There is so much anger in me, but I do not know how to let it out. When I was young, someone told me I was too angry, that anger was to be hidden, that it was ugly and unwarranted. They said I should be more patient. I began to temper my anger. I rubbed and smoothed the coarse surface and sharp edges, blunted everything that was a hazard, and polished it all. It took me years, of course, and it leaked here and there for a while.
Now, when I’m angry, I have a few words to spew, but beyond that, there is only a sigh if I can muster it, and if not, all I have is silence. Where does it all go? It all stays with me. I remember all instances where I wanted to flatten the Earth with my rage, and I remember how I tucked it behind a smile. Now, almost like a matchstick that won’t light up no matter how hard you strike it, I cannot exhibit true anger. I seem to have lost it.
Sometimes, I wish I lost this patience, regardless of how difficult it was to acquire it all. On some days, it does not feel like virtue, this patience of mine. I often wonder what would happen if I were granted my wish? If I lost my wits and my temper in the most catastrophic, cataclysmic, destructive way? It is but desire, after all. As much as I wish it, nothing happens. I shake my head and tell myself to stand down, hold back, and stay the blade of my words. I know nothing but to hold back; only, I often wish someone was as patient with me, sometimes.
That is the curse with any virtue in this human condition: you acquire it at great personal cost, only to watch the world run just fine without it. In your mind, you think, you know, your way is the correct way. But no one else seems to think so; no one else cares about virtue when explosions are so easy, and lying is so natural. And so, honest people are tricked the most and continue staying honest, and patient ones, like me, rarely receive the restraint they so freely grant the others.
And they die knowing they were virtuous as if that means anything at all. That is all virtue is ever good for: not for an easier life but for a peaceful death. The world goes on just fine with or without it.