In Which I Get Sanctimonious

There are many facts I refuse to take for what they are. Stubbornly, I refuse to call that stubbornness, rather a shifted view into the arbitrary nature of the world, including, to a very minimal scope, how I carry myself.

Yes, I know, nobody has the time to stop and read about the musings of a not-so-amusing person, and I do miss being scriptfully prolific, yet I am in need for this to be brutally honest to myself and expectedly candid with you.

One fact, for example, is the multi-faceted nature of human beings. I cannot deny that outright, yes, but I cannot pretend that it is something I wholeheartedly accept if for the sole idea that too many paradoxes can be created by just this concept of human nature, and maintaining a balanced outlook, hell, even having a conscience that isn’t scarred beyond recognition seems impossible. If it is weakness or a utopian view infused with socialism I’ve read about but never experienced, I cannot decide, but I know it’s not my prescience and deep, Dostoevsky-ian look into the human soul that are deterring me from surrendering into the humanity of humans.

It is becoming alarmingly important to me that I am clear to myself, not to explore the wonders of what erupts within, but mostly to organise the lies in neatly folders under “How I Sell Myself.” Being an active person on social media, actual social life, being a writer and a well-loved person by family and friends, it is a given that a double life is led effortlessly by me. Even the overlap between the previous elements of my life is smoothly handled and presented with a short and direct backstory. The dilemma in which the multi-faceted nature of humanity puts me is the illusion that it’s no different than a double life, or rather the opposite. The confusion can easily occur despite a clear distinction between the two; a diplomacy of knowing what to say and where to say it merges these two aspects into a mass of brown, but telling your mother about how frustrating your day is and telling her how frustrating she can be are two entirely different things.

P.S. I love you, mother.

P.P.S This post is strangely not about my mother but she makes a great example every time.

In Which I Get Sanctimonious