pursue a STEM career, but not sure what in it. So, on a Friday afternoon, I rushed over to the Chemistry room, excited as for what was in store for me. When I was there though, it was a terrible experience. Essentially, the people just let me roam around the room without a clue in the world as to what was going on. Programming the robots? Out of the question, because I knew nothing about how to even write code. Building the bots themselves? Nah, there were already people for that, and I myself wasn't that adept with LEGO. The worst part of all was that everyone there expected you to know everything about the robotics business. They expect you to have been in robotics in elementary school. Coming from a lesser elementary school, I had never even heard of robotics. When I asked for help, they would use a lot of technical terminology to describe the process, and I was lost on it. You want to know the worst part? All my friends and the other people around me knew what to do. The whole affair made me feel stupid, like I was one of the dumbest people at the school, like I didn't belong there. Afterwards, I sat outside, sobbing my eyes out. I pondered whether I was even good enough for the school. Everyone was so good, and I was inferior. I felt like an outsider who had just nicked my way in by chance. I left school that day, full of sorrow. 

    As a person, I feel as if I have a very rough time making friends with the people around me, or at least, in a way in which they fully accept my often overbearing personality. Being quiet was one of my defining traits, and in conversing with another person, it is quite difficult for myself to approach them without feeling bits of nervousness flooding my body. Being reserved was not my only issue, however. I was an odd one in elementary school, never really fitting in with the "tastes" that many classmates my year had. They loved Taylor Swift. I loved The Eagles. While many of them spoke about the latest Walking Dead episode, I was over in the corner thinking of all the Gravity Falls theories that could become reality. I was an avid reader, and many of the classmates would question why I was reading a book during my spare time rather than playing Minecraft with them. The few friends that I did have were in a way similar to me, so we bonded over our mutual love for reading, and beyond that, we competed academically. Yet, beyond those two things, I never really had anything to speak with them about. Aside from those two interests, many of them still had similar tastes to the other classmates, and so whene I tried to speak with them, they'd treat me strangely. "What is B-Daman?" "You play Yu-Gi-Oh? I kind of hate Yu-Gi-Oh?" Without directly doing so, I felt a bit ostracized, and alone with my own thoughts. I couldn't share my beloved hobbies with anyone, because they wouldn't have heard of it. 

     Even now, I feel like I am not fully accepted by my friends. I feel a bit socially awkward, compensating by talking to my friends and being a bit too clingy. Once, I was called out by a friend for asking far too many questions (Adding to my own insecurity), and sometimes, I feel my overattachment to friends cause them to avoid me for several days on end. Still, even though I have many friends, I question how many of them actually like me, or do they just act nice to me out of obligation? It's at times like these when I look towards an inspiration, a relatable figure. My relatable figure just happens to be a crazy lady with a box. 

    

    Here's a question for many of you reading. What's the first thing that comes to mind when the Science Fiction genre is mentioned within a conversation? Many may be inclined to bring up Star Wars and Star Trek, two of the most distinctively influential pieces of media with the Sci-Fi term branded to them. Other images that may come up when pondering the copious amounts of novels, television, and films in the genre are Dune, Firefly, and if you've befriended a cinephile, chances are they'd tell you about the milestone that is 2001: A Space Odyssey. Little children craft stories of fantastical aliens and UFOs, and that fascination with a subject many view as almost esoteric accompanies many throughout their lives. Science fiction has a gaze, a tone, a feel that leaves millions of children, adults, and elders transfixed on the topics it chooses to explore. Science Fiction doesn't necessarily have to even be scientifically accurate. In fact many of them just take concepts seen in science and bend them to the extreme. The genre can cover a good caper, a fascinating character study, or even the grandest of romances. Science Fiction has a little something for everyone. In fact, science fiction has space for all. 

      As for myself, I haven't always been the most fanatic towards the space-roaming genre. As a child, there were no animated science fiction films. Everything was either a bombastic action set piece, or an Adam Sandler film through the eyes of Matthew. Star Wars and Star Trek never grabbed me as interesting or enjoyable; Star Wars was something my brother enjoyed, while Star Trek was something I just never looked into due its unappealing exterior. Avatar, you know, the one with those blue people? Yeah, my whole family hated it, and that includes me. The closest piece of Sci-Fi I enjoyed was Avatar: The Last Airbender, and even that is stretching it, as it is more predominantly a fantasy show. A lot of science-fiction felt generic to me, as to me, the idea of bug-eyed aliens was trite and overused, and I thought that too much of the media I saw were homogeneous to the point of boredom. 

       It's been quite a while since I was a nine-year old running through the fields of my schoolyard. Science-Fiction has now exploded into popularity, and I see more and more interesting concepts, such as dream-heists, replicants, and guys being stranded on Mars, a far cry form the standard Vin-Diesel low-concept films of the 2000s. I eventually came around to science fiction. The Force Awakens entranced me into a spectacle of a universe. Interstellar touched me with its grandiose yet intimate tale of a father and daughter. Blade Runner asks questions that allow me time to ponder the big picture of life. However, there's one series, one franchise, one television series that I value more than any Chris Nolan film can provide. Doctor Who. 

    Did you know Doctor Who as a franchise is over fifty-five years old? In fact, it's fifty-seven years old this year. I was introduced to Doctor Who on a very special day: The fiftieth anniversary of the television series. My cousins were over, and my cousin asked me to watch this cool episode of a TV show he found. The episode was "Blink," the famous Doctor-lite episode which could be viewed as self-contained. The horror and tension grabbed me, and did not let go until it was over. It was like nothing I had ever seen before. I was fascinated by whatever I was watching. Afterwards, I asked my cousin what show this was. He said it was Doctor Who, and that today (November 23rd, 2013) was the 50th anniversary. Immediately, I had the brilliant idea of turning on BBC America to see if the 50th anniversary special was airing, and of course, I missed it. That was the start of my thanksgiving week. During that week, I spent countless hours reading up on the lore of the series, watching various clips across the series, and luckily, the entire week was full of Doctor Who episodes on BBC America. The show wasn't just scary as opposed to my initial impressions. It was magical. It was hilarious. It was warm. It was clever. It was wonderful. 

         I arrived at school the next week, completely enamored with what I had just witnessed the past week. I asked everyone around me if they had watched the adventures in the TARDIS (Essentially the show's time-machine; yes, this is a time-travel show). If you've been reading up to this point, you'd know my friends and classmates probably said they had never heard of it. I was saddened by this news, as it was one more interest that I couldn't share with my friends. I went on for years, and while I have met a few fans of the show, none of them ever really befriended me. A few months ago, I asked my friend if she had heard of Doctor Who. She said she loved Doctor Who, and that gave me a sense of joy and exuberance that I could finally speak about the Doctor and friends. She immediately retracted the statements, saying that she read the word as Doctor Strange. Immediately, I sunk into melancholy. The show makes me feel lonelier because I can't share it with many people. Yet, I still love the show wholeheartedly. So, why do I adore Doctor Who? 

    Whenever there's a new series (Series = Season) around the corner, I am genuinely ecstatic for whatever comes around the corner. The mythology of the Gallifreyans is complex and intresting as a metaphor of an elitist society, akin to Wakanda. The villains, such as the Daleks and Cybermen, are scary, mirroring a fascist society and mirroring a race without emotion, respectively. The dynamic between the companions and the Doctor (The main character) is generally bouncy and enjoyable to view, and the themes explored through the characters are almost universal in their relatability. The music is gorgeous, the location shooting is often distinct and adds to the atmosphere, and the types of sci-fi concepts brought to the table are unique and often brilliant. 

      The show also has a process of changing main actors, by "Regenerating" the Doctor, or killing him/her, and he/she changes into a new body, with a different personality, while retaining the same memories. There have been 14 incarnations of the Doctor, but my favorite of them would be the Twelfth Doctor, played by Peter Capaldi. His run as the Doctor spanned three seasons, and four Christmas specials. Throughout the seasons, there is a gradual change in the character. The first season deals with his rather dicey ethics when it comes to enemies, and how he treats those around him. In essence, is he a good man? By the end of his run, he is a kind and wise grandfather figure who in essence represented the show at its best, and in its truest form. If you do a bit of research, Capaldi's tenure lasted from 2014 to 2017, so he was, as the fanbase calls it, my first doctor. Now, there's an inherent bias towards whoever your first doctor is, but I can sum up why Capaldi's run is so brilliant in my eyes: Hope. 

      One of the greatest strengths of the show is its magical quality, that creates a feeling that feels ethereal and other-worldly, but I guess that fits the show exactly. Especially in the revival era, the show is especially romantic, not only in its romance, but also in its ability to be joyful and optimistic, even after the darkest moments. It in no way portrays a nihilistic outlook on life, and chooses to explore the universe with the widest grin imaginable. In the episode, Girl in the Fireplace, these essential qualities are portrayed perfectly, demonstrating a sense of wonder and excitement that delivers on the joyful aspects of living out life to a full extent, but also handles the heartbreak of a short life excellently. 

    But the show is at its greatest when it combines this wonder with the morals of the Doctor, and his messages of hope and comfort. Capaldi's doctor was a curmudgeony old fool at the start, but as we go through the adventures with him and his companions, we slowly learn along with him how to be a good man. There's moral value to be gained from any of the Doctors' runs, but former showrunner/head-writer Steven Moffat and Peter Capaldi placed the messages and heart at the forefront, demonstrating someone who we can all look up to, who teaches us to be brave even in the most dire of consequences, to never give up, and most importantly, to be kind. Capaldi's adventures were intelligent, and always good-hearted, granting the viewers new perspectives, and presenting rather dark subject matter, but in a way that teaches children how to be strong and brave. Of course, I love other Doctors very much as well, with Tom Baker and David Tennant being my other two favorites. But no one can ever touch Capaldi. 

     As much as I still love the show however, the fandom clearly does not. There's a lot of talk with the recent run of Doctor Who, with the 13th Doctor, Jodie Whittaker, and the new showrunner, Chris Chibnall. Many have erupted into anger with the show, and how the writing is boring, or how the show has become too "Politically correct." With this, however, I feel even lonelier. Rather than sharing our love over Who, we are divided in our opinions of the show now. From what I've seen of Jodie and Chris, I love their take on the Doctor. There's a breath of fresh air and energy exuding from both the writing and Jodie herself, with the few episodes I've seen retaining the optimistic spirit of the Show. The world is getting overtly political, and it's important to put the messages upfront such that children will know. At its core, the original show back in 1963 was meant to be educational, and I believe that Chris and Jodie are doing a great job of reviving that spirit of Classic Who. 

    Doctor Who is a show for children, teaching them about the complexities of the world, while also providing them with thrilling adventures. It serves as a beacon of hope and optimism that things will always get better, and that's quite possibly the main reason I love it so much. It gives hope to the young people, something which we could all use. But it's also a show for Adults too. They can view episodes, drawing parallels to the real world, enjoying the deliriously fun ride, all the while being enlightened on lessons that they may not have learned yet in life. At its heart, Doctor Who is a show with space for all. 

       Though I may be socially strange, I am trying my best to be a good person, just like the Doctor had taught me. I've found that how I think my friends perceive me is wrong, and that they truly do like me and enjoy my company. I had never received so many happy birthday wishes as I did during my past birthday, and it's a nice gesture that many of my friends wished me a happy birthday. It helped me feel a lot less lonely, and a lot more accepted.

     So, what happened to that small crying child outside of Mr. Bender's room? After I walked to my father's car as a crying mess, he drove me to the local Barnes and Noble's, so that I could pick out a replica Sonic Screwdriver, which put a smile on my face after the whole disastrous affair, and gave me a sense of comfort, that even though I'm not at their level yet, I do belong at the school, that if I work hard, run fast, and be kind, eventually everything will work out.