“Never judge a book by its cover.”
We have all been taught this infamous phrase by our loved ones at some point in time, whether it be by our parents, grand-parents, or friends. However, even though we have been equipped with this advice ever since our adolescence, it is only much later on in life does one truly grasp the meaning and essence of that life lesson. It is only much later on that one is able to distinguish a book from its cover, and truly understand that what the cover portrays is not what the book’s tale narrates .
What is a ‘cover?’ In simple terms, a cover is a mass or means of protecting one’s raw self from a foreign world. A cover can be anything, vaguely varying from a duvet to a pseudonym. Using a duvet as an example, the literal use of this comforting white fabric is to protect one’s bare skin and body from the cold’s icy, unbearable grip. Ultimately, a duvet tenderly nestles the naked skin in a safe haven.
We presently live in a world and age in which we have learned to use a duvet beyond its intended purpose. Ultimately, every one of us has woven a personal duvet to clothe ourselves with to shield us from the cold energy present in this world. Every morning, we carefully put on our invisible duvet before stepping out of our home to enter into the world. After our worldly tasks and responsibilities are completed, we head back to our home and breathe a sigh of relief as we take off our duvet for the day.
This duvet, while it may protect one from perceived harm, cannot depict the beautiful life story of every human being who dons it.
More heartbreaking than this is the fact that we live in a world where it is customary to judge a person by their invisible duvet. Many walk past each other, plastering labels on one another based on the duvets they are donning. We live in a time in which it is considered to be bizarre if a stranger offers a heartwarming smile as you briskly make your way through a crowd. We have made it a habit, or a rule, to be uniform. Silent.
However, there are a few who comprehend the ‘duvet.’ These brave souls walk through the crowd and care to peak through our duvet cover to hear the life story we are silently dying to tell.
I long and hope for a day when we all, as a society, can fling our fictional duvets into non-existence. A day when we can celebrate our raw naked selves. A day when we can sit around a campfire, recount our trials and triumphs, and show each other our battle scars. A day when the concept of imperfection is accepted.
I dream for a day when, finally, a book is no longer confined to its cover, and steps out into the world to narrate its beautiful story fearlessly.