I have not lost ALL my cynicism, but i think i may have gotten too trusting. In which case, i'm not quite sure if that's a 100% good thing, but then again, why do i need to find something to be nitty gritty about?
I've grown accustomed to my high walls that i had carefully built over the years, though occasionally peeping through a slight opening that i sometimes allow, as i lower the drawbridge. People come, seeking. I speak to them and find something wanting.
This might sound a little offbeat, but as i was cutting onions the other day (and hopping up and down and flapping my arms wildly whenever the stinging of my eyes and tearing begins), i wondered if i was guilty of being one.
Er, yeah. An Onion.
The outermost layers are thin, superficial, dry, discoloured: That is the me i put on the outside. But as someone proceeds to probe deeper, finding out more about me, the layers get harder (and juicier? You find out more about me mah.) and i may sting you with the things that i say or hurt you because of the walls that i purposefully run to hide behind, separating you and me. It might hurt, it may even make you resent me. And finally, i will hurt you most when you take a knife to me, when you cut me, hurt me. That's when i will let loose my defensive mechanisms and in my fury, seek to attempt to make sure that you pay the price of my wrath.
(if you haven't seen that bitter side of me, you either do not know me very well, you haven't cheesed me off that much, or, i have managed to, er, tone my temper down.)
But then the walls finally came down, and i find myself standing liberated, in the open, on vast immense freedom. In a kind of freedom that i have never experienced before.
And so the onion, at the end of the day, had been cut, chopped and cooked up. And most onion dishes don't taste too far bad. :-)
Nay, i am in no rotten mood. And I shall stop right here.