We tell ourselves stories in order to live. ~ Joan Didion
Stories, they are all stories we tell across time and space.
Some stories we take as absolute truths, some stories as fairytales. These stories fixed forever till someone dares to ask “why”, to confront with “so what”.
Then there are stories which change with each telling, no matter the interval of time or the expanse of space. Stories which justifies, excuses… which validates the past and the present. Stories re-told to make oneself feel a little better about oneself, even as they morphs and twists into something barely recognizable. Twisted tales which disregard their impact on the actors now compelled to re-imagine and re-establish their ground on the stage of life.
Stories are memory aids, instruction manuals and moral compasses. ~ Aleks Krotoski
These stories swirl across the whim and fancy of the story-teller, who fails to see the vagaries of his words. And as each story seeks to find sure-footing within the maelstrom of careless tales, with each moment it loses hope of settling into the comforting bosoms of the actor.
And what remains is the actor’s disappointment, frustration, confusion, and on the stage, a diminishing trust for a story-teller whose capricous weaving of a story reveals neither truth nor fairytale.
In this space between reality and fantasy most of us stand – sometimes the storyteller, sometimes the story, and sometimes the actor.
Many stories matter. Stories have been used to dispossess and to malign. But stories can also be used to empower, and to humanize. Stories can break the dignity of a people. But stories can also repair that broken dignity. ~ Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
But know this, only through the integrity of the storyteller or the actor or perhaps both then will a story become a legend. Then the storyteller finds his identity.
And this, a story.
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