In the age of duality, I often find myself asking the same question: “Are these people being genuine?”
It’s sometimes hard to accept that two very different voices can come from such a sweet, sweet, sweet soul. I guess volatility isn’t just a word reserved for high-risk, high-reward trading after all.
And then I start to wonder, “Why me? Why am I the only one who notices the duality?”
I ask my mother the exact same thing. For the first time, she doesn’t think it’s all in my head. “People are people,” she always says. I just don’t understand the why or the how. It doesn’t add up—the way I can see things so clearly while still wearing a pair of rose-tinted glasses.
So it only feels natural to put some distance between us. “Because five steps in reality can sometimes feel like five miles in truth.”
It’s what’s best for us anyway. I don’t coat my words with sugar. Kindness isn’t something I can fake. So more often than not, my face speaks louder than my mouth does. It’s both a blessing and a curse, one might say.
“Your displeasure is very apparent from the way your brows curl.” If I had a penny for every time I managed not to sound mean, only to look mean instead, I would have filled my piggy bank with ease.
When I pray in the morning, I quietly ask for forgiveness. “Even wishing the best for them in my prayers sometimes feels like a tall order.”
And I feel bad because of that.
I used to think of myself as someone more laid-back. It turns out I’m not as undemanding as I believed. I’m already sick at the sight of a jar of toxic honey. How, then, do I forgive the person who handed it to me?
It’s a trip off the beaten path, I guess. And I’m living out of a suitcase, trying to get there. "I’m still not there."
But I’m trying.
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