I haven't had trouble the past 17 months because I've been writing about places, people I've met, things I've watched or seen — episodes in my past, reflections about the present and the unknown future.
But now I'm up against the ugly.
The things that are seeping through my fingers onto the keyboard aren't pretty. The words recall the darker side of things, the seamier side of one's life with the pictures we try to keep secret and hide from everyone.
My in-laws they always see the bright side of things. Ask them and they'd say that everything is "perfect." They choose to focus on the cheerful and happy and good and that is not a bad thing. But coming from where I've come from — coming from my family, it isn't perfect, it's doom-and-gloom.
Take company, for example. After a gathering, my in-laws focus on how wonderful it all was. Even though they may have run out of food for their guests (sacrilege in my family) or forgot to include someone that should've been invited or had some of the relatives cluster and keep to themselves and not mingle — in their eyes it was all PERFECT!
In my family, after the company left, the conversation always seemed to zero in on what went wrong. Too much salt or not enough on the pilaf. The meat was a bit overdone. How could so-and-so wear that when it wasn't at all flattering?
It was going from one extreme to another. Theirs was probably a healthier way to live life, but coming from my background, honestly,it didn't seem honest.
So, I am faced with facing what I know to be true but what I know is only my version of what happened throughout the course of my life. It may be the truth to me but there's always more than one truth.
And the truth hurts.