I have been accused of being brutally frank; and sometimes, my words are ... quite tactless. It can be quite disconcerting to talk aloud because I can no longer edit it once it’s out of my mouth. I wish I wore boots; so I can shove it in my mouth when I say something extremely stupid.
What can I do? I speak whatever is in my mind. And occasionally, it just doesn’t go out the way its suppose to. My parents encouraged it. Blame it on them! I don’t like it that I have to explain myself, especially to people who know me quite well. Because one of the ugliest things to experience in the world is to be misunderstood. So most of the time, I feel I need to explain. But still there are a lot of things that words cannot express.
Stephen King explains this more succinctly in his book of short stories called Different Seasons. One of the shorts in there is The Body (later made into the movie, Stand By Me). And I quote:
“The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them – words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they are brought out. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you’ve said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That’s the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within, not for want of teller but for want of an understanding ear.”
End quote. My sentiments exactly. That’s why we have journals and blogs. That’s why we write. We just want to be understood. And in the process, understand ourselves.
Why all these sudden introspection? Why the conscience attack, you ask? I’m not quite sure. Maybe it has something to do with my mission statement. Maybe because it’s Holy Week – the whole reflect-on-self, penitential rite thing. Or maybe I’m just guilty of not going to church more.
I need to speak to my God. Despite of all this, I know He still loves me … and understands me ... knows all the whys and the whats … without the complication of words.