The Truth Board

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The Truth About the Fact: An International Journal of Literary Nonfiction

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Location: Los Angeles, California, United States

The Truth About the Fact: A Journal of Literary Nonfiction is an international journal committed to the idea that excellence in the art of letters can play a vital role in transforming the planet we share.

Monday, April 30, 2012

Being Me

    I focus my eyes in a relaxed yet interested manor. They open a little more than usual but only because I am telling the other person, I am observing and understanding. There usually will be an intimation of an upturning of the corners of my mouth, but without knowing this, you could never tell. Naturally stoic, my mouth when completely unanimated reflects a look of anger or unhappiness, so I construct the idea of a mouth that neither seems happy nor bored, but instead might be described as interested. My cheeks remain unmoving so that my eyes keep your attention. I tilt my head at certain times so that you notice that I am not too still. I swallow a knot that has formed, but it doesn’t phase me and so it doesn’t register on your radar. I choose my idea of perfectly pleasant, not overly exuding any real emotion except the placid surface that conceals all.
   I make sure my face depicts nothing tangibly describable so that in the end you are wondering what exactly may have been going on in my head the whole time we talked. You area allowed to ask and I will respond. I make myself laugh, reassuring you that I am just taking in all this information, but I give you no direct answer of how I feel. I know that you will take my laughing and smile as the answer you were looking for. In reality, if I am upset I will usually never give you a truthful answer. More than likely, in the end I will convince you and myself that all things will pass in time. My unhappiness is fleeting because I am not a sad person. I am instead the same person you know and think of as vivacious and silly. I change the subject as I look down and back up, replacing any vestiges of truthful emotion with the ones I have constructed. The smile fades and the corners of my mouth again soften, I am once again intent on listening to you, you become my center of attention and I fade into the background, a dull image to your clear.
    I ask you about your day, your week, your life, and I find the trigger. You start talking and suddenly I convince you and I that I was never feeling anything other than elation that you got an A on your midterm. I am glad about anything that you say. I walk away smiling saying I’ll talk with you later. I get into my room and brush away any tears that escaped on the walk or drive, I take stalk and feel what I really feel.
    I am not pretending that I lack emotion. I am not pretending that I am one of those people that are happy all the time. I am telling you that I am private. I am telling you that I will act as I see fit so that I can feel how I feel in a manor that I am ok with. I cannot help the way I feel sometimes, but I can help the way I handle it. 


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