Only on rare occasions is she certain. Only on rare occasions is she certain she is right, certain she is doing the right thing, certain she is making the right choice. How do you know you are doing what is right for you? How do you know what the right choice is? Do you only know whether you made the right choice in hindsight? Do you ever find out whether you made the right choice? Sometimes, maybe. Life isn’t very straightforward.
‘I suspect people who are certain all the time are people who can’t face reality,’ she once said to her uncle, a man who is always certain of everything. A man who has nothing but principles and twisted morals, that haven’t changed since he was a teenager. ‘Maybe having an open mind is more important than being so damn sure all the time,’ she would tell him. He would listen to her, smile, and say in a condescending tone of voice: ‘I know what is best for you. I did the same thing. It worked out for me. It is the right thing to do.’
‘How can you know what is best for me, when you know nothing about me? And how can you say it worked out for you? Are you happy? Because I don’t think you are. I want to be happy. I want to wonder and wander. I want to question and guess and learn and discover and doubt. When I am your age, I don’t want to be the same person I am now and I don’t want to be like you. I want to grow, not be judgmental, certain all the time and set in my ways.’ She would try to say it in a calm voice, without any emotion, but it never quite turned out that way. She wasn’t calm, she was angry, because she is sure of one thing. This man, this man who is so locked in, in his own small world, in his own strict thoughts, does not know what is best for her. This man does not have the right to tell her what to do with her life. If you are sure, then don’t listen to him, stranger.