Tag: sincerity

  • Letter to My Daughters

    This is something I wrote a while back, but was reminded of it today. It still remains true, but has since taken on a much broader meaning for me. These sentiments are true not just for those that I may leave behind, but for everyone I encounter in the time that I’m here. In this there is some irony, because one of the goals of my life used to be a need to be understood. That need no longer resonates with me. I have since shifted towards the need to understand instead.

    I’ve found myself intrigued and disarmed far too often in trying to understand the bizarre behaviour I witness in many I come into contact with. Those that recede when the sincerity of our relationship becomes too raw, or those that overwhelm when the intensity of their confidence crowds their common sense. The antics of human nature will never fully be comprehended, but similar to the pursuit of perfection, just because the ultimate goal is unattainable does not mean the pursuit should be abandoned.

    As with every endeavour, the beauty lies not in the destination, but in the journey to get there. Indeed, too many have deemed themselves to be failures when they fell short of their destination, and in the process discarded all the value and beauty they accumulated to that point. I’m quite certain that the sum total of the journey will most often outweigh the reward of the goal. But I digress, so here are the words I was reminded of today.

    I pray that you never will understand some of what I’m going through, some of what I feel, or some of what I think…because to understand you would need to experience what I’ve experienced. And I wouldn’t want you to feel the pain and the anguish that I’ve felt that made me feel, see and think the way I do. Although it’s the same pain and anguish that has given me this appreciation for life, for a smile on a stranger’s face, or for the chirping of the birds. My wish is for you to learn from my experiences and the experiences of others because there’s so much more to life than the opportunity to make your own mistakes.

    The only way you can cheat time is to learn from the accumulated wisdom of generations past. But if you insist on learning it all yourself, know that you’ll never learn more than anyone who has lived only a single lifetime without any wisdom to draw on. Know that your pain and your anguish will be unnecessary, and know that your life would only ever be half-lived, if even that. So instead I pray that you are able to cheat time, acquire a wisdom beyond what you may inherit, and give your children more than what you had to cheat time with. And if you do this, know that you have achieved more than any human being can be expected to achieve in a single lifetime. This is the only path to immortality that I know.

  • Reinvention

    Reinvention is probably the most daunting aspect of life. It’s that moment when I find myself in a space that I’ve outgrown without having a new space that I’ve grown into. It’s a scene I’m familiar with. Along with most cycles, and there have been many, comes the reality of having to discard expensive relationships and adopting new ones. The more cycles I go through, the more exhausting the reinvention process becomes. The exhaustion, which I believe is quite closely related to my tolerance levels, suggests that perhaps I have not fully discarded some of the remnants of those relationships that have proven to be toxic.

    In discarding something, if traces remain, it must imply that it has not been fully discarded. I think the same is true for relationships. If I fully discard it, there won’t be any unexpected moments of yearning, or wistfulness. The ones I fully discard will leave my mind until something external reminds me of them. Even then, that reminder serves as nothing more than a recollection of events without any feelings of regret or subdued anticipation. They hold no link to the present life that I live. However, I’ve found that the ones that I didn’t fully discard are the ones I recall in moments of present betrayal. When I’m feeling weak or being deliberately self-loathing, I use those remnants to draw parallels between the betrayals in order to convince myself that it must be something about me that caused them to treat me that way. Those moments of self-loathing fades quickly to reveal that it’s not a sincere reflection. Instead, I’ve found that I do that in the hope of restraining myself from embracing such relationships again because the more we convince ourselves we’re not worthy, the less likely we’ll be to embrace new realities.

    My passion to embrace life dictates that such restraint only lasts for as long as the pain of the betrayal lingers. It’s not long before life starts tugging at my heartstrings, nudging me back to reality while I hesitantly push ahead, occasionally looking over my shoulder as if to reassure myself that the decision I needed to make was made with good reason, and with good intent. Sometimes, just sometimes looking back hoping to discover that I was wrong to give up on those relationships just yet, but rarely finding such reason to back track.

    I’ve learnt that holding on to relationships, most often not romantic ones, in the hope of still realising the potential and the beauty that I know is possible from that relationship taxes me more intensely than any cost it bears on them, People expect too little from themselves, while I always see more. Fighting for someone to rise above their decaying state often leaves me with the stench of such decay while they assimilate and thrive in surroundings that echo their weaknesses, which they interpret as strength, while they erode on the inside knowing that they’re hiding from the greatness they desire for themselves.

    Reinvention is based on the innate need to thrive in the face of adversity. It’s a courageous statement made by those that will not be put down, nor kept down. Those that choose to reinvent themselves are the ones that don’t allow life to define them. They define life. It takes an obstinacy of spirit, and a disregard for the contempt of the meek, when we abandon the failures they wish to savour, because it is all that offers them significance, while the rest of us choose to be significant for more than just feigned attempts at living. Each time we rise to face a new challenge we know that there are thousands waiting patiently to see the outcome before they commit. They are the opportunists that associate with power and success and delude themselves into believing that they yield it.

    Realising the futility of their superficial minds makes it easy to disregard their taunts when we fail, because even in failure we have tasted more success than those that live safely and insincerely.

    P.S. There is an arrogance that has crept into my writing over the years. Sometimes I feel a need to retract and clarify, in the hope that I won’t be seen in ways that I despise in others. However, I believe that in a world where individuality has resulted in an isolation of spirit, it’s more important to be bold and face potential humiliation, than to be safe and amicable and leave no imprint on this world in the very short time we have here. Besides, humiliation is only so if I care about the opinions of the spineless. I don’t.

  • The Ebb and Flow of Mediocrity

    I’ve often found myself considering restraint in sharing my knowledge with some, because of the ridiculous assumption that in doing so, I may render myself redundant. But then I started considering previous times when I did share such knowledge and noticed how few embraced it. It’s really simple, this whole leadership thing. Take accountability for who you are, and lead by example. If you have the conviction, it will hold you in good stead, if you don’t, you’ll be a victim. Based on the simplicity of it all, I assumed that it would be readily adopted by most, given how sincerely everyone chants about their desire to rise above their circumstances. I’ve since discovered that those chants are hollow. It’s the quiet conviction that is evident only in action that holds any truth these days.

    The vast majority are so secure in celebrating their struggles, that they refuse to grasp a reality without it. They’ve chosen to be defined by their struggles. The rest of the meek look up to them as martyrs fighting the good fight, but refusing to see the self-deprecating behavior that keeps them firmly in that cycle because recognising such behaviour will inevitably lead to a self-realisation that will shake their world. I would never have believed that success was so daunting to so many if I didn’t witness it first hand. But it can’t be success, can it? I mean, everyone spends their lives trying to be successful in some way or another, so perhaps it’s their definition of success, the subconscious definition that needs to be questioned.

    I think too many of us define a reality of success that is different to our dream of success. We create goals that are based on ideal outcomes, and then look around to see our less-than-ideal circumstances, and resign those goals to being mere ideals and therefore unattainable. Then we focus on what is realistically achievable based on our current circumstances, measure that against our past successes, and calibrate our expectations of success against that. Little do we realise that in so doing, we have just defined mediocrity, and lost sight of true success. So what is true success then?

    I think true success is where our ideals meet with our convictions, so that we find ourselves creating the circumstances we need to achieve the idealistic goals that we desire. However, this demands a healthy ego, and an equally healthy passion driven by purpose. The one without the other is a recipe for humiliation. The ego is needed to establish the conviction that convinces us that we are capable, while the purpose driven passion is what keeps us focused on the outcome we set out to achieve. Again, sounds simple enough, yet so many still get it wrong. Why?

    The answer to that question, I believe, is easier than most would like to accept. It’s not the fear of success that holds us back, but the fear of accountability. Letting go of a struggle that has come to define who we are inevitably leaves us wanting when that struggle no longer holds true. And in there lies the ebb and flow of mediocrity. Some go through a lifetime redefining that struggle in order to ensure that it always holds relevance, while just a few shrug off the stigma of their struggles and choose to reinvent themselves as many times as is needed to get closer to the ideals of their dreams.

    The world is full of meekness clothed in aggression and pompous displays of trophies. When such is the prevailing reality, it stands to reason that those with purpose will be scorned as dreamers who will amount to nothing, until they do, followed by the masses swaying to celebrate the triumphs that they themselves scorned to begin with. Success by association is the food for the masses. It gives more people purpose than purpose itself.

    Contemplating this leaves a distinctly bitter after taste about the state of this world I find myself in. The difficulty of not being one of the masses in a society that has polarized towards group thinking and collective accountability, is that finding your success can be an intensely lonely path, leaving any subsequent embrace in the face of success deprived of sincerity.

  • The Belly of Delhi (Take II)

    I left Delhi feeling uneasy. On the one hand I felt arrogant and judgemental, and on the other, I felt justified in some of my observations. The nagging notion that I could not shake, despite it prompting that feeling of arrogance or superiority, is the fact that individual choice will always trump the political setting within which we live. There was no shortage of complaints from people that I spoke to regarding the corruption, disregard of human life, and pollution to name a few things. I found this curious because it reminded me of my observation about how we always complain about society but completely forget that we make up that very society that we spurn.

    And so it is with Delhi, and every other place around the world that has similar problems. Almost unrelated but similar in principle, it reminds me of my thoughts when I saw the police brutality against the Egyptians when they protested against the government during the early days of the Arab Spring. People polarised so easily without considering that those policemen came from the same communities that they were attacking, and in turn didn’t blame their own communities for raising such brutes that were blind to human suffering in the face of orders from a corrupt command line. South Africans that complain bitterly about the government and burn public infrastructure in protest only to vote the same government back into power are also a prime example of the same mentality. It is this lack of accountability and awareness of our contribution to the degradation that we suffer that often leaves me struggling for words to describe the bewilderment that I feel when I witness its outcome.

    Political corruption does not dictate personal or collective hygiene. It’s not a privileged life that teaches us not to defecate where we grow our vegetables, or to urinate where we walk. Nor is it a privileged upbringing that teaches us to share before we selfishly consume, or to be honest instead of cheating when we do business. Compassion is only eroded when we’re in search of something that in itself conflicts with such values. Our exploitation of those lower in the food chain is what solicits our exploitation by those higher in the same food chain. Similarly, the less we respect ourselves, the less likely we are to positively contribute towards others, let alone show due respect for them as well. All these are symptoms, like the drivers that drive without care or concern for order or rules, with a blank cold stare on their faces, unmoved and oblivious to the frustration they cause, because everyone else is doing the same. This is the mentality that creates the critical mass that allows corruption to thrive. It’s the same mentality that silences the detractors, not because the detractors are silent, but because their protests are easily drowned out by the cries of the self-serving through their sheer volume.

    When we do simply because everyone is doing it as well, we lose the right to complain about the outcome when that outcome denies us our dignity, or our dues. The world is in turmoil not because of corrupt leaders, but because of corrupt societies. Societies are corrupt because the communities that comprise those societies have lost their way. But these wayward communities are merely echoes of the dysfunction that exists within the family units. Raising daughters to be slaves, or men to be brutes, or treating human beings like livestock that can be traded, or abusing children as if they were created for our amusement. These are not a result of corrupt leaders. No. These create corrupt leaders. We have social conditions that are unprecedented because we have become unprecedented in our selfishness. That selfishness that erodes the greater good that would otherwise maintain the harmony that we so desperately seek.

    The laws of cause and effect are all-encompassing and consistent. What we put in is what we get out. Extremism begets extremism. Raise children in an environment that stifles creative expression and watch the rebel form the moment your stranglehold on their being is loosened. Traditionalists have become insecure in a world where nothing is sacred. That insecurity rallies the spirit to defend as if on a noble crusade, when in fact it’s merely a desperate attempt to retain significance that is bound to rituals from a time that holds no relevance. What has this got to do with the Belly of Delhi? Reverse engineer that belly, and at its core you will find the selfish indulgence of a society that is steeped in ritualistic compliance and lacking in principles or values that are congruent with their aspirations.

    Delhi is not unique in this regard, nor is India as a whole. The world is infested with such degradation of spirit, but Delhi just has the scale to make it easier for the us to notice, assuming we have any inclination to notice at all.

  • Reset

    I find that dealing with betrayal or abandonment of trust is very different now compared to a few years ago. My efforts to live mindfully have been beneficial. What previously would have resulted in a derailment of my train of thought, or my focus, now simply nudges me slightly from time to time when I consider the fickleness of relationships that have always been one-sided. The awkward silences, the abhorrent attempts at arrogance to feign confidence, the pretense of composure. It all seems so superficially desperate to prove that the betrayal was not in fact betrayal, but instead it was a statement. A statement of futility in the hope that the world will be convinced while those that peer too closely can be dismissed.

    There is a part of the old me that wants to extend myself yet again to smooth ripples before they become waves. But I like the waves. I like the disruption and the provocation that drives people to follow through on that fakeness until they’re faced with the cold reality of who they are and what they’ve abandoned about themselves. I like the side of me that feels no need to apologise or appease. It’s the rebel of my youth that I have not abandoned, yet. But I’ve come close, far too close too often in recent times.

    The toxic appeal of acceptance easily distracts us from who we are, or what purpose we may have been pursuing in life. Sometimes we start out making a statement, a sincere one, that we wish others would hear and embrace. In the process we become bold, filled with conviction and obstinacy refusing to give way to the drivel that drives us down the path of main stream acceptance. And then, somewhat unexpectedly, we find that our ideas, or our passions start gaining acceptance. Distracted by this sudden triumph of spirit, the emotions of the masses sweep us off our path and deliver us in the midst of the madding crowd. The crowd that forms symbiotic relationships of mutual delusion. The greater the acceptance, the more reassured we are that what we always fought for must be real, or must finally be embraced.

    So we slow down to breathe. We take a moment to pause and reflect on the days when the struggle was real, the isolation intense, and the path lonely. We hold  a quiet internal celebration believing that we’ve finally arrived, convinced that the crowd is true validation, and the embrace is an accepting embrace. Emboldened by these moments of validation, the spirit surges once again. The greater calling beckons, and in the belief that we are no longer isolated but are now seen as a source of inspiration, we take bold steps to lead that crowd to the next mound. It’s just a mound relative to the multitude of mountains that still await us. But that mound is better than the mirages of the past. The mirages that taunted us each time someone had a faint sparkle in their eye that hinted at some enthusiasm to hear our thoughts, only to discover that it was politeness disguised as conviction.

    So we step up to that mound, glowing with hope that finally the cesspool we’ve despised for so long will finally be cleansed. Finally, the beauty of the mind we caressed for all those years will be appreciated for the wisdom it has nurtured, and the masses will follow. And as we find our footing on that mound we stop to look around. The sight is a familiar one, it’s just the vantage point that is different. The crowd receded, the politeness ceased, and there we are. No, there I am, standing on the mound realising that the crowd I courted was not the crowd I courted. They represented a hint of what I yearned to engage with, and in the absence of nothing more, anything less would have had to do. And so I settled without noticing that I settled.

    The euphoria was temporary, and so was the triumph. But the spirit, the resilient rebel remained intact, ready to push forward with a renewed sense of self, because it’s only in abandonment that we are forced to question the relevance of our convictions or efforts. If done sincerely, we either re-find our grounding points, or establish new ones. If done superficially, we set ourselves adrift in a sea that will forever remain foreign.

    Each time I tasted betrayal in my life, I found myself renewed as if emerging from a birthing process. A process that smelted away the tainted cloth that covered me to that point so that I could dress myself in a new garment of endearment for a path that I have yet to fully set out on. But each time I set out, I find myself closer to the moment that I yearn for. That moment when I may find a true sense of purpose or contribution. Contribution of good from a life that was lacking of the same.

    Reset. No matter how many times it is required, it will never be too much. When the path is not the one that I set out to tread, I must reset. Restart. Recalibrate. Without such reflection and correction, I risk arriving at a destination that is not my own, nor of my yearning. Reset. Each time, with more wisdom than before, and therefore hopeful that my next attempt will be more informed, and as always, most importantly, more purposeful.

  • The Thief of Yesterday

    Living in the past is often recognized as unfortunate or sad, or at times it is seen as pathetic or weak. More than this, I think it is a sign of ingratitude. Carrying around our burdens that have long since left us simply says that what we have available to us now is irrelevant because what we wanted then was never achieved. The logic baffles me, which is why I often find myself scathing in my response to those that consistently dwell on insecurities from a time when they may have been overwhelmed or cheated out of a good life, if their current state offers them more than they were ever cheated out of to begin with.

    I look around me and I find no shortage of examples of people that are so self-loathing that they become egotistical in the process. That’s not as contradictory as it may sound. The egotist, by definition, is excessively self-absorbed. Strange though that we only associate this trait with those that seek to embellish their lives for show, but fail to see the same loathsome tendencies in those that decry their lives for pity. When we fear success, but seek it desperately, the angst it creates leaves us desperate to hide our weakness while soliciting pity from the world by presenting our inner struggles as struggles against this harsh and cruel world. The irony though, is that it is that very same insincerity that makes this world harsh and cruel. Therefore, it’s quite superficial for the contributors to that state to be the ones complaining about it.

    Insincerity is called for when we want to be seen as something we inherently believe is not true about ourselves. Or worse, something we believe we’re incapable of achieving. Most often the need to be seen as successful is greater than the need to be true to ourselves, and so the result leaves us creating facades and elaborate images of a perfection that eludes us. The conflict this creates within us feeds the self-loathing until it becomes who we are, and we fail to see what we were fending off in the first place. Some believe pity is called for when faced with such feebleness, I disagree.

    The harshness of reality has always been a greater teacher than any fairy tale ever was. Cajoling and condoning only reinforces the very same egotistical behavior that started the cycle. However, given the weakness in most to want to be seen as likeable and huggable and amicable and all those ridiculously juvenile aspirations, it’s no surprise to me to see that the majority of advice dished out at times like these is to embrace and support and pacify, rather than to dish out a healthy dollop of tough love.

    More than tough love, there is a self love that is called for. Not the sugar coated type, but the one that insists that if I don’t take care of myself first, I won’t be of much use to others. The more I deny myself the right to move forward in life, the more likely I’ll be to hold others back. For every person that needs to be cajoled and molly coddled (I despise these terms!) there is someone that is focusing on cajoling and molly coddling instead of growing in their own lives. I can hear the clamour of the idealists chanting in the background that such compassion in itself offers growth, but they confuse compassion with excessive accommodation.

    One verse from the Qur’an always prompts me back to reality, and that is that there is no burden that will visit a soul that is greater than that soul can bear. This has so much truth in it that it makes the fickleness of many that much more contemptible. Not because the verse prompts us towards intolerance for the struggles of others, but because for me, it reminds me that just as I must find the capacity and ability to deal with what comes my way, so too does everyone else. I am no more special than the next person, but the moment I slip into a self-defeating pathetic state that suggests that the world must stop and recognize my struggle before I will rise above it, in that moment I become a burden rather than a blessing to those around me.

    We all have a limited capacity to deal with strife in our lives. Yes, you read correctly, I believe it is limited. However, that limitation is largely defined by two key reasons of who we are as individuals or human beings. The first reason being our ability to live in the present moment and making conscious decisions about what is worth holding on to versus what we should let go of. The second reason being the subconscious tolerance level we set for ourselves. A level that is most often dictated by our ego rather than the practical reality of what we’re faced with.

    The thief of yesterday creeps in and destroys the beauty of the present moment when we convince ourselves that until we receive the desired affirmation, acceptance, inclusion, or validation that was missing yesterday, we are unworthy of embracing the beauty of today. Until we achieve that moment of perceived significance in the eyes of the insignificant, we prevent ourselves from moving on. It’s a load of hogwash that destroys more than the rejection we originally experienced. It’s a juvenile cry to the world to see my significance, and my strength because of how much I’ve endured for so long, rather than to cherish my own strength, internally, when I realise that it will take a lot more than the fickleness of others to knock me down.

    I wish there were more people with such resilience, spunk, attitude, or whatever it is that you choose to call it. More people that are recognised to be a bad ass, or a difficult character (for the right reasons), because that is the seat of passion for life. Not in the loins, but in the heart. Conviction to shape your future, rather than the meekness to be shaped by your past. History has its place, but only to inform us of where we went wrong, not to define what we’re worth.

    Investing in the weakness of others has its place, but only for enough time as is affordable to pull them forward, out of their abyss, and into the beauty of the present moment. Some would argue that a life sacrificed towards this achievement may yield the strength of a saved soul that could change the world, but I would argue that such a sacrifice denies the world of the beauty that you could have shared instead.

  • The Projection of Rage

    There is very little else that enrages me more than the sight of parents that project their insecurities on their children. Parents that feel insecure about where they’re at or how they’re perceived by society and then over compensate by supposedly making sure that their children are not going to be perceived in the same way. The coward’s way of life is to live vicariously through others. That’s safe, risk averse, and effectively protects you from being perceived as a failure. That’s not life. That’s fear.

    But it’s not only parents that project such fears on their children and then raise sheltered or dysfunctional charges. It’s a practice that is almost pervasive these days from governments to organisations to almost every social structure we see. It feels like we’re living in a world where everyone has to defend their claim to significance, and those that feel like they don’t have one, associate themselves with causes that justify their rage at feeling insignificant. Countries that have military might will exact respect through force, or impose their beliefs through occupation, while organisations do the same through developing lethargic hierarchical structures that disempower while holding accountable those without authority.

    Behind all of this aggression lies flawed human beings that lack conviction or sincerity, and therefore leverage the tools and resources at their disposal to make a point that would otherwise go unheard. The climb to the top therefore becomes one of self-enrichment rather than servitude. It is therefore no wonder that those that occupy public office, or positions of ultimate authority, rarely use it for the benefit of the masses, but instead aim to benefit their revered peers instead. It’s a corruption of the soul that leads to a vapid life. A life that feels so empty that the only way to fill it is through the acquisition of trinkets and distractions, and the exercise of authority over subjects that have no means to retaliate or protest.

    The individualistic and narcissistic tendencies of the modern day interpretation of human rights and the rule of democratic law has created a cesspool of moral and ethical degradation that celebrates the implosion of human dignity. We’ve created structures and protocols that pacify our innate conscience so that we are not deprived of sleep at night, but we live the same indignity we impose the moment we find ourselves deprived of the resources we once wielded.

    For governments it’s a coup or a landslide defeat when being removed from power. For organisations, it’s the cheque book holders that dethrone the arrogant heads that no longer serve them well. For society, it’s the leaders that fall from grace when their morally objectionable behaviour that is celebrated in private becomes public. We only seem to be called to account if the common knowledge of our excess indulgence becomes noted by those perceived to be our moral authorities, otherwise turning a blind eye works well because we have much that we wish others would overlook as well.

    We’re a society that resides in glass houses. We lament the erosion of dignity and peace, but refuse to acknowledge our contribution to it. This is not a rant, it’s a lament. We’re so focused on appearances, perceptions, and reputation, that we dare not disappoint the expectations of those that need our fickleness as a yardstick against which to measure their own.

    Society, of which I am a futile member, have become nothing more than a projection of rage on that which we cannot influence, or prevent. We are enslaved, more by our fears of being human than by any system imposed on us. Authenticity is rare. It requires an embrace of who we are, and a conviction in who we want to be. Most are willing to settle for the facade, because the substance appears far too daunting to pursue. The path of least resistance has never been more appealing to the meek than it is now. It is therefore no wonder that we are meek in conviction, and bold in oppression, of ourselves, and those around us.

    [This turned out to be more cryptic than intended]

  • The Silent Statement

    My thoughts are often as complicated to grasp as my writing is to read. I sometimes read through some of my older posts and wonder how anyone could have gotten the point when I struggle to follow the thought process myself. I used to relate it all much more simplistically in the past. It was relatable, not just to me, but to others that it resonated with. It’s not so easy to relate anymore. I find myself slowly receding into silence again. It’s like I’ve come full circle without having completed the journey. The contradiction glares at me while I try to make sense of it all.

    Silence often says more than any vocal statement we make. It’s the language of both lies and compassion. For me, it’s the language of understanding. When I’m inclined to believe that my perspective will most likely be misunderstood or unappreciated, I tend towards silence. It’s my restraint and my statement. It restrains me from verbalising much that will be found offensive, often because of the harsh truth it contains given my poor bedside manner, and it’s my statement because I choose not to engage about something that I believe will not have a meaningful outcome. That’s how I use silence to make my statement.

    Unfortunately there are too many that use it for very different reasons, the most common of which is to avoid being perceived unfavourably. In those moments when the truth is needed for closure, to understand the reasons for betrayal, or to know why the good we put forward was reciprocated with dishonesty or insincerity, silence cuts sharper and deeper than any harsh truths that could have been offered. In those moments the silent one tries desperately to hide their shame while maintaining a facade of arrogance or feigned hurt. Silence, in moments like those, is employed for no reason but to save the betrayer from having to share the truth of their betrayal.

    I think it gets worse when we hold the key to justice but deny the rights of the victims when we choose not to get involved because of the potential repercussions for us. At times when world powers abstain from voting or acting against rogue nations or human scum in order to retain political alliances, their silence does to the victims of those oppressors what the silence of a lover does to their no-longer-beloved. The impact is the same, it’s only the scale that differs.

    Every betrayal destroys a soul, and every soul holds within it an entire world. Each betrayal forces a reinvention of that soul, and each reinvention creates a more brittle soul. Brittle is not necessarily weak. It simply becomes more unpredictable as it gets closer to its limit. Fortunately for most, that limit is significantly more than most because of the reinventions. But when it is reached, the brittle snap that ensues leaves a wake of destruction that can rarely be understood.

    But there’s a more important point I wanted to make about how we use silence for selfish purposes. Perhaps my use of silence is not as noble as I’d like to believe it is. Perhaps just writing this post will provide insights that will disarm me at important moments when others will correctly interpret my silence and take the offence I was hoping to spare them instead. Perhaps there will be none of that because as we’ve seen so often, a shared sin is often overlooked because the collective guilt pacifies our conscience anyway.

    I think we all use silence in this way. I think the silence we maintain at times when we should be outspoken or brutally honest reflects our priorities in that moment. If speaking out will result in an increase of clutter or responsibility beyond what we currently wish to bear, then silence becomes the obvious choice.

    Another incomplete thought process. I know there is a truth in there somewhere…but like life, the essence of it eludes me.