Today I realized what to call all that I have been reading for so long. A person I didn’t mean to overhear called it ‘a sense of urgency’- the desire to save this world as soon as possible.
It seems the enemies are too many. I saw many names in the list of these enemies that I silently agreed with- pollution, dictatorship, bullying, monetization of education, competing in a rigged world, oppression of lives and loves of minority, hate crimes,…
I scoffed at some: the collapse of society in the hands of socially withdrawn, collapse of economy in the hands of those who want and do less, the unfeeling and unapologetic generation that seems to love depression, women whose learning and thinking too much only breaks families,…
“this is the cause worth dying for”- I suddenly became afraid of that feeling.
As I read all the absurd causes I couldn’t agree with. As I read and became exasperated at the words of those who were convinced that they knew better even as they killed and killed and killed and got addicted to seeing blood dissolving in oceans. I realized how dangerous this feeling could be.
“this is what to means to change the world. to change the world is to walk over everything I don’t want to see” My sense of urgency hated me for thinking this. It recited every quote about silence of good men. But all I could now see was the line that I must not cross, the words I must not say, the knife that I must never hold- no matter the cause.
should i thank you for becoming the faceless stranger that i dread the most?
you are the new voice inside my head. less of a voice, more of a threat.
how should i make you happy? how can i shut you up?- is all i think about. i want to grow up and grow out of this mind that can’t take even this shallow critique. but i can’t. how can I confront you when you may actually be correct about me?
what should i do? remain a nothing till your attention shifts? learn to cry without being bashed for my weakness?
but at least I am glad I am not your type, that I am not the excuse you would use to pull someone else down.
so goodbye “the embodiment of my self-doubt” thank you giving me another grief to write about, for speaking your mind and taking away my voice.
hailstones. that’s what i remember. when the stones fell onto the already breaking roofs of our class, the girl who sat three rows ahead stopped reading. everyone who was busy day dreaming, who had shut their ears to every useless fact that we come to learn, knew how to listen to this, to this violence that could hurt but won’t.
i sat there listening, wondering if my skin would also be able bear what this tin sheet roof can, if my classmates would look at me understand their violence that could break me but hasn’t yet.
maybe it was our silence, maybe it was the teachers glare that made it stop, made the loud shrieking rain to end. and when she left the stones had already turned into dripping water. the kids wanting to forget the trauma of being silenced, of having their dreams interrupted, of being reminded of their helplessness recited incidents that didn’t happen, tried to laugh a little louder than usual, made another joke at the expense of someone like me and so my only memory of hailstone was also reduced to the din of students (who never liked me).
i closed my books and pretended to be asleep while everyone ate and talked to their friends. i waited for everyone to leave so I could eat alone without being ashamed for being left alone. “hailstones”. i said the word aloud in that empty classroom. i had one more words now to describe these kids who scared me by their meanness, who made me like the prospect of loneliness.
beauty may be only skin deep but lack of it goes deeper than that. so deep that you end up learning to want things that you wouldn’t otherwise even think about. i wish i could remember every face that was surprised to know that i am okay with looking older than i am, surprised that i do not want to exorcise fats especially when i have got so much of it. every morning i wake up they hover over me like faceless shadows with black markers, drawing over my body showing me all that is wrong, giving me tips so that i can become easy to look at, hiding their superficiality under the wraps of concern, whispering how thick-skinned i am when i don’t listen and wondering what is wrong with the ones who love me. it made me wonder that maybe going under the knife wouldn’t be as bad as being smeared black by markers. that maybe i am supposed to love myself only after the world approves of the ‘me’ that i want to love. i would have understood if they cared, if they actually meant good, but they don’t because they know nothing more than my name and they say my name only with heart-breaking adjectives and assumptions. i want to say they are wrong, but i have suffered their gaze for so long that sometimes i end up sharing their hatred of me, of what they see. there are days that i obsess over a passing comment. there are days i beat up myself for being like this. i starve and fail, i try to get over their words and fail, i try to hate myself and fail. i want to say it doesn’t matter but it does because i am tiring myself out by trying to see something good in me, by apologizing to myself, by trying to save my heart while they burn my body in the woods.