To see one’s tears flowing freely is often an indication of seeing one being overwhelmed by blanketing sorrow and rolling sadness, a moment very much in the present yet sourced from either the fears of the past or the terrors of tomorrow. In the rare exception of seeing tears on the notions of glee and happiness, the qualities of a tear remain no different from that which stems from being sad. Rather, tears are most definitely assumed to be because of an episode of great sadness that manifests itself on the scratches of one’s reality. How wrong the perception of tears can be in our eyes. How superficial of us to assume and underestimate the value of tears.

While the pursuit of happiness is by no means wrong, it should not be the utmost priority to chase after. Often do I see smiles, laughter, giggles and grins that amount to nothing more than a brilliant thespian putting up a magnificent facade to fool themselves and the rest of the scenery that they are happy. The mark of a great liar is one who can lie to himself. And to myself, hypocrisy at its best. But I do not wish to be fooled. I seek not the enticement of artificiality. I seek only the wonders of an emotion rooted in sincerity, an emotion worth trusting. With that, I find myself relying on the honesty of tears.

You see comedies churned out onto screens at an industrial rate. Gags and jokes replicated, often ignoring the peripheries of originality. You hear laughter thrown about carelessly, without an extra thought or reason to do so. I find myself wondering of these bouts of happiness occurring at such random yet regular moments of a day, how many of them are true? It is far too easy to turn up a frown. An ease that I have little faith in. It is not that I do not wish to be happy. I simply find doubt as to what I am truly happy about. The integrity of a smile is often compromised by a void of intentions to be happy for. Instead, I admire the sincerity of tears now that are difficult to replicate or sustain.

As great as it is to laugh and be merry, to cry and shed tears is a mark that you have yet to desensitize yourself into needing to manufacture happiness in your everyday, to blindly pursue that brief grain of joy at the expense of what may really be important to one’s existence. Tears are simply a proof that you are indeed still human who lives with purpose. For only with purpose would there be hopes to pine for and expectations to grasp.  All part of a being that is complex on so many levels yet simple in its entirety. The genuineness of tears remain an aspect of human emotion that I find impossible to replicate yet it takes only the slightest of triggers to invoke streams from the depths of one’s emotions. Memories of yesterday coupled with the struggles of today and the doubts of tomorrow are excellent brewers of tears. Yet, these are the very essence of a person’s soul. With no hardship to bear, there would be no relief to savour, no joy to behold. Tears are simply evidence of the human in our struggles, an illustration of disappointment of reality. An honest interpretation of our thoughts to ourselves.

And from it all, I find solace and sanctuary in knowing that beneath the layers of one’s persona, such a pure form of emotion still resides and emerges from time to time for the viewing of the public. It reassures me that I have yet to sell the honesty of my emotions for the pursuit of what is not necessarily real. Perhaps the next time I shed tears, I will remember to appreciate them in a different light. Not only to be reminded of how human it is to experience sadness but to be reassured that I can still be honest to myself through genuine emotions.


Precise yet unpredictable. Confident yet insecure. Self-doubting yet self-assured. Dickson lives in a constant paradox, finding both comfort and torment within his thoughts. 

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