Nothing but the truth..
The conversation in my Nonfiction class today was truth. It
was of course directed at the genre of nonfiction and where the
lines of truth and the writer’s perspective get blurred, but it
made me ponder my own personal truths and their origins. I
haven’t made up my mind yet. Is it truth when it is ingrained so
deeply into your being that you cannot accept another explanation?
Does something become truth because there are facts to back it
up, and if there are no facts, can it ever be a truth? I believe there
is no universal truth. Even when someone is reporting the facts, they
are swayed by their perspective. When someone is taking a picture,
there are images left out of the picture, and those again depend on the
person behind the camera. How do I define truth? And if I do, do I
have to defend it as well? Is it enough to say, “this is my truth”?
This really is going to change the way I view the news, stories that people
relate to me that I have not been witness to, and even my own judgments
on situations that I find myself in. And all this time I thought the
truth would set me free. Sure.
