Pinocchio

How comfortable are you with lying?

I’m kind of like Pinocchio. Not because my nose grows when I lie, but rather because the truth will always come out of me. When you ask Pinocchio a question, either you find out the truth by him admitting it, or you find out the truth by watching his nose grow as he lies. Similarly, if you ask me a question, either you will get the truth directly from me, or you will be able to infer the truth by the vague, evasive answers that I give. This is because I hate lying, and I try to avoid it by all means necessary.

Lying is something that I personally always detested and avoided. Consequently, I am not comfortable with lying to others. Growing up, I was always taught by my parents, teachers, and family members that lying was bad. I never questioned this or tried to rebel against this rule that was set before me. Instead I accepted it and made it my own. I wanted to be an honest person that always told the truth, and so I tried my best to never lie, even when it was “disadvantageous” for me. Of course my parents knew this and so whenever they wanted to find out the truth, they would come and ask me.

Oftentimes, I ended up ratting myself out because of my tongue’s inability to lie. For example, when I was 5 or 6 years old, I somehow tricked my sister into locking herself into the bathroom. I remember we were both in the bathroom, and I told her that as soon as I left the bathroom and closed the door, she should turn the lock to the right. My sister was really young back then, and so I’m pretty sure she didn’t really understand what locks were. I am still struggling to understand what I was trying to achieve through this pointless experiment. Anyway, my sister did what I told her to, and she locked herself in the bathroom. After a few moments of celebrating my successful experiment, I told her to come out now. Unfortunately, she couldn’t figure out how to open the door and she started screaming and crying. My parents immediately came running down, and unlocked the door with a key. They asked me what happened, and I was given a perfect opportunity to lie. My sister probably didn’t understand what happened, and she most likely couldn’t explain the situation.  I could have easily said I don’t know or have made up another innocent story. But lying was not an option for me, so I told them the whole truth, including specific details. Nevertheless, I was punished for my obnoxious behavior. But the interesting thing is that, looking back on this, I never regretted the fact that I had told the truth. I remember times when I regretted locking my sister in the bathroom, or times when I was bitter because I had received punishment for what had started out as an entertaining experiment, but never once do I remember wishing that I had lied instead of telling the truth. I rarely ever regret telling the truth, regardless of whether or not lying might have produced a better outcome for me.

Although I hate lying, there have still been plenty of times when I have lied. Usually when I do lie, it ends up being times when I’m asked embarrassing or vulnerable questions that I don’t want to answer. Lying is still the last option I turn to, so when asked an uncomfortable question, I usually first try to answer with evasive, not-quite-lying responses. If I am continuously pushed to answer, then eventually I might lie just in order to avoid any awkward conversations. But even when I make up small lies to get out of unwanted situations, I still feel immense guilt afterwards. I find that I try to justify my lies and convince myself that I had no other choice. Despite my efforts to comfort myself, inside I always know that for myself, lying is never the right choice.