Lies

I hate telling lies. It makes me feel very guilty. I cannot lie to my mum because I can never pass my conscience. But of course, once in a while I do tell pleasant lies. They are still lies but they dont harm and I dont tell them for my own good.

All these years I have been quite proud of this virtue that I have. But I have just realised that I have been telling a big fat lie for years. A lie which I havent notice.

I have been lying to myself for years. I am not sure if its a pleasant lie because it does not good nor any harm. What is it that I have been lying to myself? For the past few years I have been telling myself that I should thankful that I can get things that I want easily and have been leading a good life. I have been telling myself that my life is a happy one and it is not abnormal.

The sad truth is my life can never be normal again as long as my past haunts me. I might have things that I want but I feel like I have nothing at all. The emptiness in me cannot be filled by materials. I am never a materialistic kind of person. I can give up anything for my dreams, my hopes and my beliefs anytime.

All these years, I have been telling myself that I was no longer trapped within the shell which I put myself in to keep problems and people away from me. But as time passes, the picture only gets clearer. I cannot avoid them. They are my responsibilities and I have to face them the way I should. And I did. But doing that only makes my life more meaningless.

I dont feel the chill and satisfaction when I do the things I like, anymore. Even speeding cannot take sorrow away anymore. The feeling of chasing the wind no longer seems appealling to me.

I am only doing things which I should do in my life now. Not things which I want to do and I have been leading this kind of life for almost a decade. Maybe the big fat lie did help. It helped me by pushing me to walk further down the path of my life. Now that I’ve discovered that I have being lying to myself, I am sure the path will only gets steeper.