I think that secrets are the ultimate seal. Once upon a time I didn’t believe in secrets. Not the notion of secrets per se, but more the thought of having, keeping, and selectively sharing them. At some point in my life, my neuroses-soaked intelligence came to the conclusion that secrets equated to leverage and I never wanted anybody to have anything that might have the slightest chance of boomerang-ing back to me and inevitably causing chaos. Maybe because, au même temps, I am equally averse to surprises ( the interlude is just too much ! ), but I feel like as inopportune as the truth can be at times, honesty is invaluable.
Perhaps that is why I crave criticism like a crazy fille. At 24, I have unravelled myself significantly enough to know that I am relentlessly stubborn, but comparably forgiving. The beautiful thing about the humble and honest opinions of others is that more often than not, they are perceptions you might not have considered otherwise. I think I might spend my entire life trying to get better, be better, see more, be more, know more. Even if I learn things only to forget them, even if I make the same mistakes over and over again only to suffer the inescapable humiliation, as long as I am able to find the courage to laugh about it sooner or later, then that’s perfectly okay. You’re only less of a person if you believe it, and I believe that valour should be measured in knowing the person you want to be, not necessarily the person you are at this very split-second in time.
And secrets :: they come in the form of feelings you believe would be better left unsaid, they could be insecurities you didn’t want the world to know about, or even a simple surprise not yet ready to be unveiled. Maybe I’ve got it all wrong, maybe my almost-balanced fusion of being simultaneously super secure and incredibly insecure, but most days I feel heavy enough without having the weight of classified thoughts entrapping themselves inside my already muddled mind.
I still don’t really know what comes next. A few weeks ago, my Papa reminded me that it’s not enough to accept your own shortcomings, but you need to learn how to overcome them. Fury, ego, envy, indifference, passivity - my own personal list is endless and embarrassingly mortal. But secretly, that’s what I like about being a capricious, inconstant little Scorpio. For amid the erraticism, the eccentric emotions and the shameless curiosity about everything this world has to offer, there is reassurance in the infinite room for improvement. I find that comforting, knowing that every morning offers an incalculable figure of ideas I haven’t ever considered, opportunities that might seem minuscule but mean the whole world a thousand times over, and even the skin I’m in has the potential to shed and re-shape into somebody I never thought I could be. For better or for worse.
The nostalgia can break your heart sometimes, but what I forget is that everything that has happened ever, has the inarguable possibility of happening again … For better or for worse.