An Open Letter To You

You call it being blunt. Painfully honest. A no-care attitude. In fact, you care so little that you don't miss a chance to tell others how little you care. Because caring is inherently weak, and your cold, detached self wouldn't like to be seen being intimate with people.

You're just teaching people what life will teach them inevitably anyway. And you promise to be much fairer than life, although not any less harsh. In reality, it's a facade to hide your fragile, rigid composure. After all, if you think you're superior to them you don't have to face them or their moronic lies that keep them happy.

Control is an illusion. They're deluding themselves and you're their savior. Wielding a blade of honesty and a shield of practical logic, you attack the insufferable monster that is tact and sensitive diplomacy. Fight too long the monster, and you become one yourself. Honesty without compassion is little more than a bunch of cruel words strung together as a poor substitute for credibility, masquerading as the truth.

You make fun of others you deem stupid. A word with a multitude of crude, arbitrary definitions that can be easily molded and remolded endlessly to fit your needs because you want them to. Whoever can't take it is a coward, a buzzkill. But when they get offended, things should slide easily, because it's you and they should expect it by now. But no one expects you to be an asshole. They don't expect you to be a jerk, even if they know it's who you are. Acceptance of that fact doesn't bring forward forgiveness unless you change. Forgiving and forgetting doesn't make you weak any more than hopelessly clinging on to a false image of you does.

You think that the only truth that matters is the truth that can be measured. Good intentions don't count. What's in your heart doesn't count. But a man's life can be measured by how many tears are shed when he dies. Just because you can't measure them, just because you don't want to measure them, doesn't mean it's not real.

You demand leeway with how society judges you, but you allow it to judge you nonetheless. A living specimen of contradicting hypocrisy. You pretend to rage against the system, pretend to play a different game entirely. But all you do is replace the system's rules with yours and claim they're the axiom of undeniable truth. You fight the mainstream by pretending to be obscure, until that obscurity becomes too mainstream only for you to fight all over again. You break the law, but you follow the rules. You're not a rebel. You're not unplugged, you just replaced the power chord.

You try to corrupt people with your cynicism and skepticism, all the while being intrigued and secretly happy for those who stay unwavering to their humble modesty and niceties. People are not nice or polite because they're dense idiots who don't know any better. They do it because it keeps them happy. Sane. They're polite because that's what decent people do. And because they know they aren't infallible. You can mock their lifestyle from a distance with a cold sneer, but the tinge of envy that lingers is felt by you just as hard. Control is an illusion. But sometimes you need an illusion to get back control.


Yours Affectionately,
You.