No other word must be more misunderstood, misused, and abused than “love”. To an extent it might be a matter of linguistic shortcomings, to another extent it might be an issue of manipulation – perhaps precisely exploiting the linguistic ambiguity of the word. But the fact remains that the word “love” is used too lightly, without any real thought behind its choice. Often it’s used in contexts that appear self-evident, such as “the love of a mother for her child is the greatest love of all”. But can love really be unconditional – and should it? Or would conditional love be in fact the only form of true love?
Ah, human uniqueness… What a funny fallacy. The human experience consists of a series of contradictions. How many times have you wanted to be left alone, secretly wishing you would be nevertheless not? And how many times have you done something fully aware of the fact that it would lead to unpleasant results?
How many times have you wanted to feel the center of attention, at the same time feeling excessively self-conscious, loathing all the attention you’re after all getting? Humans love being deluded, and they adore fooling themselves.
It might be a coping mechanism, I am not qualified to say. But perhaps this is the most valid argument for human uniqueness: no other creature must be so capable at containing so contradicting ideas in their consciousness.
Good morning lemmings. Feeling comfortable in your unique abode?
We all play roles, every single day of our lives. Amazingly, we probably aren’t even conscious that we’re doing that, even if we do it all the time. Then again, this is perhaps precisely the reason why we don’t realize it. We might wake up as a spouse, then we prepare breakfast as a parent. We then drive as a responsible citizen, and we go to work where we are a jolly team member. The hardest role to play though is yourself. Allow me to share an excerpt from an upcoming novel of mine.
Ahmed flushed the toilet then turned the faucet on and washed his hands. As the last droplets fell and streamed down the sparkling white sink, he raised his eyes and looked in the mirror. He saw time itself examining him, assessing him, judging what was to be done about that silly boy – for a boy he still felt inside, after more than a decade of adulthood. The intense stare of his dark brown eyes, the black beard, the carefully (albeit unconsciously) constructed aura of confidence and certainty, they were all facets of role-playing. Ahmed was nothing but an actor, just like everyone else, and his task was the hardest of them all: he was pretending to be himself.
And so, just as it is expected from an experienced performer, his expression instantly changed as he turned the door knob and exited the small bathroom. A giant gleam on his face, he returned to the dinner table where his cousin, his cousin’s wife, and their three young daughters were seated.
