Mendacity and Vulnerability. 

“The sun hid behind the clouds. It was a black and white kind of colourful day. My feet sweaty from nervousness and fright, and my palms, waiting to hold a freshly brewed cup of caffeine, waiting to kiss my escape, and play tongue with the taste of it.
There was no wind that day, but there was essence. The essence of heavy silence. The precedent of uncomfortable loose thoughts like threads from a torn cloth. An essence that always lingered like a question unanswered. 
My mind spoke to me, or did it?


The peculiarity of normal things is that no one talks about it and because no one talks about it, it’s normal.

Vulnerability, however, is pretty normal, yet not spoken about.

Considered a weakness, vulnerability is looked at with shadowed eyes of plastered strength. 

There is a demand to be stone. 

There is a demand to be concrete. 
“It is beautiful to be vulnerable” somebody once told me and I wondered,

if it would be beautiful for me to panic, with a terrible heart ache like when a spear is stuck inside it, and I can’t pull it out, 

if it would be beautiful to break down in the middle of the night while everyone around is dancing to music and your ravenous mind is waiting to devour you whole.

I wondered if it would be beautiful to tell someone that I’m insecure about my appearances, I know I shouldn’t be, I know I show I’m confident but I am.

I wondered if it would be beautiful if I woke up screaming from a nightmare almost every night because someone taught me to be afraid of the dark when I could barely understand what this world was about. 
I wondered if at all vulnerability was beautiful, and I realised it was. It was beautiful because it was like looking at somebody’s naked soul, nothing to hide, 

but the world does not the naked soul beautiful.

The world is in love with a thousand levels of mendacity, and here we are, 

hating the truth 

hating the fact that we as humans are, after all, vulnerable 
because, come on, 

aren’t we too?”


The story of a rock

I have been recently told that every rock has a mellow story inside. I couldn’t help but associate this idea to our lives.

We try to build a fortress around ourselves, to try to keep away from heed our insecurities, our fears and our soft spots as we can call them.

We don’t want to be vulnerable. It scares us to feel and feel intensely. Consumed by our fears we harden ourselves, covering our hearts with layers and layers of stone, subduing every word we yearn to voice out, and we are so used to being this stoic unto our own feelings that we often don’t even remember what it is like to feel a whiff of the wind tingle our soul. But as much as we conceal, behind these stone walls, I have learnt from experience, more than once, that there lies a mellow version of ourselves, one that we think of as a flaw. One that we rebuke and don’t like to accept because we are so afraid to admit that sometimes we can be broken, we can need help, we can be weak.
I believe we all are hiding behind façades of our own kind of rocks and stones, but beyond we are nesh and tender and Love and only Love penetrates through our castles built on the foundations of disdain and reluctance.

-WANDERER || Marlyn Pereira