The truth hurts. We heard this phrase so many times but did we really pay attention to it? Why does the truth hurt? Why does it have to hurt? If we could live in a way when we are not pretending, not wearing masks, would the truth still hurt?
This is not a modern day expression so that brings me to a conclusion that the truth has always been hidden somehow. Shielded from the masses, buried deep within luminescent caves inside us. Yes, inside us. You read that right. When something hurts it’s because we associate it with ourselves. We take it personal. All we can think of is “that’s not fair” or “that’s not right” or “why me”. Oh, if I hear one more person crying out loud one more time “why me” I seriously need to resists laughing out loud and not hurt their feelings.
It took me a lot of effort and countless of self-analysis sessions to realise this: being untruthful makes me sick, not just to my stomach (that’s another expression I could analyse for hours) but to my whole being. I cannot pretend, I cannot play along, I just simply cannot act that it’s ok to accept illusions. Somehow my eyes opened and what I see sends me into a ‘question everything’ state. 80 – 90% of what surrounds me is pure bullshit. Excuse my language, but I’ve had enough.
I want to see people for who they are. Not who they portray to be. I want to be able to show my own real face to the world more often. This truth, that burns within us will erupt eventually one by one. And then how much of it will hurt for those who live in a fake reality? Who knows… but I’m certain that I can’t keep smiling at the face of illusion anymore.
The words are stuck again. It’s been a while since they erupted from me and it’s because I pushed away this side of me. When I start questioning and letting my thoughts to wonder, I heal myself by writing.
I feel chaos. I feel destruction. I feel the darkness but this time it’s not creeping up to me. I don’t let it. And because I don’t let it, the words get stuck. How ironic. When I let myself go deep down into the darkness, I can express myself a whole lot better. I can’t even find an adjective to this but simply using everyday words that are so un-descriptive.
What have I become? What do I want? Who am I? If I don’t know then how should I realise if I’m not on the right track? When I set my mind on something, I achieve it. I’m a getter. But when I don’t know what it is that I want to get it becomes tricky.
Should I just enjoy the natural flow of life or should I set my vision and clear up the image that is a big grey blur right now?
Words. Letters. Some strange lines scribbled on paper. Or they are flickering back from the screen of your electrical device. Thought processes materialised into the physical world. Touch it – you can’t feel it.
Why would you feel the written words? You see them, yes. But how can you create something that when you touch you don’t feel it? Although when you read them back, the whirlpool of emotions will start stirring. Can we really put our feelings into the forms of letters and dots and question marks? When you read my letter-chain, does the same feeling kick you in the stomach as the one I had to fight off? I don’t think so.