When I say something to him, I have to remind myself to make sure he hasn't misunderstood, as he has done before. This is easy, since all I have to do is ask him to explain what I said back to me. But then there are other times when he misunderstands my silence as well, and this is more difficult to rectify, especially when I do not know what he is imagining me to be feeling. On the occasions in which he does share his impressions, I am often surprised by the contrast between the truth and what he thinks is the truth; while I am indifferently lost in my daydreams, he imagines some great emotional impact caused by the news he has relayed to me, as if I am visibly shaken, when the truth is I could not care any less. I’m glad when he shares his impressions so that I can dispel them, although I also wonder if he believes me or if he pretends to believe me while he sticks to his initial intuitions. This is not a problem I see only in him, I see it all around in even the most intelligent of people, and all of this leads me to always, as a matter of principle, question my own judgments; to doubt, to hesitate, to wonder how much I too project on others what is entirely my own.
No comments:
Post a Comment