Currently listening to: Till It Happens to You - Corrine Bailey Rae
.agloomyshadeofgrey.
Jakarta skyline - taken from Grand Indonesia, March 2010
Why do people live with secrets?
Why do we gravely fear that the people we love, the people we care about, will turn away and leave upon seeing the entirety of our existence?
Why are we so concerned about keeping some - if not all - parts of our lives hidden from others around us? Why do we rely so much on these little treasures to keep the scattered fragments of our identities together, to hold them firm?
Why do we, being so helplessly immersed in our own insecurities, often attempt to conceal the sweet bites and sour nips of our imperfections solely for the sake of making peace with our battered, less-than-adequate selves?
Sometimes we're far too preoccupied with our twisted perceptions, all the nitty-gritty, the seemingly-endless fine print lines, that we fail to grasp the numbing reality of our stance. We get lost scrutinizing the details in the fabric, entirely missing the bigger picture all the while. More often than not, we willingly trap ourselves inside our own misled assumptions, believing that begging for the approval of others is our exclusive path to social salvation.
Concealing certain parts of ourselves in the name of pleasing others; this concept is nothing short of foreign to me, being the acute people-pleaser that I am, as regrettable as that may sound.
But it's true. We worry about the safety of our deepest, darkest questions, for we know those little puzzling mysteries, those closet skeletons, are just as crucial to our identity make-up as everything else we have - or are still aspiring to - become. Our secrets make us whole. The secrets we keep tell us about who we really are just as much - if not more - as the parts of ourselves, those claims, those solid truths we disclose to the rest of the world.
Why is it that we, as a collective, value acceptance - and therefore conformity - so highly?
So much that most of us have to resort to camouflaging the most important aspects of our lives and making them secrets, only to gain a hollow, meaningless sliver of affirmation from our surroundings. I mean, what good does that do to us?
I am thoroughly against the idea that we should be embarrassed about all the details of our lives our society might not deem "acceptable" or "appropriate", whatever that means - those vital yet insignificant details like age, gender, family issues, personal troubles, history, preferences, sexual orientation, ethnicities, religious beliefs... The list goes on and on.
I do think that keeping secrets is necessary in maintaining the wholeness of our identities; after all we still need privacy to stay sane, right? What we do behind closed doors should not in any way be subjected to the judgment of others, and I believe this notion has to go uncontested. That is why having secrets is, in a way, healthy.
Our secrets, however, should not become our tickets to social acceptance; we are all good in our own little ways, and nobody should be given the right to take our worth away from us and make us believe otherwise.
Like, we don't have to lie about our sexuality to feel accepted. We don't have to abandon our religion, or change our music taste, or alter our dressing style, in order to fit in. We don't have to keep any part of our lives a secret to make us feel like we belong somewhere. If anything, it should be the exact opposite; we should be accepted for who we are, not for who we aren't. Remember that.
Maybe that's why Agent Vermouth in Detective Conan (I know, I'm a nerd, sue me) once said, "A secret makes a woman, woman". This quote hits a certain spot in me whenever I think about it. Pretty powerful stuff. Although technically it doesn't apply to me since I'm not a woman... Whatever.
I really think life would be far less complicated (albeit less entertaining too, perhaps, in a sick, twisted way) if nobody bothered to keep secrets anymore. I mean, transparency is all fine and good - our lives would certainly be easier without people backing away everytime a sensitive detail about their lives are discussed - but where is the fun in that?
I, for one, have enough skeletons in my closet to worry about, thank you very much.
So I guess I'll just stop here and move on.
...God I do hope I'm making sense here. Somehow.
It's too cold, and I can't even keep my legs warm let alone stay coherent.
Lates.
*shivers*
