I used to think that pretending is bad as it is equated to lying and lying, may it be white lie is still a sin of which it is considered, literally and figuratively as a form of deception. Every one of us used to lie, pretend and deceive other people. We do it often without noticing that through this we also cheat ourselves where in the end (as always portrayed on telenovelas) turns out to be self –inflicted act where in the one who do such, becomes the pathetic victim itself.
But, did it ever occur to you, in your most awkward way of thinking that this certain act (pretending) can do a permanent good in contrary? Yes, it happened on me. I pretended and lied, got hurled in its influence and grasped the real essence of it. And yet the result it yielded was the opposite of what it seems to be the usual effect of telling a lie … it turns out beneficial in sort of a positive way.
Way back from my experience in High school, when I was shoved in an array of magnificent twenty four students, with bright and quick-witted young minds; I seemed lost and have nothing to boast against their dazzling personalities and what I only take hold of is my confidence which from any minute I can tune up, like that of radio equalizer.
I was nothing compared to my classmates who were, from that time, sons and daughters of Instructors, Professors, Businessmen, and influential people in our town who have been in contact with our school system. How am I going to par with these bunch of lucky beings, so I can get myself recognized and reach the top or if not, climb even the middle of academic ladder? That’s how I was – a typical ambitious student, attempting to seek place and recognition.
From the combination of innately intelligent people and the influential one, I could hardly penetrate and get on with what I call a challenge to be on common level as them, thus what I did was to pretend and put up a front that I also have a mind that speaks of intelligence. Right then and there I pretended and acted like a smart person I want to be.
I remember one instance, when I told one of my classmates that I’m good in English; that I like poems, short stories, novels and the like. And that I like watching Hollywood movies because I love the way they talk and that I have the talent to write essays easily with words effortlessly flowing in my thoughts. All of that were utterly a lie and a figment of what I actually yearn to acquire for myself and a cover up to hide something which I ‘m ashamed of; my abhorrence to sense of logic, my stupidity when it comes to numbers or shall I say Mathematics.
I dislike numbers and the science of it, thus I need to be good in something else. And that I made up my mind that I should try the English subject if I would do well. If not with the science of numbers why not try the science of words.
Kate, a seatmate and a friend lent me a novel “Island of the blue dolphins” authored by Scott O’ Dell on which she wants me to read as I have told her I love reading, though I’m just being pretentious. She wants me to perceive the story the way she does as she truly adore its storyline and on how O’ Dell presented visually the story to her.
The hypocrisy on me was tested by then. Do I really love books? I haven’t read any except our textbooks and it’s just by that point of time that I need to read, again to cover up what I pretended earlier. “Island of the blue dolphins” was the first novel to land on my hands, the first for my fingers to have touched and the first for my eyes to catch a sight of. It was because of pretending that I forcibly scrolled over its pages to discern what my friend Kate considers a kind of story which is beautiful.
It was terrible I swear! I spent three weeks and a half without ceasing, reading the dictionary and the novel itself. So many unfamiliar words loomed before my eyes that I could drown in exasperation looking for its meaning. It was a torture. Had I not feigned about being good in English and liking novels I could have save myself from idiocy.
After the odds of being hurtled into a strange world of words, I was able to retract myself and trace the path to familiarity – in short I finally get through with the novel. The experience wasn’t bad at all. It was then that I proved my confidence, as my saving grace. If not because of it I could have declined reading Scott O’ dell’s masterpiece and admit to being fake. Good thing I pretended which after all has paved my way to really liking English and all sorts of literary works. From then my worship for books was developed, my longing to read has increased and my love for writing has become unceasing.
I may have gone far pretending and lied at first I believe it is ok, because now I can say it’s for real.