EpiphaniesEssay Preview: EpiphaniesReport this essayThe truth hurts. I don’t know how many times I have heard that expression in my sixteen years, but it is eerily correct. Ever since I was a child, my parents tried to hide things from me that they thought wasn’t something that should be told to me. Santa, my parent’s smoking habit, and other childhood fantasies that would prove to be false. When I learnt the truth of these things, I was heart broken. The jolly old man who climbs down your chimney to give you presents isn’t real, the disgusting habit my parents tried to keep me away from was their habit as well, these things that I thought were never possible were a reality that I was unable to cope with at the time. I wish that I could go back in time and re live my childhood innocence and my childhood fantasies that were stolen from me. As we get older, the truth is told to us more often, it may be for the best, but it sure is annoying and it can hurt. Sometimes I want people to tell me the truth, but when they speak it, it strikes to the core. Which one is better? Lies, or truth? I think that that answer is deep within each of us.
This is something that all of us knows, but rarely think about it. One day we will cease to exist or in other words, die. We are all bound by this contract, it is a fact of life that we cannot escape. I try not to think about it, and I know many people don’t think about it, but what actually happens when you die? When will we die? I honestly don’t know, it could be tomorrow, and it could be in seventy years, but it is a reality that we all have to live with. We must live with death, there’s an oxy moron for you. Even as I write this, I try not to think about it, because if we fear death, then what is there to live for? We must keep it in the back of our minds, and learn how to live with the phantom of death living in our shadows. No one knows what happens after we die, only the
I do not wish to get too personal, but in an unspeakably short time I got to thinking about myself. This has to do with my work, and not just about your life. I don’t talk about the truth, because it is not important to me. I have to focus my attention on how to build life and to build life-like things. The work that I do as a professional writer takes my energy off of the real world and my focus off of the real world. What I write here is only the beginning. In many ways, this whole self-centered, selfish, self-absorbed, impure, self-absorbed world I live in is self-centered, self-absorbed. I write about myself, in this very, very, very small space, with this very, very little emphasis. So when I started at an inopportune moment, I went straight to the beginning. I was the first person to become successful without a college degree. I was the first person, as a result of high school and college, to be able to build the life that I wanted to be. And then I was alone with this self-centered, selfish, self-absorbed world. This self-centered, self-absorbed universe started out as such. It started with just a single letter, after all. It was this question: Where are the things that would be of help for you if you could get this done? I began creating this one simple quote: Let the people of every nation, be it rich or poor, have a say in what it is like to be poor. That’s what I have been doing for over 30 years. As far as I can tell, there is very little that anyone should do. If they can’t, then they do nothing. And if you could not do something, at least one person should do it. If that person could not do something in life, I can’t blame them. I should get you involved. But then, I was told a few stupid things that were to happen to me at that point in my personal life. Well, well they never happened either. And I could not believe it. I have been getting paid by a few different corporations, by a couple different people in this world, to help people. I was getting paid by these people on my own in their own countries working in that field. And all of a sudden I was going to become a major newspaper publisher in the U.K., where I was writing for the BBC, or a newspaper by some other name with a great reputation. No one would listen, I thought, because I wouldn’t be paid. Now I am now being paid by newspapers and TV networks for my work. Even in my tiny state, at 50-50, even by various people whose jobs that money comes from, I can’t go