Truth

My father is now saying to my little sister that if you want to be a doctor, you can only sleep 2 hours a day. He doesn't care about the truth being sacred. He will lie to himself, to others, to anyone. 

He has not seen the truth as sacred for as long as I can remember. He didn't hold it sacred when I was a child. Lying for any reason at all, unless he felt that there might be some consequences for it. He lied when he cheated on my mother for years. He lied when I caught him cheating on my mother. He lied when he called the police on me on false charges. He lied for silly things as well. He lied whenever he should have admitted to not knowing things. For insecurity, for ego, for convenience, for dominance, for power, for ease, for greed, for selfishness, for selflessness, for pain, for pleasure. He lied every day and still does. 

I know I can become like him easily. I know I have been like him, for many years, from when I was a child to a teenager. And that I can do it again. 

For these reasons and more, I despise whoever lies. Lies of embellishment, lies of silence, lies of refusing to mention something you know would be important to the other person. And now, if I do these lies, I will make much much more money. 

And I have very very good reasons to justify these lies. I can pay people who've been working with me for years, for free. I can pay for a place for my little sister, give her a place where she can be free. I can pay for myself and let my mother retire and finally relax, after years and years of work, with barely any breaks at all. Let those years of pain come to a rest. 

I can work to use that money to save the world, to solve alignment, to fund my own research and that of others. I can use it to lobby for better change, for laws that help people. 

I have reasons that could fill libraries and data centers. 

There's always a reason. 

The reason for truth is that it's right. That it's what actually respects me. That the truth is what is respectful to all of us. These feel flimsy, that they are unseen breaths, hope of something that might not be real, yet these are more real than every excuse I've ever felt. 

They're what guide my hands when I'm uncertain, what moves my legs when I'm listless. 

Yet they do not solve my problems. Or at least, they haven't yet, for several years. 

So is this a lie? To indulge myself in righteousness while those around me suffer and I myself suffer? 

To hold onto my inner feeling while my mother works hard every day, under stress and endures my fathers insults. While my sister has her love of learning and maths eroded every single night.

I know there is a better way. 

I know I can make that better way. 

But these bursts do not come every day. On the fifth day, on the third week, on the fourth month. When I have messed up the opportunity and failed at something again. Then the burst of righteousness and hope is fleeting. Not gone. Never gone. But within the sea of fear, despair and failure its hard to see it. 

I'm tempted to end it there. To be as I have in the past few pieces of my public writing about my emotions. To have it end in despair and finality. 

I don't want to though. There is enough despair in this world. I can do better. 

And it's not just hope that I can bring. Not just the promise of a better tomorrow. It is today which I will brighten. It is today that I will my make life better. It is today that I will improve the lives of those around me and bring the good day.