If I knew I was positive, why would I have ever gone to PAW to

Hear the troubled voice of Marc Wallice, who once declared: “If I knew I was positive, why would I have ever gone to PAW to take a test?” These words carry the weight of accusation, denial, and the heavy burden of responsibility. They remind us that in moments of trial, the truth is often contested, and the human heart seeks to defend itself against shame. Yet in their rawness, these words also reveal a deeper lesson—that truth cannot be hidden forever, and that acknowledgment of reality, however painful, is the path toward wisdom and healing.

The word positive here is no light word; it speaks of illness, of consequence, of a stigma that could alter lives. Wallice, accused of spreading harm, sought to defend himself by pointing to logic: why, if he had known his condition, would he have placed himself under the scrutiny of a test? His protest reveals a timeless human tendency—the cry that says, “I would not have chosen this path knowingly.” Whether in health, politics, or morality, mankind often seeks to distance itself from guilt by appealing to reason.

History shows us many such voices. Consider the trial of Socrates, who was accused of corrupting the youth of Athens. His defense was not one of denial, but of reasoned argument: if he had truly sought harm, why would he have lived openly, questioning all in the marketplace, rather than hiding his deeds? Like Wallice’s question, Socrates’ words revealed the conflict between accusation and self-perception, between public judgment and personal truth.

So too in the story of Galileo Galilei, condemned for proclaiming that the earth revolved around the sun. To his judges, he could have said, “If I wished to deceive, why would I publish my findings for all to read?” His reasoning, like Wallice’s, points to the idea that openness is inconsistent with deliberate harm. And yet, as history teaches, perception and intent often diverge, and truth is rarely simple.

The meaning of Wallice’s words is not only bound to his own life but stretches into a universal teaching: when faced with grave accusation, humans will cling to logic, reason, and motive as shields. Yet the deeper lesson is this: knowledge of the self, acknowledgment of truth, and accountability are more powerful than denial. Whether one is guilty or innocent, the heart must wrestle not only with the judgment of others but with its own conscience.

The lesson for us is clear: in times of accusation, do not flee into denial alone. Seek truth first within yourself. If you are innocent, truth will be your strongest defender. If you are guilty, only acknowledgment and repentance can begin the path to healing. To protest endlessly without reflection is to remain trapped in the cycle of blame and defense, never reaching peace.

Practical wisdom calls us to three acts. First, face your tests—be they of health, character, or spirit—with courage, for only truth can set you free. Second, in moments of conflict, do not argue only from reason, but from honesty, for the soul knows when it speaks falsely. Third, live in such a way that your actions need no defense, that your integrity itself becomes proof against accusation. In this way, you walk the path of honor.

So let it be remembered: the cry of “If I knew…” is the cry of many who stand accused in this world. But the higher path is not to dwell in hypotheticals, but to face reality, however harsh, and to let truth shape a better future. Marc Wallice’s words stand as a cautionary tale: denial may serve as a shield, but only truth and accountability can serve as a foundation for lasting peace and redemption.