This is part of HBBC. We’ve been quite inactive lately, but we’re trying to get our groove back with a new topic.
I’m not sure if it should be called lying in the absolute sense of the word, but we all at some point in our lives have, well, given inaccurate accounts of what we truly feel.
You’re depressed beyond sigh. Someone comes up to you and asks you if you’re okay. You tell them you are, even though you’re not.
You’re angry and frustrated at someone you care about, they feel it, and you know they feel it. They ask you whether they made you angry, and you tell them that they didn’t.
That something that everyone speaks about, that climbs up the walls of your heart at night, and makes you smile in tears, at your own future, or cry fiercely, that it won’t happen. Love. No one knows about it. Not even its subject. Especially its subject. And if someone so much as hovers around your emotion, you bury it under swallows. Worse, if the subject themselves so much as begins to take notice, you flee to a desert, take out that feeling, dig a grave, and throw it there.
At home, your father. He wrongs you. He hits you. He gives you that look that stays in the back of your eyelids for nights on end. You start to hate him and deny it. You hate that you started to hate him, because you’re supposed to love him, and then you’re afraid God would be angry at you. All that processing, on one poor pillow of yours. Next morning, you wake up and find him in the kitchen. He asks you what’s wrong. You say nothing.
At work. At school. Your friends. Your spouses. All the people in your life. It happens all the time.
You see? Why do we do this? Why do we lie, when we have all those chances to just express what we feel?
Well, because we think we’re not supposed to.
Sometimes, your want of being understood trumps your wish to express yourself. You just want to be understood, and that is all. You just wish you’d surmount that stupid thing called talking about it, and find someone, anyone, a stranger maybe, who’d just, get it. You keep it in, down, deep, it gets stronger, heavier, but never out of you. And it’s so significant to you, so important for you, that talking about it feels as scantiest a thing as ever. For you, you always don’t know where even to begin should you really entertain that thought of ‘talking about it’. Talk about what. I have a mountain inside me, and you want me to talk to you, for an hour, two, ten? That’s just stupid.
Some things are made to be unspoken. They are the province of feeling only, and of understanding. They say that in human interaction, the body language constitutes like 70% of the stuff communicated. This is true. It is even truer with those big burdens that become incumbent on our breathing. You usually want someone who’d get what you want to say, just by being there.
It’s professed that love, true love, is born this way. When the parties in question learn to coexist more through silent presence, than with verbal expression. The exchanged feelings this way are not only greater, but much more profounder. The feelings are too released and free, even of words. They just jump from eye to eye, or heart to heart. Just like, Mom and baby. Babies don’t even talk, but the love, you’d feel it just by looking at them. No one messes that up with words.
And you know who’s the most glorious silent companion? Your creator. It is said, and experienced by many, that the short session of prostration during one of the five prayers, if your soul is clear enough of Dunya, is guaranteed to release the worries of entire days. Accounts are narrated also about walking to mosques at dawn, and the wonders that is done in those steps. After all, who’d understand love more than the One who created you with it?
So don’t fret when you counter a bold request for freely spending your sanity on an attempt at words, with a blunt denial of everything. It is not really lying, it is just wanting to be understood.
And that is why people ‘lie’ about their feelings.