I walk through life day by day about what seems to be a broken record. Nonchalant, most of the time, even though I don’t see it as a problem. This is because I tend to show great appreciation for the little surprises that each new day brings.
I glide through my routine as if I’m a professional at it now, knowing exactly where to go, what to do, who to high-five, who not to make eye contact with. But at the back of my mind I pray that I uphold one thing, and that’s being true to myself. I do not set out to be different, just to be true to myself. If that means appearing to be like someone else with similar character traits, or if that means me falling into a stereotype, that’s fine too.
No matter where in life I may go, I hope I never change what’s deep down in my core. A mango tree was once a mango seed, which came from a mango fruit. Notice, the word ‘mango’ never changes, but it’s now a tree nonetheless; that’s it’s core. I pray each day that ten years from the present time I don’t stop being the mango that I am today. I would not like to have been born a mango and then die a peach.
I try each day to live for two people: Myself and God, but not necessarily in that order. I see it as a win-win situation. If I’m true to myself, I’m happy and God’s hopefully happy; the public liking ‘myself’ is just a bonus.
The hardest challenge I face with this attitude is the fact that being true to myself does not exactly stand well with the “Honor thy mother and thy father” clause of the contract; or honoring any authority figure for that matter. There are often times when it does but sometimes I find myself straying from my belief in order to fulfil that of another bigger badder individual.
I honestly feel most comfortable with my belief when I’m alone. It’s understandable because if everyone is true to him or herself, truths might clash; so the solitude of my room or any lonely room is perfect, with nothing but the presence of myself. Here I get to be true to myself as much as I want, no commercial interruptions by the people who pay for the house that I live in, and bills and whatnot.
A sheep is not a goat. At times it might be mistaken for a goat; sometimes it may even pretend to be a goat just so the farmer would try to milk it instead of shaving off its warm wool coat. But in the end it remains true to itself, and that’s being a smart sheep. If I was put on this earth to be a sheep, then I intend to remain a sheep as long as I live in this barn we call a world.
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