Are We Hiding the Truth, or Hiding From the Truth? Essay Example

The question “what is truth” has occupied the world’s great philosophers and thinkers throughout human history, and it is a question that is so complicated and challenging that merely asking it often raises more questions. The answer to the question is so elusive that the closer we get to the answer, the farther it slips away. What I learned from the death of my father is how we all have our inner truth, the truth of who we really are and how we really feel, and we often hide that truth from the world out of fear and insecurity. As I later learned, my father knew he was ill long before his illness killed him, yet he hid that truth from the world as he went about the job of providing for his family. I was shocked by his death, and shocked by the realization of how little I really knew about my father. I began to consider all the times I had been busy playing with my friends or doing other things when I could have been spending time with him. The day I visited him in the hospital just before his death, I realized for the first time how the hair at his temples had gone gray. The truth was that I had been too busy to notice it before.

When my father got sick –right before he died- I was too young to realize the truth of what was happening to him. He came home from work rather late one night, but that was not unusual for him, or for any of the other men I knew, like my uncles, or neighbors, or the fathers of my friends from school. It was a common part of Chinese culture, and we were, in that respect, a common family. Like all the other men his age, my father worked hard to provide financial security and stability to our family. And, like other men his age, his work day did not always end when regular business hours ended. Instead, my father often left work at the end of the day and went out with clients, or coworkers, or other associates, to socialize in bars and restaurants. Getting new clients, and keeping old clients, often involved heavy drinking and late nights. In our culture, business relationships were also social relationships, and it was important for these business relationships that businessmen got to know and trust each other by spending time with each other. That was how they would learn the truth about each other, about what kind of people they were, whether they could be trusted, and whether they could and would do business together.

So this night was like any other night, at least from what I could see. My father arrived home very late, but that was not unusual. He was stumbling and slow, and my mother had to help him get to bed. I was busy playing on my computer, and I barely noticed his late arrival, or his condition. When he was late again the next night, I did not think that was unusual either. Even when he did not come home at all, I did not think it was strange, at least not at first. When I asked my mother where my father was, she responded that he was in the city, entertaining a client, and would not be home that night. Even though he had done that before, I somehow knew right away that my mother was not telling the truth. I immediately began to feel nervous and even a bit sick to my stomach. The words my mother was telling me were intended to reassure me that everything was going to be fine, but I could see the truth in her eyes: my father was not coming home that night, or ever again.

When my father died I was at an age where I was beginning to have thoughts about more important things than the thoughts that typically preoccupy children. When I had asked my mother where my father was that night, she had lied to me and told me he was out with a client, when the truth was that he was in the hospital, in the Intensive Care Unit. Yet there was a great difference between the lie my mother told me that night and the kinds of lies that are hurtful or harmful or dangerous. My mother had not lied to me out of malice; she had lied to me to protect me from the truth. I never asked her why she had lied, and looking back on that night and the horrible days that followed it, I guessed that she had simply hoped my father would recover and she would never have to tell me how sick he had been that night. Protecting children from the truth sometimes seems like simple kindness, but I also was beginning to understand that people –myself included, of course- also lie to ourselves.

As I have gotten older, and learned more about human nature, I have developed a better understanding about the nature of truth, and about how we all hide our inner truth from the world. Sylvia Plath’s book “The Bell Jar” is a strong example of literature that demonstrates this dual nature of truth. From outward appearances, the character of Esther seems to be living an enviable life, but inside she is deeply depressed. Esther suffers from mental illness, and is eventually hospitalized for it and given treatments such as electroshock therapy. Not every detail of the novel is an exact copy of the events of Plath’s life, but in many ways the book is more truthful than a simple recounting of her life would be. What matters most is that Plath, speaking through the voice of Esther, gets to the emotional truth of the character. In the first few pages of the story, Esther explains how she won the context to go to New York, and how she realizes that the opportunities she has received would be a dream come true for many young women her age. Despite the outward appearance, however, Esther is not happy. “I was supposed to be having the time of my life,” thinks Esther, but the truth was that she “felt very still and very empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo” (Plath, p.2). In these simple lines, Sylvia Plath cuts right to the truth of the human experience: we all hide ourselves, and our inner truth, from the world.

I can relate to the character of Esther, because I also hide the truth of who I am inside from the world. I still miss my father terribly, and I sometimes feel depressed about how I missed out on having more time with him, but I hide this from the world and put on a happy face and pretend that everything is fine. Still, my father’s death also gave me a greater appreciation for life. Not just my own life, but life in general. Now, when I witness something beautiful, like a glorious sunrise, or the sound of birds singing, or the smile of someone I love, I think of how much I wish I could share the experience with my father. But I also think of how grateful I am to be alive to experience it, and I remind myself to be more appreciative and considerate of the people in my life, from friends and family to strangers on the street. I do not always do my best to live up to that ideal, but one of the lessons I learned from my father’s death was that I must at least try to do so.

I have come to realize that we all have our own answer to the question “what is truth?” Everyone has his or her own inner truth, and we all hide our truth from the world in different ways. The truth of the human condition is that life is often painful and sad, and that can be overwhelming. Sylvia Plath seemed to be in touch with her inner truth on a very deep level, and was well aware that she was mentally ill. She may have even hidden the truth from herself, because Esther managed to survive while Plath did not. I cannot help but be reminded of my father, and how he hid the truth of his condition from me, from my mother, and perhaps even from himself. What is truth? The truth is that we are, in the end, alone, and have only our own truth. What we do with it, and how we share it with the world, is up to each of us.

Works cited

Plath, Sylvia. The Bell Jar. 1st ed. New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 1996. Print.