The Inheritance of Beliefs

A blank page is scary, but you can't let it stop you from writing what's next.

However, you can never get over a page already filled with contradictons and irrational arguments people try to make you believe since birth, and attempting to grow out of them makes you an oddity to society.

From religion, beliefs, culture, traditions and even your own personality. You are taught what to believe before you understand belief itself, what to fear before you understand the nature of fear, and who to become before you have the slightest idea about who you are. You begin to notice how easily people mistake obedience for morality, familiarity for truth, and conformity for goodness. And suddenly, the questions you ask become more offensive than the injustices you question. You are no longer simply someone who thinks differently; you become a threat to everything people have built their identities around.

But what happens when you begin to question not only what you believe, but the person you have become because of those beliefs? When you can no longer tell which parts of your personality are genuinely yours and which were carefully crafted to make you acceptable?

You start dissecting yourself, searching for something untouched by expectation, something that existed before the fear of disappointing everyone else. And the deeper you look, the harder it becomes to recognize the person staring back at you.

Because growing out of what raised you is not always beautiful. Sometimes, it feels like betrayal; sometimes, it feels like losing your principles. You wonder whether the price of thinking for yourself is the inability to ever belong anywhere quite as effortlessly again.

The questioning of what you were taught does not automatically make you wiser, just as obeying it does not automatically make you good. The acceptance of freedom is not the privilege of possessing the truth, but the courage to search for it without pretending you already know.

In the end, the bravest thing you can do is not to burn the entire page, nor to keep reading it simply because someone told you it was sacred. Perhaps it's to pick up the pen, acknowledge the words that shaped you, cross out the ones that no longer serve you, and finally give yourself permission to write something of your own.

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