Hidden truth
There seems to be a hidden truth. A truth that no one speaks of, a truth that no one really knows what to do in life. Everyone puts on a brave face, a mask and acts as if they’re not scared that they are coping just fine, when in reality everyone feels astray in some way or another. We find this reassuring truth that we’re the same to be so surprising. We find it discomforting that we all feel lost and small in life, wandering and wanting answers more than anything else. We’re all wanting someone to come along and tell us it’s all ok, we’re wanting someone to hand us the book of answers so we can feel whole again, to feel as you once did as a naive child with no worries or responsibility.
But, no one does because no one knows. So we all pass each other in our busy lives knowing deep down that each person is somehow lost needing a little help and yet no one speaks about it. Its almost as if we’re ashamed to admit the truth like its some sort of defeat. Each of us just grasping for straws, trying to find a foot hole; somewhere to stand, to look as if we understand, that we’re doing just fine. All of us bluff each other with the best poker face we have, only ever consoling in our closest loved ones or our hidden diaries.
No one wants to be reminded that everything ends, that the sad fact of entropy means that all in time will stand still. We feel haunted by this existential feeling of knowing we only have a short time to do what we can, all to be forgotten again. Can you name your grandparents grandparents? Or are they just people from a time long past who lay forgotten. The sad fact is that we too one day will be forgotten, all of our lives our dreams and fears, our stories and thoughts all will be washed away by the waves of time.
So we put on a brave face and do the best we can. We fall and learn to pick ourselves up again, improvising the best we can throughout life. Telling ourselves it’s all ok. We try to make memories that are worthwhile; something to be remembered by, we create stories and music, we draw and write trying to express ourselves hoping that we can be remembered just a little longer. We take pictures of moments we cherish to hold that frozen frame throughout time, to be passed down throughout the ages hoping someone, anyone will see it as you once did.
Maybe if we stop pretending we’re all ok that everything is fine we could be better than just ourselves. If we admit that we’re a little broken we could be fixed by each other, and if we expect the fate that each and every one of our stories have the same ending we could cherish the awe and overwhelmingness that is our lives. Or we could keep living with our heads in the sand, put our masks back on and bluff each other until the sun burns out.
