There are liars everywhere you look.
The couple on the train kissing underneath the train station clock. He says I love you and she says you too. It’s easier than saying no.
The parents who say everything will be ok, after breaking yet another set of crockery in a row.
The ageing nightclub owner whose tales of debauchery and glamour mask the tell tell signs of alcoholism slowly deteriorating his body.
The young intern who blames her colleague just so she doesn’t find herself losing the one job she is desperate to keep.
And then there’s you. Looking in the mirror, your pupils fluctuating as you work out exactly the person you are to be today. The lover, friend, bitch, professional, daughter, the many guises that you have adapted over the years blurring the lines between reality and fiction.
ity: a common ending for nouns of Latin origin, expressing a nature, state or condition . So, if reality is the state of being real, and personality is the state of oneself it begs the question how much of your personality is expressed due to the state of reality at that time? How many personas do you have and is everything truly black and white or 50 shades of something else in between ?
I write this now as my mother, also known as my best friend, walks out the house to visit a man who is an emotional leech. How is it that after so many months of her talking me through heartbreak and showing me that my pathetic excuse of a boyfriend was bad news that she can do the same to herself? Whereas she is the figure of stability and respect, with an immense capability to be the most independent and impassioned person I have ever met, how can one man resort her to being an entirely different person altogether ?
Sorry for the deep and rambling post but it has made me really question the way people present themselves . And if nothing else I have had a family sized glass of wine and needed to vent in a slightly less cynical / comic way than usual.