The beauty in confusion


Sara Entezarmahdi

I’m confused

If you know me personally, that statement is nothing new. I don’t think I’ve ever not been confused about something at any given moment — whether it’s the math problem in front of me or the modes on a washing machine or even what ‘too much’ is when feeding my fish.

All these things, I’ve been stumped on at one point, though I rarely fail to overcome my confusion. Whether it’s because of my mom, brothers, friends, or even the boy who sits in front of me during fifth period (you know who you are), I almost always manage to free myself from the constant mindset of ‘what?’

Almost always.

But one thing still has me stumped: what’s right?

No, this isn’t some profound, deep-rooted question. (At least not to me; that’d be a whole ‘nother level of confusion I know I’m not prepared for.) It’s just me in a constant state of contemplation: What’s good? What’s bad? What’s true? What’s false? What’s wrong? What’s right?

Now that I think about it, I asked these exact questions when I was looking at the menu at that new Taiwanese hotpot place down De Anza. Off track. I really mean with any new information.

Information from the news, from my friends and from social media. Is what Donald Trump is doing good? Is what Scarlett Johanson said bad? Is what FOX News said true? Is what People Magazine saying false? Was Barack Obama in the wrong? Was that Healthy Veggie Soup really the right choice? Again, off track.

In all seriousness, I have trouble deciphering the rights from the wrongs in most of these instances. What even makes something right? Is being right subjective? Where does the lines between right and wrong lie? (Don’t get me wrong; I won’t be answering these questions. Again, profoundness is not for me. Do with them as you please.)

I will forever be thankful to you for handling my stupid questions, Animesh Agrawal.
I will forever be thankful to you for handling my stupid questions, Animesh Agrawal. Photo taken, not so creepily, by Sara Entezar.

I have trouble forming an opinion. Usually, I go with whatever Don Lemon tells me. (I mean CNN newscaster Don Lemon, if you’ve been living under a rock.) But, tragically enough (for me), Don Lemon doesn’t voice his opinions on all topics relevant to me. That’s where I have to be the judge. Wait — no. First I ask the boy in front of me in fifth period. But even he doesn’t always have the answer I’m looking for. Now that’s where I have to be the judge.

I suppose I draw the line where humans feel pain. Well, actually maybe where animals feel pain? Do bugs count as animals? Do plants feel pain? Ahhh — I don’t know.

But what I do know is the thrill of being confused. The feeling of discovery, of learning. And yes, even learning what the different washing modes makes me feel, for lack of a better word, enlightened. I’m always confused, but doesn’t that mean I’m always stepping outside my comfort zone? I’m always confused, but doesn’t that mean I’m learning new things? I’m always confused, but doesn’t that mean I’m growing as a person? (Didn’t think I’d get that profound, huh?)