I spent a few hours today watching a documentary called the "Arrivals". While I found it entertaining, I have many reasons to be skeptical about its content.
The documentary talked about the arrival of Imam Mahdi, the Antichrist and the return of Jesus and how consciously or even unconsciously people follow the dark side or the light side. The idea, itself, is nothing new and as far as I know, has been mentioned in all holy books. What was interesting about The Arrivals, however, was the signs they mentioned throughout the whole documentary that seemed to serve as proofs that the arrival is near. While I believe some of the things they mentioned to be true (Media brainwashing and the modern Idol worshipping), I have to disagree with most of the other "facts".
They related many things to their theory of "New World Order" and "Freemasonry", and I, unfortunately, do not have extensive knowledge of most of them. So I can only start with things I do know about. let's examine some of these signs closely:
1-The Eye in Ancient Egypt
In The Arrivals, the eye is a symbol of The Antichrist (The one-eyed creature) from the time of the Ancient Egypt up to now, which is present everywhere, even on the back of the one dollar bill in the U.S, in famous buildings, monuments and so on and so forth.
What I do know about this eye is that in Ancient Egypt, it was called the Eye of Horus, the god of the sky whose right eye was associated to Ra (the sun). This right eye represents the sun, and what people may not know is that there is in fact a left eye, too, which represents the moon and together they are a symbol of the universe. Spiritually the right eye represents masculine and the left eye feminine energy. The eye was also used in arithmetic back in those times.
It might also be interesting to note that in 1592 the eye was painted in a triangle by Jacobo Pontormo as a symbol of Trinity in Christianity.
So I believe that the reason why this symbol is used on the tower of Aachen Cathedral, Alexander's Column, the top of the Declaration of Human rights and the bill is perhaps because of symbolic meaning of glory, provdidence, and the all-seeing eye of God in Christianity, not the other way around.
2-Freemasonry"
The modern signification of Freemasonry in which, since about 1750, the word has been universally and exclusively understood, dates only from the constitution of the Grand Lodge of England, 1717. In this acceptation Freemasonry, according to the official English, Scottish, American, etc., craft rituals, is most generally defined: "A peculiar [some say "particular" or "beautiful"] system of morality veiled in allegory and illustrated by symbols." Mackey [10] declares the best definition of Freemasonry to be: "A science which is engaged in the search after the divine truth." The German encyclopedia of Freemasonry, "Handbuch" [11] defines Freemasonry as "the activity of closely united men who, employing symbolical forms borrowed principally from the mason's trade and from architecture, work for the welfare of mankind, striving morally to ennoble themselves and others and thereby to bring about a universal league of mankind [Menschheitsbund], which they aspire to exhibit even now on a small scale" (Quoted from Catholic Encyclopedia)
3-The Checkered carpets and floors
Now I think this was taking their theory a bit too far. Let's look at it this way:
I say "The color white is, in fact, the sign of antichrist and the color black is the sign of Imam Mahdi. You want proof? Why, Kaba is black and the White House is White. Hollywood is written in White. The Twin Towers are white. Ben Laden wears white!"
I'm sure there are a thousand places in which checkered carpets and the reason is probably aesthetic and nothing more. The same could be said about the Coat of arms of the Great Britain. In many flags (interestingly enough, in Iran's old flag as well), the lion is a symbol of Power (the king of the jungle) and glory, and of course it would be present in all British, Candaian and Austrailian exports for the same reason the Iranian flag is present in all our exports; just look at the back of Maz Maz.
4-The Elites deleted the files on YouTube
There is a logical and valid reason for this. Throughout the series, many clips from The Matrix, Lord of the rings and many other movies and music videos were used. As I'm sure you are aware, YouTube has a copyright policy. If you use clips without the owners' permission, your videos will be deleted due to the violation of the rights.
This list can go on forever, but the point I'm trying to make is that what they presented is simply a theory and a theory alone. Dan Brown used this method in his famous books, "The Da Vinci Code" and "The Angels and Demons", and his fictions were filled with facts, partial facts, and flat-out lies. What's wrong with what they showed people is that it is based on beliefs and not facts, and therefore cannot be proved right or wrong.
Somebody may decide tomorrow that Saruman is actually real, and the rings must be destroyed. Some may laugh at him, and some may take a leap of faith and start a community to find Frodo. In the end, reality is relative; you see it the way you want it to, and I can only conclude this with a quote by Descartes:
"Since reason already convinces me that I should abstain from the belief in things which are not entirely certain and indubitable no less carefully than from the belief in those which appear to me to be manifestly false, it will be enough to make me reject them all if I can find in each some ground for doubt."
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Sunday, February 27, 2011
The Black Swan
"We all carry within us places of exile, our crimes, our ravages. Our task is not to unleash them on the world; it is to transform them in ourselves and others." –Albert Camus
"We all know the story: virgin girl, pure and sweet, trapped in a body of a swan; she desires freedom, but only true love can break the curse. Her wish is nearly granted in the form of a prince, but before he can declare his love, her lustful twin, the black swan, tricks and seduces him. Devastated, the white swan kills herself and in death finds freedom." –Thomas in the Black Swan
There have been different interpretations of the movie, the Black Swan, ranging from misogyny to dopplegangers. What I want to concentrate on, however, is a psychological point of view separate from gender or cultural aspects and folklores.
The white Swan, as Thomas well described, is a symbol of purity, sweetness and perfection. Nina, the girl who is assigned to play the roles of both the white swan and the black swan, is just like that. A twenty-eight year old girl, she is a shy and sweet ballerina who strives to be perfect: She's dutiful, obeys her mother and strives more than anything to perfect and adored by everybody. Perfection to her is synonymous with control. If you have control over everything, if you do whatever that is right, then you will be perfect.
It should come as no surprise that playing the black swan becomes a great challenge for her. To the black swan, perfection is not about control; it is about letting go and submitting to your darkest desires.
This is when the metamorphosis begins. Nina's eyes are opened to a whole new world she was not thus far aware of. She disobeys her mothers, begins an affair with her teacher, does drugs and basically loses control. Due to the strain the role has on her, she starts having hallucinations and in the end of the movie accidently kills herself, and in that, just like the black swan, finds her own freedom.
The black Swan is a symbol of a worldview many people have: In order to find happiness, you must be perfect; the perfect child, the perfect parent, the perfect student. You must stay away from sins. There is one religion, one God, one universal rule that will bring them delight, and if you do not obey, you'll be damned.
The black swan, on the other hand, is the worldview of an alluring, imperfect world that has recently become mainstream: Life is flawed, we are flawed and the only thing we can do in this chaotic world is to admit to the absurdity of life, our imperfections and let go of this ideal thinking there will be an answer to everything.
Nina's metamorphosis then, is not much unlike the disillusionment Goodman Brown went through in Hawthorne's Young Goodman Brown: Life is not what she used to see. By this disillusionment, you shall not lose your faith, rather find a new one. You cannot be perfect and in that truth you shall find freedom.
In a way we are all auditioning for the Swan Lake. Some will be white swans; some will be the black ones. Which one's the right answer, however, is a choice I leave to the reader.
"We all know the story: virgin girl, pure and sweet, trapped in a body of a swan; she desires freedom, but only true love can break the curse. Her wish is nearly granted in the form of a prince, but before he can declare his love, her lustful twin, the black swan, tricks and seduces him. Devastated, the white swan kills herself and in death finds freedom." –Thomas in the Black Swan
There have been different interpretations of the movie, the Black Swan, ranging from misogyny to dopplegangers. What I want to concentrate on, however, is a psychological point of view separate from gender or cultural aspects and folklores.
The white Swan, as Thomas well described, is a symbol of purity, sweetness and perfection. Nina, the girl who is assigned to play the roles of both the white swan and the black swan, is just like that. A twenty-eight year old girl, she is a shy and sweet ballerina who strives to be perfect: She's dutiful, obeys her mother and strives more than anything to perfect and adored by everybody. Perfection to her is synonymous with control. If you have control over everything, if you do whatever that is right, then you will be perfect.
It should come as no surprise that playing the black swan becomes a great challenge for her. To the black swan, perfection is not about control; it is about letting go and submitting to your darkest desires.
This is when the metamorphosis begins. Nina's eyes are opened to a whole new world she was not thus far aware of. She disobeys her mothers, begins an affair with her teacher, does drugs and basically loses control. Due to the strain the role has on her, she starts having hallucinations and in the end of the movie accidently kills herself, and in that, just like the black swan, finds her own freedom.
The black Swan is a symbol of a worldview many people have: In order to find happiness, you must be perfect; the perfect child, the perfect parent, the perfect student. You must stay away from sins. There is one religion, one God, one universal rule that will bring them delight, and if you do not obey, you'll be damned.
The black swan, on the other hand, is the worldview of an alluring, imperfect world that has recently become mainstream: Life is flawed, we are flawed and the only thing we can do in this chaotic world is to admit to the absurdity of life, our imperfections and let go of this ideal thinking there will be an answer to everything.
Nina's metamorphosis then, is not much unlike the disillusionment Goodman Brown went through in Hawthorne's Young Goodman Brown: Life is not what she used to see. By this disillusionment, you shall not lose your faith, rather find a new one. You cannot be perfect and in that truth you shall find freedom.
In a way we are all auditioning for the Swan Lake. Some will be white swans; some will be the black ones. Which one's the right answer, however, is a choice I leave to the reader.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
دردسرهای مدیر مدرسه
بعد از اینکه در اوج وقاحت از کلاس آقای ح . پ بیرون شدم ، تصمیم گرفتم که هر چه سریع تر کتاب رو تهییه کنم که وقت نشد برم انقلاب. پس به بچه ها سپردم که از کتابخونه ی دانشکدشون برام بگیرن. اما از بخت بد ما کتابخونه یه جلدم نداشت. خلاصه، تهران بخاطر هوای آلوده تعطیل شدو ما اومدیم خونه.
چهارشنبه عزممو جزم کردم که کتابو بخرم. قزوین سه تا کتاب فروشی بیشتر نداره. یدونم دست دومی هست. بابام بهم گفت شب عیدی تو شلوغی ماشینو نبرم اما کو گوش شنوا. منم ماشینو برداشتم و رفتم که مغازه بسته بود. از اون جایی که خیابون خیلی شلوغ بود، نشد دور بزنم. با خودم گفتم از این کوچه می زنم و از یه جا در می یام که از ناکجا آباد ، جایی که قدیما مامان بزرگم زندگی می کرد سر درآوردم! حالا کی می تونه از این کوچه ها درآد.
با هزار بدبختی حمد الله مستوفی و چند تا آثار تاریخی دیگه رو که نمی دونستم قزوین داره رد کردمو از تهران قدیم , یعنی از اون سر شهر سر درآوردم. با ترس و لرز تو تاریکا , بدون موبایل , مسیر و رفتم و دیدم مثه اینکه راهو پیدا نمی کنم. با پاهای لرزون پباده شدمو از یه آقای ترسناک آدرسو پرسیدم که فهمیدم دارم میرم راه آهن ، یعنی به معنای واقعی ته شهر که جای دور زدنم نداره.
با هزار بد بختی یه دور بر گردون پیدا کردمو از تو کمر بندی سر درآوردم که هزار تا کامیونو تریلی از کنارم رد شدندو بوق زدندو متلک انداختند.یکی دو بار مر کز شهرو تو اوج ترافیک اشتباهی دور زدم تا بالاخره از کتابفروشی دومی سر درآوردم که اونم نداشت.
یه ساعت بعد با رنگ پریده و دست خالی برگشتم خونه .شروع کردم به زنگ زدن به خاله و دوستو همسایه و داداشو همکلاسیو همکار و هم اتاقی که احدی کتاب دربه درشده رو نداشت .باخودم گفتم سنگین تره غیبت کنم که نصف شب هم اتاقیم از اصفهان زنگ زد که زنگ زده به دوستش که اونم به یکی از دوستاش تو تهران زنگ زده که کتابو داره که اونم به اون یکی هم اتاقیم زنگ زده که کتابو ازش بگیره.
منم در تمام مدت فکر می کردم که آیا این همه بد بختی و دردسر ارزششو داشت یا نه.
چهارشنبه عزممو جزم کردم که کتابو بخرم. قزوین سه تا کتاب فروشی بیشتر نداره. یدونم دست دومی هست. بابام بهم گفت شب عیدی تو شلوغی ماشینو نبرم اما کو گوش شنوا. منم ماشینو برداشتم و رفتم که مغازه بسته بود. از اون جایی که خیابون خیلی شلوغ بود، نشد دور بزنم. با خودم گفتم از این کوچه می زنم و از یه جا در می یام که از ناکجا آباد ، جایی که قدیما مامان بزرگم زندگی می کرد سر درآوردم! حالا کی می تونه از این کوچه ها درآد.
با هزار بدبختی حمد الله مستوفی و چند تا آثار تاریخی دیگه رو که نمی دونستم قزوین داره رد کردمو از تهران قدیم , یعنی از اون سر شهر سر درآوردم. با ترس و لرز تو تاریکا , بدون موبایل , مسیر و رفتم و دیدم مثه اینکه راهو پیدا نمی کنم. با پاهای لرزون پباده شدمو از یه آقای ترسناک آدرسو پرسیدم که فهمیدم دارم میرم راه آهن ، یعنی به معنای واقعی ته شهر که جای دور زدنم نداره.
با هزار بد بختی یه دور بر گردون پیدا کردمو از تو کمر بندی سر درآوردم که هزار تا کامیونو تریلی از کنارم رد شدندو بوق زدندو متلک انداختند.یکی دو بار مر کز شهرو تو اوج ترافیک اشتباهی دور زدم تا بالاخره از کتابفروشی دومی سر درآوردم که اونم نداشت.
یه ساعت بعد با رنگ پریده و دست خالی برگشتم خونه .شروع کردم به زنگ زدن به خاله و دوستو همسایه و داداشو همکلاسیو همکار و هم اتاقی که احدی کتاب دربه درشده رو نداشت .باخودم گفتم سنگین تره غیبت کنم که نصف شب هم اتاقیم از اصفهان زنگ زد که زنگ زده به دوستش که اونم به یکی از دوستاش تو تهران زنگ زده که کتابو داره که اونم به اون یکی هم اتاقیم زنگ زده که کتابو ازش بگیره.
منم در تمام مدت فکر می کردم که آیا این همه بد بختی و دردسر ارزششو داشت یا نه.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Who is good?
When I asked my brother to pick up a movie to watch together about three weeks ago, I knew he was not going to waste any time thinking about it, and when he handed me the 'seven pounds', I knew it was probably because it was the first one he had seen on the scattered mess of DVDs in his drawer. A little discouraged, I watched the movie, checked the new words and searched the internet for reviews. I had decided that I did not like the movie very much.
We watched about thirty minutes of the movie, then paused and started to talk about it. My brother asked me what I thought about Ben, the man who was going to donate some parts of his body to a few good people as some sort of penance, and I told him that I did not like this man at all. Naturally my brother asked me the reason, and I surprised myself with my reply. I told my brother that I did not like the way he chose the good people, because how can you tell if somebody is good? Do you even have the right? My brother gave me his idea of a good man, but I was unable to answer the same question.
Who is a good person?
Can you reel off some apparently positive characteristics from mind and whoever possesses them, or at least has some of them, is good and the others who lack them would be considered as bad? As in an honest, kind and merciful man is good, and therefore a lying, unkind and unmerciful person is bad?
Are there any preventive-directive approaches toward being good? Can anybody claim that there is an unchanging way that if you follow, you'll turn out good, and if you don't, you unavoidably turn out to be bad?
Is goodness something absolute and unconditional? Can we presume that goodness is the same in every country, every city and every home and it has been the same since the time of Adam and Eve up to the twenty first century? Can we assume that no matter what changes, good people will always stay the same?
Can we measure goodness, or can we claim that somebody is better than another? Between a martyr for his country and a mother who has given her heart to her child, which one would you pick, or would you claim that both of them had their own selfish reasons and do not pick at all?
Well, all these questions made me wonder. I personally believe that goodness is conditional. It changes all the time, and the only thing constant about it is that it is based on conditions.
Let us presume that cheating is bad, that is, it is not good. Now imagine yourself in this position: You have a classmate whom you consider a knowledgeable person who always tries hard to get what she wants. You know her mother has passes away a few days ago and she has had no chance to study. You also realize that she desperately needs that grade. Would you still consider cheating bad, or would you be willing to bend that rule a little?
Lying is bad, right? But what if a doctor lies to a committee to get his dying patient the liver he desperately needs? Lying doesn't look so bad now, does it?
This quality of goodness is why it makes it so difficult to possess. Everything changes all the time, and it takes more than following a common definition of goodness to make you a good human.
But then if this is true, then how do you know who is good and obviously who is bad, or worse, how do you try to be good?
I personally believe that there is more to this world than we see, and whatever we do and whatever we say will have an impact on the world, and consequently on us. The effect we will have on the world will be the cause of another effect and that is how important we are, and if we do not know what goodness is, we not only harm ourselves, we'd do the same to the universe.
A good man is one who tries, really at least tries, to rise above the tangled web of superficialities that we have made. A good man is one who sees there is more to this world and does whatever he can to be human, and that is not as easy as it sounds.
In order to be good, you don't have to be a bundle of joy or a ray of sunshine. You do not have to spend all your income on the abandoned children. Really, all you have to do is to be good in what you have a gift for. It doesn't matter if it's saving lives, writing a story or fixing a pipe. You can be as grumpy as you want. It wouldn't really matter as long as you save a dying girl whose only left hope is you.
My version of goodness may sound a little radical or even a little selfish, but I truly believe in the greater good. That is if you have to lie to your slow-witted boss to get the money you need to spend it where it's truly needed, then there is nothing wrong with it, because everything is relative, and everything is a tool which can be used either for a right or wrong reason.
My version of goodness means that sometimes you will do what is right and inevitably you'll make mistakes, but then you can die contented and say with a smile: 'at least I tried.'
Being good at what you do makes life much easier and all the more difficult, doesn't it?
We watched about thirty minutes of the movie, then paused and started to talk about it. My brother asked me what I thought about Ben, the man who was going to donate some parts of his body to a few good people as some sort of penance, and I told him that I did not like this man at all. Naturally my brother asked me the reason, and I surprised myself with my reply. I told my brother that I did not like the way he chose the good people, because how can you tell if somebody is good? Do you even have the right? My brother gave me his idea of a good man, but I was unable to answer the same question.
Who is a good person?
Can you reel off some apparently positive characteristics from mind and whoever possesses them, or at least has some of them, is good and the others who lack them would be considered as bad? As in an honest, kind and merciful man is good, and therefore a lying, unkind and unmerciful person is bad?
Are there any preventive-directive approaches toward being good? Can anybody claim that there is an unchanging way that if you follow, you'll turn out good, and if you don't, you unavoidably turn out to be bad?
Is goodness something absolute and unconditional? Can we presume that goodness is the same in every country, every city and every home and it has been the same since the time of Adam and Eve up to the twenty first century? Can we assume that no matter what changes, good people will always stay the same?
Can we measure goodness, or can we claim that somebody is better than another? Between a martyr for his country and a mother who has given her heart to her child, which one would you pick, or would you claim that both of them had their own selfish reasons and do not pick at all?
Well, all these questions made me wonder. I personally believe that goodness is conditional. It changes all the time, and the only thing constant about it is that it is based on conditions.
Let us presume that cheating is bad, that is, it is not good. Now imagine yourself in this position: You have a classmate whom you consider a knowledgeable person who always tries hard to get what she wants. You know her mother has passes away a few days ago and she has had no chance to study. You also realize that she desperately needs that grade. Would you still consider cheating bad, or would you be willing to bend that rule a little?
Lying is bad, right? But what if a doctor lies to a committee to get his dying patient the liver he desperately needs? Lying doesn't look so bad now, does it?
This quality of goodness is why it makes it so difficult to possess. Everything changes all the time, and it takes more than following a common definition of goodness to make you a good human.
But then if this is true, then how do you know who is good and obviously who is bad, or worse, how do you try to be good?
I personally believe that there is more to this world than we see, and whatever we do and whatever we say will have an impact on the world, and consequently on us. The effect we will have on the world will be the cause of another effect and that is how important we are, and if we do not know what goodness is, we not only harm ourselves, we'd do the same to the universe.
A good man is one who tries, really at least tries, to rise above the tangled web of superficialities that we have made. A good man is one who sees there is more to this world and does whatever he can to be human, and that is not as easy as it sounds.
In order to be good, you don't have to be a bundle of joy or a ray of sunshine. You do not have to spend all your income on the abandoned children. Really, all you have to do is to be good in what you have a gift for. It doesn't matter if it's saving lives, writing a story or fixing a pipe. You can be as grumpy as you want. It wouldn't really matter as long as you save a dying girl whose only left hope is you.
My version of goodness may sound a little radical or even a little selfish, but I truly believe in the greater good. That is if you have to lie to your slow-witted boss to get the money you need to spend it where it's truly needed, then there is nothing wrong with it, because everything is relative, and everything is a tool which can be used either for a right or wrong reason.
My version of goodness means that sometimes you will do what is right and inevitably you'll make mistakes, but then you can die contented and say with a smile: 'at least I tried.'
Being good at what you do makes life much easier and all the more difficult, doesn't it?
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
And The Truth Shall Set You Free.
An analytic truth is a statement which is true in all possible worlds or under all possible interpretations.
I was young and stupid, and I wanted to please everybody, and I was gifted; I could tell what people wanted to hear, and I always told them what they wanted to hear, and that made them happy, as if it was the only thing that mattered, and I always got what I wanted, which was all that mattered to me.
He was a different story. I could not read him, not because he was difficult, but because there was nothing to read. How do you read a blank paper? How do you read somebody who always tells the truth?
The things he said weren't always nice. I stayed away.
_________________
Truth is persistent. Once it catches a glimpse of you, it never lets you go. I tried to stay away; I really did. I wanted things to go back to normal. I tried to pretend the truth didn't exist, but every corner I turned to, it was there, waiting to find me and torment me. I didn't want it in my life, but the truth left me no choice.
_________________
I was angry at the truth; I was angry at him. It was him who spoke it all the time. It was him who had disturbed the stillness of my life and brought the chaos, and he had to lose, because I wanted him to lose.
But how do you defeat something that is already perfect?
By something equally perfect.
_________________
Truth is ugly and painful, and it leaves scars on your soul that even time cannot heal, but it stands above everything else. It surpasses everything, and in the long run, it is the only thing that matters.
I was defeated, but I was thirsty for more. Truth was like sea water to me. The more I drank, the thirstier I became. I was hurt, but I wanted more.
"Why do you need to know?" He once asked and I knew he didn't mean the question in the book.
"I don't need to eat chocolate, but it makes me happy."
He opened his mouth to say something, stared at my eyes for a moment, then turned around and answered the question in the book.
_________________
The term was over, and everybody was happy. Everybody can tell the truth, but nobody wants to be told the truth. To them, it was a good riddance. To me, it was a great loss.
He was sitting at his desk, putting all the papers in his worn out black bag. He was like a spicy food to me. You eat it, and it burns your tongue and you'll think you'll never want to eat it again, but you wake up the day after, and you want to taste it all over again.
He looked up, stared at my face, looked down on the floor and looked up again.
"If your friend did something wrong, would you tell her so? Would you tell her the truth?"
"Yes," I replied without hesitation. I knew I would.
"So you think you should always tell the truth, and what will be, will be."
"What will be should be."
"What if she's not wrong? What if it's you who's mistaken?"
"The consequences beg to differ." I answered. "You tell the truth all the time. Why shouldn't I?"
He hesitated before answering, "What I tell them is my subjective understanding of reality. I know they always choose what others have defined for them, and I shove their wrongness to their face."
"You think truth is subjective? You think it's constructed?"
"You think truth is absolute?"
I closed my eyes and tried to think. "Maybe it's out there, maybe it's not, and even if it's not, we know how it should be. Why not at least try to get there?"
"Why do you need to know?" He repeated the same old question.
"It makes me happy."
He gave me a sad smile. He looked apologetic, as if he had brought something dreadful in my life. I thought the opposite.
"When you know the truth, it means two things: you'll always be right, and you'll never be happy. You see the world as it is, and you see it as how it should be. You know it'll never be right, and you'll always be miserable. "
"Somebody has to be miserable. Somebody should be upset."
"What you are searching for, you may never find. What you are looking for may not even exist."
"Then we have to make one."
He sighed and gave me a weak smile. I saw pain in his eyes, and I didn't know if it was his or mine reflected in his.
______________________
I'm still young and stupid; I still tell people what they want to hear, but now I have a different reason. Now I know not everybody needs to know the truth, or maybe it's because I, myself, don't know the truth yet.
Somebody once told me 'ignorance is bliss.' No one can argue with that. You don't want to spend your life searching for something you doubt even exists. You don't want to feel this tightness in your chest every time you laugh, but deep down inside, you know you have no other alternative.
Ignorance is bliss, but as Clarence S. Darrow has said it, the pursuit of truth will set you free, even if you never catch up with it.
And I just want to be free.
____________________
I was young and stupid, and I wanted to please everybody, and I was gifted; I could tell what people wanted to hear, and I always told them what they wanted to hear, and that made them happy, as if it was the only thing that mattered, and I always got what I wanted, which was all that mattered to me.
He was a different story. I could not read him, not because he was difficult, but because there was nothing to read. How do you read a blank paper? How do you read somebody who always tells the truth?
The things he said weren't always nice. I stayed away.
_________________
Truth is persistent. Once it catches a glimpse of you, it never lets you go. I tried to stay away; I really did. I wanted things to go back to normal. I tried to pretend the truth didn't exist, but every corner I turned to, it was there, waiting to find me and torment me. I didn't want it in my life, but the truth left me no choice.
_________________
I was angry at the truth; I was angry at him. It was him who spoke it all the time. It was him who had disturbed the stillness of my life and brought the chaos, and he had to lose, because I wanted him to lose.
But how do you defeat something that is already perfect?
By something equally perfect.
_________________
Truth is ugly and painful, and it leaves scars on your soul that even time cannot heal, but it stands above everything else. It surpasses everything, and in the long run, it is the only thing that matters.
I was defeated, but I was thirsty for more. Truth was like sea water to me. The more I drank, the thirstier I became. I was hurt, but I wanted more.
"Why do you need to know?" He once asked and I knew he didn't mean the question in the book.
"I don't need to eat chocolate, but it makes me happy."
He opened his mouth to say something, stared at my eyes for a moment, then turned around and answered the question in the book.
_________________
The term was over, and everybody was happy. Everybody can tell the truth, but nobody wants to be told the truth. To them, it was a good riddance. To me, it was a great loss.
He was sitting at his desk, putting all the papers in his worn out black bag. He was like a spicy food to me. You eat it, and it burns your tongue and you'll think you'll never want to eat it again, but you wake up the day after, and you want to taste it all over again.
He looked up, stared at my face, looked down on the floor and looked up again.
"If your friend did something wrong, would you tell her so? Would you tell her the truth?"
"Yes," I replied without hesitation. I knew I would.
"So you think you should always tell the truth, and what will be, will be."
"What will be should be."
"What if she's not wrong? What if it's you who's mistaken?"
"The consequences beg to differ." I answered. "You tell the truth all the time. Why shouldn't I?"
He hesitated before answering, "What I tell them is my subjective understanding of reality. I know they always choose what others have defined for them, and I shove their wrongness to their face."
"You think truth is subjective? You think it's constructed?"
"You think truth is absolute?"
I closed my eyes and tried to think. "Maybe it's out there, maybe it's not, and even if it's not, we know how it should be. Why not at least try to get there?"
"Why do you need to know?" He repeated the same old question.
"It makes me happy."
He gave me a sad smile. He looked apologetic, as if he had brought something dreadful in my life. I thought the opposite.
"When you know the truth, it means two things: you'll always be right, and you'll never be happy. You see the world as it is, and you see it as how it should be. You know it'll never be right, and you'll always be miserable. "
"Somebody has to be miserable. Somebody should be upset."
"What you are searching for, you may never find. What you are looking for may not even exist."
"Then we have to make one."
He sighed and gave me a weak smile. I saw pain in his eyes, and I didn't know if it was his or mine reflected in his.
______________________
I'm still young and stupid; I still tell people what they want to hear, but now I have a different reason. Now I know not everybody needs to know the truth, or maybe it's because I, myself, don't know the truth yet.
Somebody once told me 'ignorance is bliss.' No one can argue with that. You don't want to spend your life searching for something you doubt even exists. You don't want to feel this tightness in your chest every time you laugh, but deep down inside, you know you have no other alternative.
Ignorance is bliss, but as Clarence S. Darrow has said it, the pursuit of truth will set you free, even if you never catch up with it.
And I just want to be free.
____________________
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
My Secret Hiding Place
Around the university there is an alley that I call my secret hiding place. There is nothing secret about it; you just need to walk a few feet away from the entrance door, and it will be in plane sight, yet nobody seems to care there actually is another path to reach the campus beside that crowded, noisy lane everybody seems to be deeply interested in.
Whenever I feel misanthropic and dealing with people becomes too much, I run to my save haven. It is such a quiet place that it is almost surreal. Sure, every now and then cars pass by, and I see some pedestrians once in a while, but there seems to be an unspoken rule that nobody should make a noise.
The alley is wide, and the mighty trees of the autumn stand tall, their heavy branches bending, trying to reach the ground to get free of the restraint they have been bound in from birth. The fallen leaves dance with the rhythm of the wind, and I feel a shiver down my spine.
I walk along the alley, careful not to make a noise to disturb the silence. I think about everything and nothing at all and stare at the tall, dark colored buildings, wondering if they know how I feel. Sometimes I feel like one of them; surrounded by so many like me, yet alone.
My feet carry me to the stone stairs of the park at the end of the alley. They're wide and clean as if they are the stairs of a grand castle. The park is small and the highway can be seen in front of it. It is as if the park is the end of the world where serenity ends and reality begins.
There is nothing unique about the park; there are a few trees here and there and some benches that are colored red, green and orange with shiny paints. Nobody walks in there except a gardener in green that mows the yellow loan from time to time.
In the corner of the misshaped park, there is a slide for children. I calmly walk there and sit on the small steps, turning my back on the park. I rest my chin on my hands and stare at blue sky, the white clouds and the gray asphalt, the trees and the people that pass by. They do not notice me, but I watch them carefully, trying to understand what is going on in their minds. They look so busy that most of them do not even notice the park.
A glance at my old watch reminds me that my time is up. I stand up, wipe the dust from my clothes and walk back to the campus, to people and to everything that seems to matter.
Whenever I feel misanthropic and dealing with people becomes too much, I run to my save haven. It is such a quiet place that it is almost surreal. Sure, every now and then cars pass by, and I see some pedestrians once in a while, but there seems to be an unspoken rule that nobody should make a noise.
The alley is wide, and the mighty trees of the autumn stand tall, their heavy branches bending, trying to reach the ground to get free of the restraint they have been bound in from birth. The fallen leaves dance with the rhythm of the wind, and I feel a shiver down my spine.
I walk along the alley, careful not to make a noise to disturb the silence. I think about everything and nothing at all and stare at the tall, dark colored buildings, wondering if they know how I feel. Sometimes I feel like one of them; surrounded by so many like me, yet alone.
My feet carry me to the stone stairs of the park at the end of the alley. They're wide and clean as if they are the stairs of a grand castle. The park is small and the highway can be seen in front of it. It is as if the park is the end of the world where serenity ends and reality begins.
There is nothing unique about the park; there are a few trees here and there and some benches that are colored red, green and orange with shiny paints. Nobody walks in there except a gardener in green that mows the yellow loan from time to time.
In the corner of the misshaped park, there is a slide for children. I calmly walk there and sit on the small steps, turning my back on the park. I rest my chin on my hands and stare at blue sky, the white clouds and the gray asphalt, the trees and the people that pass by. They do not notice me, but I watch them carefully, trying to understand what is going on in their minds. They look so busy that most of them do not even notice the park.
A glance at my old watch reminds me that my time is up. I stand up, wipe the dust from my clothes and walk back to the campus, to people and to everything that seems to matter.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Consent
The young woman tried to take in everything around her with frightened eyes. The hallway was crowded. People in white passed her without taking a glance at her; she felt invisible.
"Can I help you?"
The woman looked at the nurse and nodded. She just wanted the pain to be over. Before she had a chance to talk, her neighbor-she didn't know her much; she even didn't know why the older woman had volunteered to help-replied.
"Yes, she's having a baby." The neighbor pointed her finger at the woman. She didn't seem to know or care that the pale-looking woman was in great pain.
"All right, where is her husband? We need him to sign this form." The nurse waved a piece of paper in the air.
"Oh, he's not here. He's in the garrison. You see, he's a soldier, and he's under duty until tomorrow."
"What about her father?"
"Her parents live in another city. She's alone."
"We have to wait until her husband comes back. There's nothing we can do without his consent."
"I can't stand anymore." The pregnant girl whimpered and fisted her sweaty hands.
"You can take her to that empty room." The nurse pointed to a room a few feet away and went back to writing on a big notebook.
She felt her neighbor-she didn't even know her name-painfully grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the room. Her back hit the hard bed, and she whimpered once more. How much longer did she have to take this pain?
"Is there anyway we can call your husband?" She shook her head, trying to concentrate on the neighbor's voice.
"Well, you better try to sleep then. They won't call the doctor until your husband's here." The woman lay down on the bench in the corner of the room. She was already half asleep.
"But I can't sleep. It hurts too much." She protested as she felt the cramps. Everything was getting blurry.
"Somebody help me, please!" The woman finally screamed, tears escaping her eyes and running down her hollow cheeks. The nurse came to her room after a few minutes of agony.
"I can't take this anymore. Do something!" She was breathing heavily. A white blur came closer to her bed.
"You must be patient until the doctor comes."
"You don't understand! Do something!" She screamed as she grabbed a handful of the woman's uniform in her fist.
"What do you want me to do? It's your first child, isn't it? How old are you?"
"Seventeen," She whispered as she lay her head down on the pillow. It suddenly hurt to speak.
"You need to relax. I'll see if I can find a doctor." The nurse was gone, the neighbor was asleep and she felt abandoned. It seemed she was the only one left on the planet.
She closed her eyes and opened them, again and again. The scenes kept changing, but the pain was there. It was always there and never went away, as long as she remembered.
She could hear screams, but she could not recognize the voice; it was a stranger, but his voice was gentle and his cold hand on her feverish forehead was soothing, and he kept repeating that it was going to be all right, and everything was black and then nothing.
…………………………………………………………………………………………
She opened her eyes slowly. There was no sign of sun; rain drops were hitting against the window, making a soft, rhythmic sound.
"You're awake." She turned her head to the right; the muscles in her neck protested. She knew that woman; it was that nurse.
"Your husband is not here yet." She could not understand what the nurse meant. She felt numb and frozen.
"You have a baby boy. The doctor decided to do the operation without your husband's permission. You were dying, but you're fine now. Everything's fine. I'll go get your baby."
The tired woman stared at the rain drops and slowly nodded as she cleaned the tears on her cheeks with the back of her hand. Yes, everything was fine.
The neighbor on the bench was softly snoring.
"Can I help you?"
The woman looked at the nurse and nodded. She just wanted the pain to be over. Before she had a chance to talk, her neighbor-she didn't know her much; she even didn't know why the older woman had volunteered to help-replied.
"Yes, she's having a baby." The neighbor pointed her finger at the woman. She didn't seem to know or care that the pale-looking woman was in great pain.
"All right, where is her husband? We need him to sign this form." The nurse waved a piece of paper in the air.
"Oh, he's not here. He's in the garrison. You see, he's a soldier, and he's under duty until tomorrow."
"What about her father?"
"Her parents live in another city. She's alone."
"We have to wait until her husband comes back. There's nothing we can do without his consent."
"I can't stand anymore." The pregnant girl whimpered and fisted her sweaty hands.
"You can take her to that empty room." The nurse pointed to a room a few feet away and went back to writing on a big notebook.
She felt her neighbor-she didn't even know her name-painfully grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the room. Her back hit the hard bed, and she whimpered once more. How much longer did she have to take this pain?
"Is there anyway we can call your husband?" She shook her head, trying to concentrate on the neighbor's voice.
"Well, you better try to sleep then. They won't call the doctor until your husband's here." The woman lay down on the bench in the corner of the room. She was already half asleep.
"But I can't sleep. It hurts too much." She protested as she felt the cramps. Everything was getting blurry.
"Somebody help me, please!" The woman finally screamed, tears escaping her eyes and running down her hollow cheeks. The nurse came to her room after a few minutes of agony.
"I can't take this anymore. Do something!" She was breathing heavily. A white blur came closer to her bed.
"You must be patient until the doctor comes."
"You don't understand! Do something!" She screamed as she grabbed a handful of the woman's uniform in her fist.
"What do you want me to do? It's your first child, isn't it? How old are you?"
"Seventeen," She whispered as she lay her head down on the pillow. It suddenly hurt to speak.
"You need to relax. I'll see if I can find a doctor." The nurse was gone, the neighbor was asleep and she felt abandoned. It seemed she was the only one left on the planet.
She closed her eyes and opened them, again and again. The scenes kept changing, but the pain was there. It was always there and never went away, as long as she remembered.
She could hear screams, but she could not recognize the voice; it was a stranger, but his voice was gentle and his cold hand on her feverish forehead was soothing, and he kept repeating that it was going to be all right, and everything was black and then nothing.
…………………………………………………………………………………………
She opened her eyes slowly. There was no sign of sun; rain drops were hitting against the window, making a soft, rhythmic sound.
"You're awake." She turned her head to the right; the muscles in her neck protested. She knew that woman; it was that nurse.
"Your husband is not here yet." She could not understand what the nurse meant. She felt numb and frozen.
"You have a baby boy. The doctor decided to do the operation without your husband's permission. You were dying, but you're fine now. Everything's fine. I'll go get your baby."
The tired woman stared at the rain drops and slowly nodded as she cleaned the tears on her cheeks with the back of her hand. Yes, everything was fine.
The neighbor on the bench was softly snoring.
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