The Lies We Live

failure

"mama told me, not to say a word."

I can almost see myself in all the places I wish to be. I have become what I set out to be. My lungs fill with a new vigor, a strength that sets me free. I am a respectable woman and my books fly off shelves. All the failure seems minuscule in this moment.

The shattering ache you feel when all your efforts go unacknowledged. The shards of glass still stuck in your throat; they are a reminder that the worst of people are those who base the respect they will give you, off of your success. What a way to live life.

Because shouldn't we treat the man who owns the building, and the one who cleans it, with the same kindness, and attentiveness, that which we would give to anyone else? How is it that we have become material even in dealing with people. We are not objects that hold monetary value; we are so much more than that.

Are we not human as well, with our failures and downfalls written across us? Have you forgotten so easily, your own flaws, to shun those of others? I ask you, not because I want you to feel terrible; no, not at all. But rather I want you to live a life that feels slightly less terrible from this moment on.

I always had this strange feeling that if we forgot where we came from, then we would also forget where we were going. How can we grow if we lack the roots that enrich us with all that we need to grow?

I can only hope that if I were to become famous one day, that I would not lose myself in the glamor of it all. Of course, I can say I will never change, but that is because I am in a better place now. Perhaps if the tides change, I will not be so fortunate in the future. I can only hope that in my heart I remain humble, and I still see the world as I see it now; a gruesome kind of beautiful, a shiny surface that lacks any real depth.

I peer into others, trying to figure out what it is that they're all about. With their empty goals and overflowing closets, I find that I have nothing but envy for them. They are everything I am not. But they are not always bad people, I have learned. That they are not blind to injustice and cruelty, and they do voice these noble contradictions. It just makes them harder to abhor.

When I feel like this, I feel that I am obligated to remember it is not their fault. Those who grow up without their own personal grievances, find it hard to feel empathy for those who do. Not because they are immune to empathy, but rather the feeling is alien to them.

Doesn't it raise the question: how can we understand the misfortunes of others, when we can hardly understand our own? I am in an infinite state of regression. Every path I take comes right back to where I have come from.

The moon casts a dim glow over the back of his blazer. It is almost as if God has turned a spotlight on him; he is the man of the night. In the years that have taken to make something of himself, he has discarded all the old remnants of what he once was. His ashen clothes have become the expensive suits, handmade to fit his chiseled body. He is a faint blue under the twilight of the evening, and for a passing moment, I suspect he is not of this world. Because how can one remain so humble when they have so much to brandish now, I am still stunned at his kind smile and sincere gestures. Perhaps the past still haunts him in some way, I understand that he will never forget the nights of starvation and humanity's refusal to aid him. And yet, he has overlooked that now and chooses to give back, not as repayment, but as morality. This is a man that the world is in need of. The one that appears every few centuries. This is the man we should all aspire to be like. The man who we look for in lovers, and who we dream of in our sleep, because that is who he is.

This man is a dream.

In my own life, I have been cheated many times out of the titles and achievements that were rightfully mine, but I find it pointless to dwell on what I have lost. For me at least, It no longer exists. It does me much better to appreciate what I do have, despite being discontent at times.

I don't ask you to be grateful because it has proved to be difficult in times of hardship, but I do ask you to try.

Try despite the possibility of failure. Because success should not be the goal, but the aftermath. We go out into the world and do things because we want to prove that we are worthy of our existence, and that's only the easy part. What is always more difficult is to prove these things to yourself.

Maybe one day you will realize that what you think is vastly more important than what others think of you.