This is a photo of a boy from Syria who is sleeping next to his father’s and mother’s grave. I am gazing at this photo and I am crying so hard and so loud. I don’t know why… May be because sometimes you need something to initiate a spark inside you that allow you to let out what you have been collecting inside for a long time. You wrap your pain in layers of fake laughter and smiles and indulge yourself in the colors of this mortal life and at one point, all your tries of faking it dash to ground. You come out as the same weak personality that can’t even carry the weight of itself. The burden of problems and pain seems unacceptable;e at this point.
I had no idea I’ll write this post and I have no idea now what I am writing and where it’ll end. I just want to be real, for a while, for some seconds in front of a crowd and yet still in front of no one…. A crowd who don’t know me and a crowd to whom I owe no expectations and may be that’s why this crowd do more than I expect from them, always. Expectations are the things that create all those differences all those problems, No ? We’ll be happy on what we’d get if we don’t expect and yet here we are, expecting from others even more than we can do for them. Isn’t it funny ?
Sometimes my heart and mind needs a break. While engaging myself with this so called ‘life’ I sometimes get tired. At that time I want to run away from life for a while, I need to take a break from the artificial and live the real, I want to breathe in fresh air at a place where I can find no trace of my ongoing life or I need to sleep for a long time, very long time when no one could wake me up. I want to hide from the people who say that they love me and care for me, why ? I don’t know. I want to be invisible and see what these people will do when I’ll be no more around them. It’s not like I don’t know, but I want to see that.
I guess I have started liking this miserable condition of mine. May be that’s why when people talk of positivity and hope and happiness, their words don’t seem real to me. As if no such things exist in nature, as if they are just performing their duty to make a miserable person in depression feel better. No, despite all your words of support I am still standing here with the same hopelessness and empty hands and I have no positive thoughts.
Was I sent to this earth and given a life for this what I’m doing ? The world would be a far better place without me then why did Allah sent me here ? Any particular reason ? There is no answer. He wants to tell me but I am not ready to listen. There’ll never be any answer till the day they’ll be pouring mud all over my lifeless body. A body made of mud going into the mud. That’s the rule. That’s the truth.
And I am still crying…What should I do to stop this ? Any magical tablet any treatment that’ll stop all this chemical naughtiness going on inside my head ? There must be something that I’m missing…. But what ? My fingers won’t get tired of typing questions but your eyes will get tired of reading. I can’t do any good for anyone, I can’t make anyone happy. This task is not made for me. And that’s why I can stay happy.
And yet I portray myself as if I am the most sad pitiful being in the world. I don’t see that Syrian boy sleeping beside those two graves. What would he be thinking ? I know he is not sleeping, he just can’t. How can he ? He must be thinking about those four hands of Love that once used to hug him and slide their fingers through his hair, those two pair of eyes that had nothing but pure love in them and those arms that protected him once like no one ever can. They are sleeping now under layers of mud and he is still here, fighting with a fierce thing called life….fighting to protect himself from being eaten by life.
I don’t want anything from life…I just want my senses to get numb. I just want to stop thinking and enjoy a peaceful sleep, Is that more than enough ? I can now understand why people use drugs and alcohol and why these are forbidden for us. I have lost everything, and by everything I mean ‘everything’ that can’t be described in words.
I wished this writing might help me out but it hadn’t. Don’t know why. I don’t need pity, I don’t need ‘I am sorry for what you are going through’ and I don’t need “I can understand” because trust me, you don’t. No one can. No one has. No one ever will. I just have to live with my damn self.