She Cannot See

She cannot see the so many ways she has been wrong. But it runs deeper than this. She should never see the hurt she has caused. That’s why she will never choose to see it. It is self-protection. Someone should have protected her from witnessing the things that made her turn into someone who would have mouthed such words. Nobody was there. Then it is not anger nor pity you can feel about it. You just sense the need to contemplate life. The need is surging the more you look right at the eye of the stormy story that hides so much history.

I wouldn’t know what to say about this woman to sound not too judgmental nor too understanding nor too much of anything. I don’t know what to make of such a life. I guess it mainly makes me sad for humanity in its entirety. It has me thinking; if someone can be so blind about one’s life… what are we doing with ours? How are we still walking on this Earth, moving forward, how can we ever be so sure about the steps we make? Our accomplishments… Without faith and trust in what we do, how can we ever accomplish things? And what faith and what trust can you have in beliefs or decisions or reality or this life that you are leading, when you see someone being so wrong about such things from so up close?

What if I’m the wrong one?

There are no wrong or right answers about how to lead a life.

Because the “right way” depends on social norms which depend on time and space which depend on gods know what. In-between lie layers of co-dependency of infinite factors. That’s why you can always see something many ways. That’s why it might be a great feeling to feel right or justified but I am always wrong. Or I have the potential to be. That’s how I can prove it any day, the wrong that I am. And being able to do this, I can never judge. So the fact that I am always judging, in my own form of self-protection, sends me into a spiral of unproductive infidelity to who I am supposed to be. And I am dangerously tempted to say the doubt is because of her. Which would make me one and the same. Do our rivals make us or do we make our rivals, and isn’t it the same thing whichever way it goes?

But I see no rival in her at the end. Neither do I see the one who made me, I am sorry. Maybe I am more sorry for my own self-deception. She did make me. Not in the traditional way. She’s tossing the blame selfishly until I do just as much. It is the one thing that I cannot let pass. So I have to judge me instead. Send me down the spiral of indecision and uncertainty. Impede my own accomplishments, because no one ever accomplished anything through self-doubt, but at the same time, you can’t ever be too harsh on others when you’re rougher on yourself. Self-doubt saves me from becoming like her. And I see it just now.

So what do I do see in her? I see a fiftish-year-old child in doubt still. I see much more that I don’t even want to get into. Thinking about the regrets of others somehow becomes more self-reflexive the older you get.

I will keep fighting not to be like her. But this also means making dreams happen. Which means believing in myself. I guess I’m lucky in the end that life is such a mixture of bipolar moments. I can’t always not doubt, but neither can I always not judge.