We talk of the truth as if it is some absolute measurement, some sureshot yardstick, and yet, this world we live in, our truths were created not so long ago. In fact, the life we live today has only come into motion in the last decade. There is as much truth in the world as there is possibility, and possibility is up to the person who considers it. For some, it’s a dead end; for others, it’s infinite. This ever-connected world overwhelms me, and it also fills me with hope, and it does it altogether, simultaneously. We live in weird times; we walk on shaky ground. Possibility runs rampant in this age, and with it comes a plethora of truths. No matter how much you believe in things, no matter how much hope you have, you will, like all people, have a threshold for the truth. There are things we can digest, and there are pills we can’t swallow, and each person possesses a different taste for it, like they do for literature, for art, and for music. Truth then is preference, it is convenience, and it is bound by what you saw in your formative years.
I see this friction within me, too, and I ask those who came before: how have you watched the world change over and over and not thrown an outburst, a tantrum? And they tell me: why, we threw our fits when we did, when the world was too much for us; don’t you remember fighting us or have you forgotten your own rebellion?
It’s a conversation that never ends, and it is one each generation must have first when they set out in the world and then, when they are about to leave it, for those are the only two times we stop to think about the world after all.
The rest is just playing the hapless spectator, watching things happen on your way to work.