The Lies We Live

i

"who am I?

someone that's afraid to let go.

you decide if you're ever gonna let me know."

I feel the parts of myself break away; it hurts. I can't explain it perfectly, but it goes something like this:

There are too many versions of me. A great amount of power but only a small vessel that it must squeeze into.

There's the writer, the girl who wants everything in her life to have rythym. Everything silent, unambiguous and generic, cropped out, because we don't have time for mediocrity. Only something amazing.

There's the astrophysicist. An astronaut on earth. She loves what's up there more than what's around. The sky is beautiful, and her life is cruel. I would rather imagine the impossible: alternate universes, and intelligent life, they are in fact, much more fascinating than people and their 'problems.'

(Of course that's not to say that our pain is not valid. Not at all. There are people that die horrible deaths because we, as a species can not get our sh*t together. What I mean to say is that I'm not an advocate of hearing how upset you are about the workload at school, and how you can't talk about anything other than this stupid place)

There's the journalist. A reporter that cares, and decides to do something about it. She wants to do something good. Not to jot down on a university application, or to show people her 'kindness.' No, I do it because I feel obligated to. I'm sick of living in a world that still has the remnants of slavery in racial bias, abuse in the alcoholism and drug use. And sometimes I can't sleep at night because I hate the world for treating some of us like this. 

Then there's me. I make choices out of my love for others, not the love for myself. It looks selfless to become part-time and sacrifice your dreams for a sick parent, but I do not feel selfless at all.

I feel like a coward. I left my passion because I wasn't strong enough to balance a shitty home life and maintain the same grades as my well-rounded peers. I looked at them and felt threatened by their intelligence. My teacher made me feel incompetent, and I let her. I was terrified of failure, so I let that fear devour me.

What I really want, is to leave this place. All the judgemental stares, the self-entitlement that I see with muslims these days. In their close minded views, a failure to understand that religion is much more than simply following what you are told.

(I feel that religion is upheld in the perceptions of oppressive people. Real religion is creating virtue and purpose in a world that insists upon meaninglessness. It is finding peace in the silence that ensues. It is not looking down at others on the basis of their faults. Saying ignorant things and calling it scripture. If you can not reflect on yourself, and not ponder over rule and reality, then you have not reached enlightmentment my friend.)

I want to escape a small town that is populated with infinitely smaller minded people. When their actions are not those that are genuine, and consious of others, I feel that we are somehow imposters. We live lives that are manufactured. Nothing about us is primitive anymore, and I think that's terrible. We think love is sensual acts and sweet nothings. A promose of comitment and nothing else. I wanted to tell people that love was sacrifice. Making choices that cripple you sometimes, because you can't live in prosperity while they suffer. You would rather take the burden yourself. 

I want to go to a place, where it's warm, and the sunlight is warm and not blinding. I want t be near the water and I want to find myself at sea. Writng about the world away from it. I want to meet people who are real, ad I can feel them, their beings when they speak. I want to know people as they are, not who they would like to be.

Some place where the tide never meets the shore. A place where I finally learn to let go.