keep to oneself

Some are desirous of partaking in those qualities that they love in us, but without having to partake in those that make us god-like, i.e., our imperfections. You cannot have justice without injustice, nor liberty without oppression. Some fools believe that you can have one without the other. Thus, I am to censor what I publish. No more observations on my life, nor details of those mundane activities that punctuate my otherwise trite existence. “In this silence I believe.”

As an intimate friend (how funny for I have never used this word in conjunction with a friend) of mine said to me (it happens in our life that we chance upon particular souls that appeal to us and that we keep hidden from the rest of the people in our world for fear that these will make his acquaintance and steal him from us), “Juan, if you want to know what’s up with me, then talk to me.” And I was struck not by the idea these words were conveying, but by the simplicity, by the rawness of these words, which hurt my intellect because I had expected something fanciful and long-winded. Then I realized that there is a difference between the spoken Word and the written Word.

The Juan that seems eager to say everything that runs through his mind, that is dying to share every aspect of himself through his writings, is nothing like the Juan that communicates through speech. The Juan that writes is ambiguous and unspecific, but always alludes. The Juan that speaks always keeps things to himself and will only reveal them when asked and even then the details are lacking. “What is your mother like?” “Oh she’s like me.” And he is too terse that although he wishes to say “Honestly, if you wish to know what she is like, then meet her and form your own opinion!” he does not say this. Also, these two aspects of me possess distinct vocabularies.

Written: I was exasperated by the mundane activities of my day, these that wear me down, tire me and deadened my senses like some opiate. And after they have had their effect, what remains of me is a stupefaction.

Spoken: My day was utterly boring.

Perhaps the Juan of speech exasperates for he is never clear or detailed concerning his personal life. Especially when engaged in conversation with the one whom he loves, but is this not always the case? And by this I do not mean with me in particular, but the case with Love. When we are friends, we possess an uncanny ability to communicate almost everything, but when we are in Love, we are afraid of distressing, that we keep things to ourselves, not out of malice but out of stupidity.

But does anyone really want to hear about how I woke up in the middle of the night, and was bleeding. And as a result, how I recalled that time when I almost died in my sleep because of a nose bleed and my parents made such a fuss that I then began to suspect that I could have died, and took it seriously before dismissing it as another event in my life that merited as much attention as my brushing my teeth.

  • shrug *