I watch movies a lot. So much that I have an AI agent dedicated solely to tracking my movie taste, ratings, watchlist, and finding new directors. But I don’t love every movie. I’m drawn to the ones that give me characters who are fully human; flawed, messy, morally grey. Not angels. Not demons. Just people with competing truths inside them.
Because that’s the part of movies that mirrors real life in my head. Ambiguity, for me, is what defines wholeness. It’s what remains after the mask slips. The crust beneath the desire to be perceived a certain way or to feel a specific emotion.
When I asked ChatGPT what kind of movie characters I liked, this was its response:
“You seem to gravitate toward morally complex characters. People who are caught between duty and desire, ego and ethics. You like those who struggle, not those who overcome, but those who carry the weight of their contradictions.”
And yeah. That felt right.
For the longest time, I didn’t know how to explain how I felt about things or people, because I rarely feel just one thing. I’d often default to what the person asking expected to hear (yes, I could tell) or give the safest answer that wouldn’t start a debate. I wasn’t lying. I just wasn’t being entirely truthful either. It was the summarised truth; the one I can tell that makes the most sense.
The real stuff, my actual feelings, usually live in the folds. They don’t walk in a straight line. And I know I’m not alone. Most of us weren’t taught how to process feelings, just how to categorise them. Especially in cultures or religions that hand you a list of emotions you’re allowed to feel based on the context. Happiness, Sadness, Ecstasy, Anxiousness, Jealousy.
But what about the messy middle?
What about being happy for your friend and also slightly jealous? Or liking someone but also knowing you can’t live with them? Or being angry with someone and still wanting the best for them? Or caring deeply about a person whose values you totally disagree with?
I love eggs, but I loathe the smell of fried eggs. I want to be exceptional, but I envy the simplicity of a quiet, ordinary life. I want to be seen, but I also fear being truly known. I value honesty, but I’ve told comforting lies to keep the peace.
There are no templates for those feelings, so we suppress them. We pack them up in quiet corners of ourselves. Until they harden. And then one day, they explode—not as clarity, but as confusion. Sometimes as hypocrisy. One big, unnameable emotion that now owns you and you can’t put into context with the past.
This type of half-truth sometimes doesn't work for honest and vulnerable relationships, where we really need to hear and see the people we care for or about.
I remember back in secondary school, I always came 2nd or 3rd in class; never 1st. My closest friend was the same. When I was 2nd, he’d be 3rd. When I dropped to 4th, he’d fall or go above, too. We were bunkmates. We had the same sports house. We sat close to each other in class, almost like brothers. We did everything together, except talk about our class position and what the competition felt like.
We couldn’t. There was no emotional language for what it meant to be both close friends who were still in constant, silent competition. So we never talked about class positions or competition. But maybe it lingered. After school, our friendship didn’t really evolve. Because deep down, perhaps it never really deepened.
I’d see my name in 2nd place and feel two things: pride that I did well, and a quiet (evil?) thrill that I ranked higher than him. And I hoped he felt the same when roles reversed (because if not, that made me the villain. But I was 11 or 12. Allow )
The truth is, those feelings were normal. They’re still normal. What matters isn’t the presence of those feelings, but what we do with them. How do we talk about them? Manage them?
Because feelings are rarely linear. But decisions are.
My feelings are often too layered to unpack in real time. So I don’t use them as my compass. I judge myself by my decisions. Not because feelings aren’t valid, but because they’re unreliable. They’re slippery. Primal. Messy. You don’t always get to choose what you feel, but you do get to choose what you do with those feelings.
That’s why anger is never a justification for violence. If you acted out every emotion you felt, you’d probably be arrested or institutionalised. They come fast, and in a lot of volume.
But this isn’t about decision-making. Not entirely.
This is about unpacking complicated feelings.
About being honest with ourselves about what we’re feeling. Because if we don’t identify and acknowledge the complications, we can’t understand it. And if we don’t understand it, we’ll confuse it for something it’s not or worse, let it drive decisions that don’t reflect who we are.
Adulting, as annoying as it is, often means choosing to do Z even when you’re feeling both X and Y simultaneously. It’s holding complexity on one hand and accountability on the other. It’s admitting that the story inside us is more than one emotion or a clean answer.
So when someone asks me how I feel about something or someone, I don’t rush to answer. I go into analysis mode—not because I’m evasive, but because I’m trying to be honest. Sometimes, I can’t find the words, sometimes I’m wrong, and other times, I am right.
Because feelings, if we’re paying attention, are never just one thing.
They are a whole damn orchestra.
And sometimes the best thing you can do is sit still and listen.
How do you deal with your conflicting feelings?
This is so relatable that it makes me think ‘I’m not unusual after all’
This is lovely.
I've always felt conflicted by my emotions; I don't know that I've figured out how to manage them or that I ever will, all I've been able to do is just let myself feel whatever I'm feeling in the moment, and act based on what is decent or appropriate at the time. So that's feeling jealous, but never letting it make me bitter, or getting angry but not crashing out (in front of people). My biggest
struggle is with unexpressed emotions and how they make me feel inside. I can't really explain it, but it's like my insides turn into wet sand - just gritty, uncomfortable and like I'm falling apart.
I don't know where the struggle ends, but I hope I get better at navigating, and that I have people that don't judge, but love me simply by understanding and validating the messy feelings I carry with me.