What is the brutal truth about being poor

White reads: Please stop being honest all the time!

Lies are bad, the truth is good? Our author thinks: Total nonsense. She no longer wants to be friends with people who are always honest.

I once had a friend who thought she was truth personified. She said what she thought, she thought what she wanted and she didn't really care what this self-made up and out loud "truth" sometimes caused. I can barely understand her consistent refusal of dishonesty, but her tendency to throw her unpleasant opinion into the room without being asked made her about as likeable for her environment as a cross between Dieter Bohlen and Donald Trump. Yes, the truth can be brutal at times. And no, you don't always have to say it out loud.

"I just want to be honest"

Her love of truth, highly praised by herself, led to compliments like "Uh, I'd rather cover your arms, they wobble a lot" or statements like "So yesterday Basti thought your attempt at flirting was pretty out of place." Of course, this friend informed me about Basti's disinterest and my wobbling arms (maybe there is a connection?) Without being asked. She had to. After all, she just wanted to be honest. That's how she said it. And it took me a long time to realize that this woman didn't understand one thing: the truth is an asshole sometimes. And not saying it is sometimes much more virtuous than doing it.

Your truth is not my truth

It's just like this: The ONE truth doesn't even exist. Well, if it rains in Hamburg, then it rains in Hamburg. Is true and little debatable. And if anyone wants to talk about it: go ahead. But whether my arms are too wobbly or what Basti's raised eyebrow meant, that is clearly ambiguous. People who declare their own thinking as "truth" in such situations and feel obliged to trumpet it into the world do not understand one important thing: The world is much more complex than a single person would ever understand. Everyone hears against the backdrop of thousands upon thousands of experiences. Nobody perceives the environment like the other. And some find that my arms are just right. At least I think so now. Maybe Basti. But who knows that exactly except Basti? Yes, the truth, the truth, sometimes I don't even want to know it.

Lies are the glue that holds us together

I want to admit it here today: I lie. I tell my children that they painted beautifully, even when that is obviously not the case. I praise clothes I would never wear and sometimes make excuses not to hurt people. Why am I doing this? Because it's my truth that there are more important things than merciless honesty. I want my children to be proud and not doubt themselves. I want my girlfriend to think she's sexy when we go to the party her ex is going to be at afterwards, and I don't want my grandma to know how reluctant I am today to tell me the same story for the hundred and eightieth time to hear the difficult birth of my father. Maybe that's a bit reprehensible. And some call it a lie. I call it love Because she only knows one truth: I want you good. And being honest is NOT always good.

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