Living This Fictitious Reality

The flaw in our fairytales (photo courtesy of my mom)

In a way, everything is make-believe. We have woven this sophisticated web of reality, where so much of it is pretend, so much of it is frivolous, so much exists only in our heads, so much are just lies. We draw lines in the sand, so easily washed away by a set of footprints, but the blood, tears and disappointment in it's infinitely small boundary slices us in pieces, like it was written in stone. We revolve around a system of classes, paying our way up the hierarchy with a paper thin value. Value that doesn't exist. We name the differences between us, when we have all that much more in common. By human nature, we draw a venn diagram where the circle for likenesses are always smaller than those for dissimilarities. We go by labels, we turn our heads at the sound of our names, we hear the withering meaning in the silent words. We throw our hearts in so many directions. We follow the superficial rules, segregate by imaginary divergence, we pick a side of the line that we drew. We live this fictitious reality.

All these make-believes are considered fact, accepted, abided. Nobody questions their validity, their existence, their meaning. Because we've woven such a complicated web, that to tug on a string, the whole thing could ravel apart. 

If you asked anybody on the street if the statement 'the United States shares a border with Mexico' is a fact, they'd probably say yes. They would say yes because the concept of states, owning land and creating a border between the two sections is accepted. If you asked them if a person living on the Mexican side of that line is different than us, they would probably say yes too, because where they believe that the imaginary border exists, they also believe it does for a reason.

We are living in a fairy tale. The reason so much of our story exists is because we wrote the words. Some of them are beautiful. Others bitter. 

We've written a world where value is bought, born into, just luck. We created a system stacked in favor of the best, survival of the fittest, when the people who need help straggle on behind. We keep them alive, just to spite Herbert Spencer, but our help goes no further. Why? 

The fairytale meaning where that value actually means something only exists in our thoughts. This value is meaningless. We fight wars of boundaries, fight wars of beliefs, but in the end we all want the same thing. To believe, to be free, to live how we want. But we deny that of so many people because we are so caught up in this shimmering curtain of reality. Nobody dares to brush it aside. Because we've made them tangible. You can touch the concrete barrier now a cold indifference, we can point a gun, wear armor, blow it all up. But there is no fight. We're the same in so many ways.

What is real? What it is imaginary? Why do we allow these made up ideas to put us on a leash? We've built a square of red bricks around us...what, when, how, will we tear those walls down?

It just all seems so fake,

Victoria