Today, I learned that some hyperboles float in the space between a truth and a lie.
For months, I’ve had it in my head that I hate all hyperboles. That they’re glorified lies. That they’re what you say when you want to dramatically make a point, but the whole point of the story isn’t good enough on its own, so you have to embellish it with exaggerations to really make it worth telling.
Apparently, what I really meant was that I hate fake hyperboles, the ambiguous ones, the ones that aren’t so much poetic as they are dramatic.
To me, these seem like a waste of time.
Because what does it even mean that you have a million things to do? Whose scale are we measuring with? A million things—does that mean you have three assignments to complete? Or, do you have 17 on top of sports practice, rehearsal, and tutoring, and a club meeting? There’s a difference.
If you tell me that I’m going to freeze, how cold is it really? And are you actually starving right now? Is this really the easiest thing you’ve ever done?
People make big claims.
Granted, I’m as guilty as anyone of using these phrases, but really, I’ve tried to stop. These statements are so subjective, so meaningless, that what’s the point in using them as any sort of a measure?
Sometimes, these hyperboles aren’t even impossible; they could happen, they do happen, and who’s to know when they’re being used seriously? Hypothetically, I could freeze to death—hypothermia is real. And, without food, you will starve. And, something—in the trillions of things you’ve done in your life—actually is the easiest thing of them all.
When I think about hyperboles this way, especially underdeveloped attempts at them, I start to hate them.
It’s the same thing for absolutes. For words like always and never and perfect and all and greatest and worst—and hate.
Because everyone’s heard that “hate is a strong word,” and most have probably had a teacher ask them, “What does ‘very’ actually mean?” to justify why we’re not allowed to use it formally.
I’ve grown to agree with this nitt-picky, annoying grammatical diligence.
When people would tell stories or anecdotes or statements, and they’d insert these absolutes, I used to take them too literally. If you told me you hated your sister or that you’d never expected your class to be so difficult, I’d probably believe you, at least more than you actually intended.
The way I see it, as the language becomes more definitive, the truthfulness of the story becomes murkier and murkier. Now, as I listen to someone describe how they have “always” this and “never” that, I nod my head in agreement at times, expressing my empathy for whatever they’re speaking about.
But in my head? I’ve learned to push aside the absolutes. To exchange the definitives, the human habit of putting things in boxes, in the extremes, at the poles, and find the semblance of truth behind the empty words.
To see that they probably don’t love whichever person, at least not seriously, but they’re immensely grateful for them. To recognize that nothing is absolutely perfect, as much as it might be beautiful at the moment. To understand that nothing, really, is completely anything, and that’s almost completely okay.
