Now I Look Beyond Words

It has been a long time; the days when I was captivated by the magic of words and thought they were the truth itself are behind me. It has been a long time since I realized that I placed more value on grand narratives, carefully crafted sentences, and convincing explanations than they deserved. Today, I only take seriously sentences that have passed the test of life, turned into concrete practice, and bear the traces of lived experience. No statement that is perfect in theory but invisible in practice resonates with me anymore.

This is not anger from resentment or disappointment; rather, it is the result of an acquired inner balance, a calm discernment. Because when a person sees how feeble the action behind a sentence that has gone through the same scissors multiple times is, they inevitably reevaluate the value they assign to words.

In this renewed discussion, unfortunately, three ancient deficiencies that I cannot help but name on my shelves also share the blame. The first is the residue left by moments when the effort put forth, the care shown, and the sincere support given are almost made invisible. That strange indifference where the value given is not reciprocated, and its existence is taken as a natural ground... Of course, not all kindness is done with expectation; but ignoring kindness is a subtle injustice that touches the very purpose of human existence.

The second is the betrayal that gradually cracks the foundation built on trust. I am not only talking about major betrayals; I mean the forgetting of small promises, the withdrawal of a stance that was once side by side as if it never happened, and the inability to find what was believed to be by your side at the most critical point of stories. Yet, fidelity is not a flamboyant vow of loyalty; it is the delicacy of maintaining your stance in the same place on an ordinary Tuesday, at a moment when no one is watching. As I see its absence, I realize that my faith in grand words has also diminished.

The third is the sometimes inexplicable misalignment of life's scales: injustice. Moments when the deserving are ignored, effort is attributed to others, and those who tell the truth are left alone... This ancient imbalance fundamentally shakes a person's narratives about the world and people. Because while an injustice clothed in flesh and bone exists, no matter how elegant the words that cover it are, they remain suspended in the air.

That is why I now listen only to those who speak in the language of action. I take seriously those who live their narratives firsthand, those whose words and deeds do not cast shadows over each other. I silently greet all those ornate, shiny, impressive sentences and explanations, but I place them on the very back shelf of an archive open to the curious. Because I now know that the true is not spoken; it is lived and simply appears.