Today, someone told me something pronounced. She dared to say that death is the only truth we have in life. Honestly, it disturbed me a little lot, as I’m not used to absorb life in such a sceptical manner, so rawly in a sense. What was I to say back? Cause well, I can undoubtedly say that I prefer to believe that there’s some things worthy of one’s belief, things we may and should expect from, for that expectancy is what, ultimately and in my opinion, sprinkles meaning on all this.
“Nothing or no one is indispensable”, she affirmed, and well, from the little turbulence I’ve lived so far, I might be open agree with it. I may say “Yes, humans think, humans have the aptitude to rationalize reality and act accordingly and with logic. Humans can betray just as those betrayed can move on.” I’ve moved on from a few things, people… definitely. We must choose to do it, and by doing so we are admitting the very same ephemerality that defines human interactions, or more profoundly, the bare human emotions and our notions. For even that that can be called intrinsic is open to mutation. It’s almost like we can’t even be sure of our own mode of action as we are victims of the occasion, and many times, illusion.
This sight and then perception of individuality as the only grounded attribute of our singular existence is empowering, as powerful as heat on haze… murk vanishes and we are left with maybe another version of ourselves, someone now gazing outwards slightly differently. Does a polished viewpoint mean coming closer to happier moments? Does happiness reside in being sure of how rightly we see things, on being aware of us and others, plainly? Or does that clairvoyance bring merely bigger and bigger fields of doubt, and discontentment, for it would only unveil further possible deception?
That’s why… well, it’s antithetic the way this matter is laid out. It’s a game of endless consequences, acts and outcomes, on repeat. To be sceptical is to overanalyse and thus, regard all with disbelief for we believe we actually know the facts. But will life always output the same result as long as we act consciously enough to maintain a frugal string of operations? We aren’t machines, so we hope and watch change and can’t help but to feel contained in it. Change moulds us and we might never be the same again. And from here, I may continue affirming that the change we chose for us, that we can bear and if we cannot, then that’s our mistake to have opted unwisely. It’s the exotic change that’s surprising, the change others inflame in us, or not that but all the parts of ourselves we’ve transformed and adapted with a purpose that is now inessential, invalid. We became dispensable and what’s our worth if others are willing to dispense us and forget the terms and conditions behind all this, like that?, we think. It isn’t so linear.
So, if the truth we can count on is but one, then what is all this? I think you really can’t live solely on that truth. Then what’s the world and the cravings, and the prospects of something? Then how come there’s humanity and compromise, there’d be none as soon as we saw all this as pointless, faithless. Having this said, I still reckon this conjecture of vulnerability to eventuality. Let me not be utopic to an extent I will defend the existence of countless certainties because they’re gladly finite, it’d be boring otherwise. But still, we shall not interpret darkness as the only mute and ugliest truth we’ll come to face or as a rare dose of certitude that life felt like serving us with, one we’ll never come to receive from anyone else ever. That I could even consider to be the only eternal lie we can sow inside us. Cause someone once taught me to believe in magic, and I must say that “Yes, I do… of course I do!”. What more is there to believe in if not in this fearlessness of ours?