bereft
October 15, 2008 8:34 PMHere's the final transcript for the "This I Believe" assignment in English that I did. I changed it so it flows better when I had to record it (which took numerous tries).
If you want a copy of the (awesome) audio file, just let me know :P
This I Bereave
Mark Twain once said, “If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything.” I couldn’t agree more. Lying is a lose-lose situation. If you lie and somebody believes you, then you lose respect for this person. They’re a sucker for believing you, and now you own this person because they’ve been rendered inferior. You know something they don’t, the truth. Now if they don’t believe you, then start panicking, fast.You’re about to become a liar and all you can do is lie your way out it if you care at all what people think of you. Lying to others is bad sure, but lying to yourself, can be catastrophic.
Let me give you an example. You go home every night saying to yourself “I’m going to start with math, then do my biology, then finish my English, etc.” As dread creeps up your spine, you suddenly look at the clock, and you lie. You lie to yourself that you have enough time to goof off, knowing damn sure well that last night you stayed up past three AM. While you’re procrastinating, you’re still lying to yourself that you’ll be able to cram it all before you pass out. In this case, you’re lying to prevent the dreadful, terrible truth: two and a half hours of homework await you. You lie to yourself because you are simply too afraid to accept the fact that your homework could be done much more efficiently if it meant a night devoid of any entertainment.
Now let me tell you another story, about a terrible, terrible lie. Of course, I’m talking about Santa Claus. You see, lying is great while it lasts, but when all is said and done, lying is why the truth hurts. Now this was about when I was 6 years old, when I had to miss Christmas Day to go on vacation to Tahoe. I was severely disappointed that Santa would not be visiting my household, and made clear note of this to my mom. She let me disarm the house alarm that day, and to my surprise, one shiny red present awaited me, signed, Santa. My first instinct was, “Bullshit, nothing gets through that alarm.” My eyebrows went through the roof, and that night I told, more so than asked my brother. “Santa doesn’t exist, huh?” He turned to me slowly with a broad grin, “Nope.” Now you often hear of the incredibly traumatic experiences, where kids throw tantrums for twenty-seven nights straight. You know why this happens? They were lied to. Santa Claus sure as hell doesn’t exist, because no fat red man will ever break through my house’s alarm system when I couldn’t so much as sneeze to get picked up by motion sensors. In conclusion, I believe in the pursuit of knowledge, that we may be bereft of this burden of lies that plagues our minds. This terrible plague, I bereave.
I'm not sure if I'm using the term "bereave" correctly. I hope I am, otherwise the pun is kind of lost.