Facade

Fuh-Sahd--- Façade. That one lucid word consists of 6 unregimented letters, separated in the middle by the French ‘c-cedilla’. Each of those letters holds their own arbitrary jurisdiction over one another, governing the motion of entity and emotions. They combine together as a whole, elegant yet nonchalant. Separated, they are uniquely individual asunder with piths. The French call the word façade, the Italians facciata; whatever the word to describe it may manifest its shape in, the meaning still remains the same- False Reality. In the façade that we are in part denizens of, façade comes to scope in representing the “frontal face of a building.” We use the term to describe edifices, ones of any shape, size or structure. It personifies the fore, the front, and the forward. Architects use it daily. It is in-cooperated, integrated by those Architects into “Architectnese” (the universal jargon of Architects) as a way of expressing their ever so “sophisticated dialogue” that we laymen simply have no way of understanding. All of this, what we consider to define a façade, is in actuality, a façade itself. I once lived in a façade. I once lived in a façade where the definition of façade was clear to me, or so I liked to believe. Whenever that word with its 6 unregimented letters, separated in the middle by the French ‘c-cedilla’ appeared before me, I would think “frontal face of a building” as a result of my rote process of learning unfamiliar words. I would ever so often use the term façade whenever the situation called upon it, describing how horrendous I found the appalling image of the front of my new school to be. I would use the term whenever I tried to sound refined or scientific. I grew fond of the word façade. I would play with the pronunciation, exploring the nuances of each word. The term was my pylon into a new realm of sophistication, but also a toran leading me deeper into my own façade. The following year my grandfather died. My grandfather, the man who I always venerated had passed away, forever astray from this vivacious earth. The man who would always tell me stories about The War, the man whose incessant snoring I would constantly try to avoid at night, the man I thought was unconquerable by death, one who would be with me forever had left me forever. Being that it was he who had raised me in China while my parents immigrated to the cabalistic land of America to work as cellular-biologists, my grandfather was my idol. His smile would brighten my face, his words would illuminate my ears, his touch would warm my hand. Without him, what was I' He was the one I would aspire to. Without him, what was my life' As the days passed by I began to consider those questions. Starting with the essential question of discovering who I was, I began to question myself. Yes, I was WenXi Chao- the birth name assigned to me by my parents. Yes, I am a Male and yes, I am an Asian. I had all these answers but not a question to respond to. My life, my goals, what were they' I began to question these next. I knew what my goal was, I strived to be a doctor, but what was my life' I questioned myself but I could not respond to this self imposed question for I had no answer. It was upon asking myself this very question that I had discovered that the life I was living in, the life I had inhabited since my birth, was a façade. What was a façade' To me it no longer meant the frontal face of a building. It was a face alright, a face of reality. To this question I had no answer to, I began to question myself further. What was my purpose in life' Why did my life exist' What is life' Churned deeper into this depth of questioning, I fell into an abyss of dismal. I began to question my life’s existence, what was the point of my being' I was woven into the shadows, specks of feeble light consumed by the abyss of darkness, life itself masqueraded by the false impressions of the façade of reality. After brooding over these dark thoughts, it was then I heard my grandfather’s will. Among all the material possession that he had passed onto his progeny, there was one item he specifically left behind for me. Amidst the treasures, he had written a note. Inscribed in his neat slanted handwriting, he left behind a message: “WenXi, do your best!” As I reread this designated piece of paper, I walked away and smiled for the first time since His passing. My answer to the question was this: I was myself, my goal was to be myself, and my task was to acknowledge these things. This was my façade, this was my reality.