Reasons fascinates me. I know knowing is better than speculations. Probabilities are my risk aversion encyclopedias. Facts, figures, and news, my handy foresight. Certainty engulfs my decisions. My life always goes really easy on me. Also, I am especially great at making things up.
Do you wonder that those who use ‘royal we’ really have tiny people inside their heads, who agree and nods with them? It bothers me, why use a plural to refer oneself? I do not have a reason, but a speculation that I find reasonable. It borrows the idea from oratory manipulation skill (a primary leadership requirement), to present and portray ideas in a format tailored to the audience’s psyche.
Inclusion is a primary rule of oration. If an audience feels invested, she will accept the message. Certain sub-conscious tools make the process simpler; charisma and caring-about-an-idea go a long way too. But, it is hard to convince an uncaring audience that you care. The ‘royal we’ is a tool that could aid this investment. It is a picturesque habit of ruling class and I infer that it represents power, control, and empathy of the speaker. The beauty of ‘we’ is in its uncertainty. It’s always debatable if it means to include or except you.
Do you think that dreams often have a voice of stupidity that defies reason? As if, in their ideal world, they have never met reality. They can have strikingly conflicting voices pulling you in entirely opposite directions. The net displacement of entire motion being zero, after moving for a whole day or even years. You will still be sleeping in the same bed as yesterday till it slowly becomes your metaphorical prison. You neither change through the day nor does the day change you anymore.
I was everything I mentioned at the start, the certainty, the guides, the foresight, and a kinder life. I was the same person every night, as I was the night before, and the night before that one. I was the one with a broken compass. Obviously, as it now pointed to the direction opposite to where I have to go. Exactly like the voice of stupidity, like the voice of ideal dreams.
But, stupid as it was, I followed the needle.
Once upon a time, I didn’t believe in metaphorical compass. I had GPS. Today I am telling a story about a broken one.
The compass still often swings aimlessly. But, most nights I sleep at a different place, or as a different person. On a good day, I get both. This broken compass wasn’t really broken, it just worked differently. It pointed towards the desires of ‘royal we’, to a collective north, and thus suffered intermittent fickle.
It never was made to show a real direction, but an ideal one. And ideals keep evolving as we grow and directions do likewise. One day when it points to the true north, the ideal will become real or I will settle for reverse.