Tag

Pain


Browsing
Creative Non-Fiction

THIS THING CALLED LOVE

By

Artist: Sunita Khedekar

They say too much of everything is poisonous. Everything includes love. But for love, too much of it is not just poisonous. It is disastrous. It is catastrophic. It is devastating. It is all that is beyond toxic.
It is what is making people commit suicide.
It is what makes people become murderers.
It is what makes people go insane.
It is what makes people lose themselves forever.
It is what makes people never trust again…
And not just romantic love but also material love, friendship love…whatever kind it is, it is agonizing when it exceeds the normal rate especially romantic love.
But let’s first rewind to how this whole thing called love starts.

I’ve always been a dreamer myself but when it comes to love I believe in reality as the clear picture. Perhaps it is because I have a very different view of love in general. My friends have always thought I am just too much of a hater to love and that I am too naive to actually understand it all. Well in this case, naivety is honestly bliss. It is actually ironic because I am such a lover of humanity and humanity goes hand in hand with love but I guess this is where my different definition comes in. I remember an instance years back when a friend told me of her relationship and I told her my honest thoughts of it in which her boyfriend decided to declare me jealous “because I had never been loved like that before”. Lol he should come to my home and see how my mother treats me like a baby. Love is love and when it is filial it is way powerful. I won’t say love is not something beautiful. I won’t say it is all pain and anguish but I will say it is not the most fulfilling feeling in this life as some perceive it.

One of the most accurate theories of love I have ever heard is one in Arabic language which speaks of how it usually just starts with a glance then a smile then greeting then a conversation then a date then it ends up in bed. It doesn’t happen so always but most of it starts like that. I always tend to look at the larger picture. Look at what is to be anticipated in this thing called love, ten years to come. At the beginning it’s such a fairy tale, a bubble filled with tinier colourful air bubbles, a fantasy of romance and anticipation of ‘happily ever after’. It is intense passion and that phase of ‘I cant live without him/her’ but slowly with time comes the comfort phase where the fire has calmed down and it is just the caring and loving feeling that keeps you together. But even that doesn’t always last long because this is when reality strikes. The honeymoon is over and it is time to pay bills and the house is dirty, needs to be cleaned,and the food needs to be cooked and each of your claws and flaws now start appearing. It is here when looks no longer matter and character and piousness is vital. It is at this point that you both need patience and understanding to break the walls. It is here when all the roses that were on the bed before start tearing you with it’s thorns. At this stage it’s either the comfort or the falling-out-of-love stage. Because trust me what comes next is either just routine with sparks of love here and there or just a gradual downfall of your marriage or love story or whatever.

I strongly believe in the wisdom behind the disapproval of teen love. Not because it is wrong to love but because we seek it at the wrong time with the wrong people. I have seen and witnessed enough to not believe in fantasy in the name of love. For me, life is the best teacher and the best experience. I have seen love-based marriages last only a month, I have seen couples who fought for each other for so long that you knew nothing would ever separate them yet I saw them fall out of love. I have seen the glimmer of love in the eyes die. I have seen lovers who ended up living together just as a routine yet it once started as one of the greatest love stories. Perhaps I am being a pessimist here or just that I am such an observer but I have learnt that love isn’t something to depend on entirely in your life. It dies. It ends. It gets buried. If you are lucky enough you will see the remaining sparks of it as you grow old and frail. If this is what happens to married people; people who’ve known each other inside out, people who’ve worn each other’s hearts on their sleeves then what do we expect from our immature brains and unfocused goals of life? I remember another incident of a mate who once talked to me about his girlfriend and when I told him it won’t last he said, “I hope I will still be in touch with you years from now so you see me marry her” Barely one or two years later he broke up with her and when I asked what happened he said, “Just like that…” Oh yeah…must be that he fell out of love.

Perhaps this is why I am not really a fan of writing about love or even talking about it because I know what I will say is not what you want to hear. You want to hear that it is beautiful, it is amazing, it is the best feeling in the world. You want to hear more of “happily ever after” but for me I will just tell you bluntly how much you could be wasting your energy and time on a person who won’t even look at you twice few months or even years from now. I know you want to object right now. You want to tell me of the lovers you know who are now happily married with cute children like themselves. I know you want me to bet on your life as well and that you are definitely going to be with him/her for the rest of your life. It’s fine. I know how being optimistic is important for you right now…and I won’t disagree that there are several love birds who actually married and are happy as we talk but let’s count how many they are. And when I mention love birds here I don’t mean those who fell in love and sought the right way by approaching parents, I mean those who were in a relationship or serious dating. How many of such have actually succeeded after marriage.

When that routine phase finally comes, it is when things just get cold and you barely have anything left to talk about. Sometimes it is just one partner who suffers it all. Perhaps still holding onto that teen passion that has long died in the spouse. She keeps fighting to bring back things as they were yet her energy all goes to waste. A friend of mine likes using this example about such love…it is like a wall between two people; two lovers and the wall is about to fall. Both of you need to exert pressure on the wall from both ends to make the wall stand upright once again. But here is the woman…or even the man maybe, exerting all the pressure yet the partner is not doing anything. He/she keeps pushing the wall, trying to make it upright with all her/his energy until it finally falls off on the partner’s side. Yes, it is because she was doing it single-handedly. Love is a two-way thing. He pushes She pushes. You both need to work hard to actually make it work. Yet you are here struggling so hard to make someone at least notice your sacrifices but they just never see it. This is when love becomes toxic. Because it ruins, it destroys, it makes someone lose themselves as they seek someone else. If they are not your spouse then it is definitely not worth it. Prior marriage love is most of the times either just lust or a fantasy.

When you see an old couple still finding comfort and warmth from each other then do know that they have fought battles and moved mountains to get them where they are. It takes a lot of energy, honesty, humbleness, appreciation, patience, upright manners to make two people go back to passion just when they were about to go to routine phase. Perhaps this is why you should really respect the humble beginnings of your parents too if they are still together. It is not easy to over look so many flaws from a person and still love them deeply and sincerely. So yes, true love does exist. But only at the right time and of course, with the right person.

If you are in any such fantasy about love then you need to wake up. You need to understand that love is not what you imagine at 18, that life has so many surprises yet to come. You need to understand there is something called fate, that it is okay even if it is the 21st Century, to be single. And when you are principled and attached to God then things couldn’t get any better for you. You need to know that you have to really really REALLY love yourself first before anything else. And most importantly you need and must understand that love is definitely not the purpose of our lives.

by
Keep Reading
Inspiration

BE HAPPY PLEASE

By

Photo Courtesy: http://images2.fanpop.com/

The situation of our current world is just pathetic; wars, bloodshed, diseases, brutality, criminality, you name it. The list could go on forever. You look at Palestine and you feel the pinch but then you look at your own country and you find misery too, just of a different kind. If the pain, agony and sadness around the world could be painted then perhaps we would have a totally black painting with just one dot in white to represent humanity, happiness and joy. Every continent, every country, every city and every person is fighting a battle of their own. Sometimes we get too empathetic over what others are going through that we forget our own pain, our own struggles. How many times have you had a full plate of very palatable food yet your appetite betrays you with the thought, ‘children in Syria are dying with hunger, I don’t deserve this food. I don’t deserve this privilege’ and you just don’t feel like eating anymore. You look at Yemen and see another disastrous view. You look at Iraq, Nigeria, our own Kenya and you are just too helpless. Too much corruption, too much cruelty by our own leaders, too much poverty, hunger and gloom. You really really REALLY wish you could help but you just have no way. You want to go out and have fun but you see the children spread out all over the town begging and you feel, ‘how selfish am I to be happy when others are too sad, in too much anguish?’ Then it goes down to a personal level. You see that very lovely friend of yours fighting with cancer and just when you are about to do something for yourself, that punch of guilt comes in. And even when you decide to forget the entire world, you find the same grief in your own soul. Then comes the question, why is life just too distressful?

For a long while I was a victim of my own empathy but then I came to realize that truly, God never gives you pain unless that which you can handle. No, don’t say that is just a saying. This, is really true. I see my own siblings living in Yemen and they tell us of the scary nights where they can hear bombs nearby, where they can see the great infernos, the gunshots. They literally count the bombs being drop and their texts could go like, ‘they just threw the first…second…third…fourth…please pray for us…’ then they go offline. You are just left with frozen blood and you just can’t sleep till the morning to hear from them that they are okay. But they are still living!! They cook good food when they can, go to the village, shop, laugh, make jokes and despite everything else, they are grateful to be alive. They cry when they have to but they also enjoy life whenever they can. We see the examples of the Palestinians and we just admire their bravery and how strong they are; living in half houses for the other half is already down yet they are grateful for each morning. And their smiles could make you tear up. It makes you wonder, ‘how do they afford to smile with the kind of life they are living?’ But their firm faith and patience is because God has already said it that He will never over burden any of His servants. Don’t you trust God?

It’s good to be humane, to be empathetic but don’t let it take over your own life. Don’t make it neglect your own soul which needs so much care as well. Whatever problem you are going through, do know it will not last and most importantly, have faith that God will not let your grief last forever. This is your test so be patient please. Give your heart the attention you offer other people. Love yourself and have fun whenever you can. Cry when you feel like it but also don’t forget to smile and laugh. There is so much in life to look up to and anticipate. There might be too much suffering all over the world but there are also so many people who are doing great things. There are so many doctors who dedicated their lives to saving lives in war-torn areas, there are so many humanitarians helping different people, there are so many comedians dedicating their lives to make people like you smile. There are so many writers, poets, artists, photographers trying to create hope by their art. There are so many people creating a difference in other lives. Yes, even in this cruel world, there is still so much to be happy for. So never hesitate to be happy. Be happy always. Smile like you just won a lottery. Help other people like you have no problem of your own. Treat yourself to ice cream or pizza or whatever it is that you like. It doesn’t have to be your birthday or any celebration and if anyone asks you ‘what is the treat about?’ Do reply, ‘I am celebrating myself.’ I know circumstances sometimes don’t really allow you to treat yourself but you can do anything else that makes you happy; take a walk on the beach shore, paint, go for a boat ride, Swing, dance, anything! Create your own bucket list; your own personal wishes that only involve YOU and how to make YOU happy. Create it like you have just a few days in this life and live it up. Empty that bucket list. As for the rest of the world, don’t worry excessively about them. God has never forgotten His servants right? So remember them in your prayers always. Pray that God eases their battles…and yours too.

Don’t let the pain engulf you. Be patient. Appreciate life. Pray sincerely. Help others. Have Faith. Be hopeful. But most importantly, Be Happy Please 🙂

happiness2

Photo Courtesy: http://exploringpsyche.com/

by
Keep Reading
Creative Non-Fiction

FAILURE

By

Poem By: Aydaah (13 years)

Photo Courtesy: www.goodenessgracious.com

Failure is indeed the worst,
The disappointment inside your heart,
It haunts you from the present to the past.

Misery and pain rule the universe,
Failure a burning curse,
The failure has defeated each and every one of us.

To think that you have done enough,
To think that you have done you’re very best,
It always breaks even the little stuff,
Well what you thought was not the case.

Failure is in our blood and veins,
It’s washed your happiness with massive rains.

Failure will always, always shatter you,
From a beautiful painting,
Into a disastrous view.

by
Keep Reading
Creative Non-Fiction

WHEN BULLYING GETS SO REAL

By

Photo Courtesy: www.ayeina.com

When you have been a victim of bullying for a greater part of your childhood or even adulthood, the effects of it can be long-lasting. We often take for granted what we say and do to others; very much such that we ignore how much we have affected their lives. My mum told me her story of when she was very young of maybe not more than 10 years. So she was living with her aunty and cousins and one day her aunty trusted her with some money to go deliver to a teacher in her school, who was also a family member. She was so proud of herself. You know the feeling you get when you are trusted from a crowd and given the honour of delivering an amanah. As young as she was, she felt so confident and she walked into the staff room full of teachers with her head held high. She gave the money as expected but unfortunately, the teacher didn’t count the money when she received it (this again shows the importance of checking and confirming what we receive as soon as we get the amanah). Later on, the teacher reported that she received less money. So mum was summoned and asked why the money was less and she obviously defended herself that she gave it as it was. Three of the family members started interrogating her one after another taking turns. One would ask if she had taken the missing money and beat her up in the process, when he got tired another would come and do the same. They kept beating her and beating her until one of them said, ‘we won’t stop beating you unless you admit you took the money.’ Having no other way out, mum confessed of a crime she hadn’t committed and it was only then that they stopped beating her. Although she was let go, she admits that to date, that is one thing she will never forget in her life. That she was declared a thief and harassed and hurt badly for something she hadn’t done. While growing up, she kept saying that she will never forgive those who did that to her. No I don’t blame her. I have several people that to date I say I will never forgive. It’s not easy as one may presume. One side of me really wants to forgive and forget but there is that bitterness you live with for the rest of your live. You become just so annoyed with people and life. You really can’t wait for karma to get back at them. In fact you wish that when it all happens, you be right there to remind them, ‘remember what you did to me? Now this is karma paying you back.’

In psychology, bullying is a distinctive pattern of deliberately harming and humiliating others. They couldn’t exist without victims and they don’t usually just pick on anyone; they single out people who lack assertiveness and radiate fear far long before they encounter bullying, which is so true. I have built walls as big as the great wall of China around me. Its defensive mechanism on always. You don’t wait to be attacked, you are already keeping guard. Most people think bullying is just the physical; pushes, shoves, hitting, kicking and punching yet there is the verbal one of name calling (which I’ve been a victim of), taunts, threats, ridicule and insults. There is also the psychological/emotional manipulation whereby someone blackmails you emotionally so that they can get what they want, a tactic which is mostly used by girls. They keep you close by, discovering your secrets and weaknesses then pap! using you by that. So girl bullies mostly use intimacy as a medium of control. Oh please don’t ask me what I have had to do because of girl bullies. They sometimes spread vicious rumours, mock you; mock you really badly at your looks, your tribe, race, your name, just anything they can mock you about; openly and secretly but since some girls can barely shut up, word will always get back to you. They tell others to stop liking you, they try to dominate you, look at you like crap, Intimidate you, threaten to withdraw friendship in order to get their way or simply giving you the silent treatment. As for boys, their aggression plays into goals shown to be important to them such as physical dominance, have things or instrumentality.

Something like what happened to mum happened to me too in my primary school. It was a boarding and day school but the rules were so strict that no day scholar should ever share or bring food to the boarders. Well it is an absurd rule but they say it is for ‘health and hygiene’ purposes. So my ‘friends’ yes, in quotes, used to borrow me food nonetheless. And since many know of how it’s hard for me to say no, I still used to buy them food or share the one from home as well. So there is a day the boarders were summoned to name out all the day scholars who offer them food. Majority of the boarders in other classes refused to mention names but apparently that wasn’t really my lucky day. So someone, from among’st the ones I used to give food to, mentioned my name. Don’t ask me how I was punished that day. Ask me what my skin colour was by the time I left the office. I had been caned below the knees and the place had turned greenish black such that my aunty had to come to school and complain about the severe punishment. Then you go to class and someone simply says ‘sorry?’ SORRY?!! Seriously?? No, you are not about to say sorry and expect me to forgive you. Some of you will probably think it’s silly to have not forgotten such a small thing. It may be a small thing to you but for me it wasn’t. It was betrayal. Betrayal that made me unable to walk comfortably for a number of days. You know, when you have been a victim of bullying for a long time, you become submissive, so did I. So yes, I still kept sharing my food with these same ‘friends’. I still kept doing homework for people, still giving out my book for people to copy, still giving and giving out more, still doing so much for people I called ‘friends’.

You know, it is so unfortunate that we come from a society that doesn’t value emotions or at what stage of our emotional make up we are at. All we care about is how far we are in material life and the only other important issue we ask about is why or when you are going to get married. It is so unfortunate because people keep their calm in these issues and be like, ‘who in Africa commits suicide because of bullying? I mean, we are born in a scorching sun continent in a hungry continent in a miserable continent where slavery took place. You have no right to be in pain, hurt or even say what you really feel. You have no right to be suicidal, I mean did you forget that the Maumau fighters died for you to live in this independent country?! You forget that what goes into your stomach is more important than those silly thoughts and complaints you have about everything and everyone? You forget that Mandela was jailed for 27 freaking years in jail confined to a small cell, the floor his bed, a bucket for a toilet, he was forced to do hard labor in a quarry. He was allowed one visitor a year for 30 minutes. For you; people like you; for Africa and Africans, for racism to end!! Grow up kid, grow up!!’ And then after that we are surprised when we see people become monsters. You made them so. You, who keeps being reckless with your words and actions. You who keeps complaining whenever victims talk and write about it. Oh, today, for once I won’t bother what anyone will say about this. Please, if you are in pain, if you feel like your world is crumbling by, if you feel like you are just being used then talk about it. Take a speaker and shout it out if it is what makes you feel better. Write. Write many many paragraphs as you wish. Write because it is the only thing that will make you relieved. Draw, shout. Do whatever you want. Please do it but just don’t kill yourself. Do it because you are the only one who knows how much pain you are in. You are the only one who knows what is your drug and what can make you feel better. Let them call you an attention seeker, they called me that several times but are they any better being egoistic judging you by your pain? NO. So let them call you what they want but do what it takes to make you feel better.

Never underestimate the effects of bullying and manipulation. It is like a ghost haunting you forever and unfortunately for me, it took me so long to realize that my ugly past made me end up to be a door mat in my adulthood. So heal yourself in your own way. I usually take these breaks from the world I call, ‘self discovery/realization breaks’ where I just sit alone and think about my life, how I have been and how to be better. I cut out communication with people and log out of social media. Trust me, it is healthy. People will think you are just being a weakling but again, never mind. They know not what your journey has been or is.

There are several reasons why a bully becomes a bully and why a victim becomes a victim. A bully is someone who hasn’t learned kindness, compassion and respect. They usually don’t need a reason to hurt others, they just want to feel stronger, smarter or better than the person they are bullying. They direct their frustrations, hurt, anger and difficulty to others. They just like to feel tough for most of the times they are more physically built than the victim. Sometimes people engage in bullying simply because they are part of a group and not because it is their behaviour. But since they want to feel part and parcel of the group, they participate in anti social behaviour. Well for those who know Miss Agatha Trunchbull of the Matilda movie, then she is definitely the perfect example of a big bad bully. And as for the victims they usually fall into the bully’s trap probably for being at the wrong place at the wrong time i.e. working in a place where the bully considers you a threat, being competent i.e. successful, innovative , creative…you are just prone to envy. Being popular, having strength in character i.e. honesty, integrity, trustworthy, having vulnerability i.e. low assertiveness, Revenge i.e. sometimes a person responds to bullying with bullying or having raised concerns about bullying, fraud, safety or any matter where the bully feels implicated or at risk as a result.

Most of the times, victims cry and assume defensive postures. Being submissive is one of them. Not only do they not fight back, they hand over their possessions, handsomely rewarding their attackers psychologically and materially; powerfully reinforcing them. Perhaps another worst memory I have of my past as a child was how I sometimes used to really convince and persuade my sister to give out her stuff to ‘my friends’ even when she didn’t want to simply because they liked the thing. It haunts me to date for in turn, it made me a bully to my sister.

Bullies’ ultimate goal is to get a response. When they manipulate you psychologically or emotionally, they want to use you to get something i.e. ‘You know you are my best friend and I have no other friend but you, please help me do this…or give me this thing i really like it’ and when they get physical, it is usually to get to your nerves. They want you to fight back and most importantly, LOSE.

The best way to handle a bully is by avoidance; just know when to walk away. You don’t have to listen to them. Sometimes you can use humour to defuse a bully who may be about to attack i.e. ‘guess who is talking? The one with a D at school wants to give me life lessons’. Well maybe not exactly humour but sarcasm. Trust me, sarcasm has been my number two weapon. Well you will know of the first weapon in my next article where i will write about the door mat personality in shaa Allah. Anyway, another way to handle a bully is being assertive i.e. ‘Just back off please…’ or ‘Get a life’. Also you can recruit a friend. Having a friend is one of the most powerful protective measures. Oh ask me about it. I’ve been hiding behind my best friend in forever and she is just untouchable lol. She is God sent trust me 🙂 Another way, you may seek friendly people to be one of them. It helps when you have people to support you and help you stand up when you fall.

As for parents, you need to ensure your children have assertive behaviour. Ask them how their peers treat them, model good relationships at home because bullies are not born, they are made and it starts from the home they grow up in. Instill in your children empathy and compassion; let them learn how to be humane from a young age. One other important thing we should know and let children know too is that bullying is bad for the bullies themselves more than anyone else. It makes them angry and furious people which later on greatly affects their relationships i.e. they become batterers. They usually make identical cognitive distortions and attribute hostility to others where it doesn’t exist. This misinterpretation gives bullies and batterers alike a way to justify violence. It is the greasy gear with which they typically shift onto others the blame for their own misdeeds. Bullies also tend to have their children becoming bullies for they feed the next generation with a belief that the world is an uncaring place, an excuse for another go at hostility.

This thing is very real. Just because we rarely have suicide cases in Africa for bullying as in Western world doesn’t mean people are not victims. Be careful how you treat people. You may have forgotten something you did to someone which you may as well be taking so lightly or silly but someone out there is so bitter with you and forgiving you is not in their dictionary. As for you my dear who has or is a victim, learn to stand up for yourself, and this message comes back to me for I am in my healing stage; trying to calm down all these demons that have been long hidden. Seek help, talk to people you trust and not just anyone or ‘friend’, write do whatever makes you at ease. This is in the long run your journey and no one else’s. This is your shoe that no one has worn so own it by standing up for your rights, your thoughts and your happiness! And share this, share as much as you can. Let others know it is okay, that you are in a journey, that you are growing, that you are healing. Let others know it is okay to seek help and talk of it. And by help I mean going for therapy to a counselor, psychologist or psychiatrist. Don’t let them swallow pills. Be there for victims and most importantly be understanding. I am going to be forever grateful for all those who stood by me when I was too weak to stand up; my family and close friends. Those who forever encourage my healing. Do the same to someone else please. Make a difference today in someone’s life.

References: www.psychologytoday.com
Bullyonline.org

by
Keep Reading
Creative Fiction

DEAR PAIN

By

Photo Courtesy: www.ayeina.com

Dear Pain,

From the moment I was born and as I grew up, I found myself already betrothed to you. It’s strange isn’t it? How does someone get betrothed at such an age? I mean, what if I turned out to be a vampire just when I turned thirteen? Weird. But it’s more of the culture issue I guess. As far as my memories go by into the past, I remember how you were so obsessed with me. You always fancied that both our names start with ‘P’ and you would always chorus it lovingly ‘Pain and Paranoia’. You were so loving yet so bitter. You were carrying all the world’s misery on your shoulders yet you still afforded to spend time with me. You would walk hand in hand with me and you would introduce me to all your friends. I still remember your best friends; Ego, Selfish and Evil. I remember how you would praise me in front of them as if I were the only girl in this world. You wanted the whole world to know how much you loved me and that you would never depart me. I remember all those days you would take me out with your so called best friends and we would have ‘fun’. That’s what you used to tell me; ‘let’s go have fun’ yet all I remember was hearing the four of you mock people and laugh so loudly. It used to puzzle me a lot. Well, you were quite older than me so I thought maybe I didn’t really understand what this ‘fun’ really meant. For the foolish girl I was, I’d stand next to you; your hand still firmly holding mine, just staring at you and your friends.

I still remember Ego; he was TALL. Really tall that I really had to strain my neck to see his face. But he was still elegant. He was quite handsome and I used to wonder why I wasn’t betrothed to him instead. He always had his hands in his pockets and talk with a firm voice. He walked with a bounce and his head was always held high. Is that what they call confidence? I used to admire him but that was then, I was barely fifteen. At that age you barely know how to differentiate between a cheetah and a tiger. I was so naive…but now…now I know everything in this life.

Selfish was hilariously short and it really used to make me laugh at how the four of you could be best friends. I mean, your physiques were so opposite. It is the first thing anyone would notice upon seeing you together. Anyway back to selfish. Selfish was so over confident. I have never seen anyone think so high of themselves. He always wanted to get the biggest share of everything for he thought he deserves it.To me, he looked a bully. I used to see him snatch food from the beggar’s mouth. Have you ever seen anyone so cruel like that? But selfish thought he deserves it. Sometimes I used to see him look at me maliciously and it used to freak me out. He probably also thought that he should have me instead of you. Well, you never noticed all that because you were always busy praising to the world about me without looking at their reactions. Maybe you trusted them so much??

Evil…evil was ugly. Damn ugly and ironically, he used to boast about himself like there is no one on this earth like him. Everything about him was ugly; his croaky laughter and even his dark enigmatic smile. He was rough and tough. He was all the three of you combined; he was torment, torture, unpleasant and wicked all together. He always considered himself the ring leader of your group.

I still remember the night your friends raped me. Oh…how can I forget the misery that came after. How can I forget the sadness and despair? You know what pain, you always used to make me wonder which side are you really? When your best friends raped me, you were mad. So mad that it worried me you would explode. Yet you decided to cover it up for them by marrying me. You thought that would make me forget. You thought you could make me happy once again.

Years went by and I gave birth to our first child; insomnia. Oh my son…he wouldn’t let me sleep. He made me turn and roll on the bed restlessly. I cried and cried until the wee hours of the night. I cried until I had no more tears. I cried until my pillow was too wet. I cried for you; because of you, for the past, present and future. I cried that you were the only person who loved me so dearly in this life. The only person who wouldn’t leave me alone. I treated myself with lots of chocolates and bowls of ice cream. As people say, treating oneself like that is good for the stressed soul…yet this technique didn’t work for me. My boy troubled me…but where were you Pain? You were just there with me; like a shadow. Always there yet never giving me the happiness I needed.

Insomnia grew and soon we had our second child. It was a girl this time. I was so happy. I wanted to make her my best friend, teach her how to cook and how to dress up. I had so many plans for her and for us. I called her ‘eating issues’. She was so fragile and weak. She had no appetite even to live. Her eyes looked tired and she was weightless like cotton. Eating issues worried me a lot. I worried that she was going to die soon yet she still lives; still as fragile. Still as weak.

Having too troublesome kids is not easy especially when you have an obsessive husband like you Pain. Anyway, God has now blessed me with another bump. A third one is coming. I think it’s a ‘she’. Don’t ask me how I know this. I am a mother, I can feel it. I have been thinking of aborting her for quite a while now but i’m a mother after all, I don’t think I can be that cruel. I think I will name her ‘pending issues’ for she will be born whilst her mother is still worrying about how much the past will affect her future. I hope ‘pending issues’ won’t trouble me. I hope she can be my hope.

Insomnia and Eating issues have grown to be teenagers now yet each one of them is still worrying their mother in a different way. Insomnia wouldn’t let me rest and stop crying. Eating issues wouldn’t let me have a peace of mind or a healthy life. ‘Pending issues’ is soon coming by…

My dear husband; Pain, I have never really enjoyed the idea of having a man so obsessed with me. I’ve had enough of you. I want to be free once again. I want to breath fresh air once again. I want to fly and be happy. I just don’t want to live with you anymore…

I am sorry Pain…I really need a divorce from you. Please grant me that as soon as possible. I already kept the divorce papers under my pillow. My very wet pillow. I hope the papers are still safe. Please do sign them soon. If you truly love me then do it for my sake. Please. Allow me to be the free woman I’ve always wanted to be. Don’t worry about our children. I promise to take good care of them. I was also planning to change their names soon. I was thinking of calling our son, Brave instead of Insomnia. As for our daughter Eating issue, let’s call her ‘Love’ and when our last baby finally comes by, I will call her ‘Hope’. I am sure you like the names right? I know you can trust me to take care of them and raise them with good manners and health. Please do take care of yourself as well and I hope we can meet years from now where your name would then be something like ‘Delight’ or probably ‘Euphoria?’. No, ‘Jubilant’ is even better! My name then would be ‘Joy’ and you will be able to chorus our new names once again, ‘Jubilant and Joy’. I promise we will be happy then.

Before I end this heart-breaking letter, I want to really thank you for being there with me throughout; for the lessons learnt and for the undying love.

Your so-long-loving wife,
Your soon-divorcee,

Paranoia.

by
Keep Reading
Creative Fiction

THE UNSPOKEN WORD

By

Photo Courtesy: https://3.bp.blogspot.com/

Selective Mutism. That’s the medical term for what I went through for a good portion of my childhood. Crucible of Suffering is more accurate if you ask me. Apparently millions of kids all over the world suffer from it every year, but none of them went to school where I did.

Mother carefully tied the yellow scarf on my head so as not to tamper with my neatly plaited hair and slowly led me towards the fancy yellow car. Yellow was undoubtedly her favorite color, but I didn’t understand why she was forcing me like it too. I just stared at small edges of the yellow scarf that were hanging to my tiny shoulders and shrugged.

But I have to tell her today, I said to myself as I treaded along. But how? I scratched my head. I have to find a way, I was now almost in tears.I don’t want to go to that school again. No. Never again. Soon tears were rolling down my face and she turned to face me.

“What is wrong mami?” she said as she stopped in her tracks. She lifted her hands and wiped the tears from my face all the while whispering softly, ‘Don’t cry.’

“When are you going to get used to your school? It’s been more than six months now since you joined,” she once again said using her hands.

How am I going to tell you mother? I thought to myself.

Mother held my hand firmly and made me sit in her sparkling clean car.

“Your teacher says you haven’t yet learnt to write the letters…you have to work harder mmh?” she gestured to me and softly patted my head.

But that is the problem! How can I tell you anything when I can’t even write besides everything else?

When you can’t talk or write you cry.

When you cry, you get reprimanded and punished or at best pitied.

I all but squeezed my mother’s hand as we approached the school gate. I could see my colleagues playing in the compound with so much zeal, all dressed in uniform pink skirts and white t-shirts. I stared at them for a moment. They were all younger than me…and smarter. At least they know how to write.

Mother kissed me on the cheek and gave me a slight push towards my teacher; Miss Khadija who was standing some steps away. My teacher was elegantly tall, but “tall” wasn’t adequate to describe her height. She was reallytall! I always feared looking up at her because I thought my neck might break in the process. But that wasn’t all; Miss Khadija always wore that same scarf throughout the six months that I had spent in the school. She wore it tight enough only to reveal the middle part of her face which made her look old and grumpy. She always managed to match her dark veil matched with her scarf but even that could not distract fromthe fact that she was scary.

She bundled her way to where I was stood and hugged me so tightly her expensive perfume flooded my nostrils. I wriggled myself out of her grip and quickly walked away.

I stood by the wall of the school and hunched; with my hands covering my tiny face except for my teary eyes.Then Leila, the kindergarten prima donna with hordes of sheep following her around, appeared with a smirk on her face. She pulled out her tongue and made funny faces to me. I decided not to bulge from my place. But soon enough, a whole gang of other bullies joined her and were now laughing hysterically at me. I tried to speak out but all I could make were incomprehensible sounds, useless mumbles. My mouth betrayed me again.

Selective mutism, you still remember that term right? I should have told you it’s worse when you are deaf as well as selectively mute. Once in a while though, the rage that stems from being different and misunderstood can be quite liberating. I rushed to Leila and pulled her scarf off. I got hold of her long pigtails and pulled them with all my energy. Her screams filled the entire compound immediately. The other bullies suddenly freaked out and called Miss Khadija. I was breathing heavily when Miss Khadija finally succeeded in stopping the fight. I saw Leila say something to our teacher in between tears, although I couldn’t exactly understand what she was saying, I knew she was hurt. And that was enough to satisfy me; at least for the day

During the lunch break, Miss Khadija came and sat opposite me. She slid my lunch box across the table and stared me in the eyes. I looked away to where the other children were playing. I sighed with a longing; I wished I could have friends too, even if just one. I sighed again My helplessness was killing me!

Miss Khadija drew my lunch box closer to her. My lip-reading was not perfect but I understood the words she mouthed to me perfectly. I was to be punished for losing my temper that morning, not that my account for that event mattered. I stared at her long nails as she grabbed my sandwich, pushed it in her mouth quickly and gobbled it down, maintaining her stare as if to gauge my reaction. She cleared my lunch in no time and left my table without a word. Mother has to know about all this…I have to learn how to write! I declared with a finality.

I grabbed my book and held the pencil firmly with all fingers. I slowly started drawing the curve to shape an ‘a’, struggling my way through. After what seemed to be an endless energy-draining hour, I wrote my first letter. It was enough to make me jump up in delight.

I am going to write a letter to mother soon! Yes I will!

by
Keep Reading
Creative Non-Fiction

THE PAIN OF BETRAYAL

By

THE PAIN OF BETRAYAL

By Lubnah Abdulhalim

Photo Courtesy: Salem_Beliegraphy

I remember when I was thirteen years old, my closest friend decided to replace me as her best friend with another girl. I was apparently so hurt at that and wrote her a two paged letter filled with so much bitterness and was listing down all the sacrifices I did for her sake and the way she didn’t appreciate. As i was writing the letter, my mother appeared and saw it. she read it through and gasped with astonishment, ‘you carry all this load in your heart?!’ and i cant forget how much she scolded me for concentrating on friendship that much instead of my studies as i was a candidate by then. All in all, my point is not at how my mother scolded me or what happened after that. Many years later now, I look back at that situation and wish that the only betrayal that could ever exist was like that one whereby an innocent thirteen year old is filled with bitterness because her best friend replaced her.

As someone once said, ‘every man faces seven enemies in his lifetime; sickness, hunger, betrayal, envy, greed, old age and finally death.

As I grew up, I realized how naïve I was and that the world is actually like a battle field. so many wolves ready to attack you just the moment you trip. The saddest thing about betrayal though is that it never comes from your enemies, it comes from the people you loved the most.

As John Le Carre said ‘love is whatever you can still betray. Betrayal can only happen if you love.’ No one could ever dispute this fact that betrayal only happens when you love, because you trusted in the first place. Of course you wouldn’t trust your enemy right? therefore, betrayal never happens with your enemies, it only happens with your loved ones.

We live in a world where you can’t really trust anyone completely. It takes years to build trust and yet, just a few seconds to break it. We live in a world whereby you can’t even trust to leave your wife alone for some few hours, in the fear that another man, probably could be even your neighbour, takes over your place just the moment you leave.

Betrayal has led to so much pain. They say time heals all wounds but they forget that the scar will forever be there. People may forgive but will never forget the deep pain they felt and of course, nothing will ever be the same again.

Sometimes, a mother betrays her child. One would wonder how? but haven’t we seen all those many children appearing on our televisions, with deep cuts, burns, mutilated body parts just because of a small mistake they did? Yes, she betrayed her child. He trusted her, he knew she would never want any harm for him, he knew she would protect her and what did she do instead? she was the one holding the knife, the one holding the flame ready to burn, the one holding a panga ready to chop…the one who put the poison in his food. Yes, that is betrayal. When a father rapes his own daughter and maybe, she even gets pregnant and the girl lives the rest of her life being haunted. Life will never be the same again for her.

Betrayal is when we all put our trust and hope in that leader. As we die with hunger and thirst, we still had the energy to stand up and have faith that change will come with this leader. It is that kind of hope that never dies and we all vote for him, thinking we would never be hungry and thirsty again. But alas! greed is all he ever had.

Betrayal is when you love someone so deeply and just suddenly, they shatter all your dreams into small irreplaceable pieces of glass. Even picking up the pieces will cut you once again so you let them right there with the undying hope that they would realize what damage they caused and maybe…just maybe come back.

Betrayal doesn’t only break your heart, but also darkens your soul. You will never forget the pain and many have changed due to that kind of pain.

Trust is like a mirror, once broken, you may try to repair it but no matter what you will always still see the cracks. So be very careful on whom you trust and value the people who trust you and keep up to their expectations. Don’t disappoint them for giving you the most valuable thing they can ever offer; TRUST!

You are not a fool that you trusted, that you loved, that you had faith…they are the fools for lying to someone who trusted them. So forget what hurt you but never forget what it taught you!

by
Keep Reading
Coast & Culture

THE STRUGGLE

By

Photo Courtesy: Salem_Beliegraphy

Mama’s laughter was always hysterical. It would echo all around the three-bedroom house. It was something I always enjoyed hearing, especially when Mama Aisha came home. The short stout woman always had a story to tell; an adventure to narrate. I would hear her talk endlessly as if there was no tomorrow. White saliva would gather at the end of her lips and she would rarely pause during her narrating spree. Being the young boy I was, I always found it amusing just watching her lips move up and down. I usually wondered whether mama really believed her stories. I never asked but whenever Mama Aisha was telling her endless stories, I would keep glancing from mama then to her, trying to capture mama’s expressions.

Mama would squint her eyes tightly to show how deeply engrossed she was in the story and she didn’t fail to bulge her beautiful black almond shaped eyes when there was need to. In short, she was a good listener, whether she really believed the stories or not.

I could not withstand missing out on Mama Aisha’s adventures and thus, whenever I would just hear the doorbell and her loud voice start narrating from the doorstep, I would quickly slip out from my room, run downstairs and sit on Mama’s laps.

“ Hehe! Mamake Fatma!” she started with a great urgency.

“Ehe? Nini tena?!” Mama asked quickly; always prepared for a story.

“Today at the market…hehe!” she said; purposely pausing to keep us in suspense.

“What happened in the market?” Mama asked from the kitchen as she made her some juice.

“That lady…I don’t even know what she was thinking!”

“What lady?” mama asked excitedly.

“Juma’s niece! You do remember her right? The one who had gone to America for her studies!”

“Yes I do remember her. Her name is Leila. What happened to her?” mama asked, more calmly.

“I don’t even know where to start!” The suspense growing ever more.

“From the start mama Aisha…from the start,” Mama said, rolling her eyes.

“Basi Leila leo! She came to the market in those short tight dresses from America. She didn’t even have her hijab on! I heard she snatched a mzungu’s husband and came with him to Kenya. So sad!” she said as she vigorously shook her head.

Mama shook hers too, as if in shame.

“Watoto wa siku hizi!” mama Aisha said before circling her index finger around her temple, as if to express how much abnormal the current generation is.

“May God guide us and our children. Western life is really having a negative influence on our girls and boys,” mama said, caressing my hair.

“Yes indeed,” Mama Aisha said before she stood up to leave.

She chattered away until she was outside the door. I always stood out to see her disappear into the third lane with her quick steps, frequently throwing the edges of her long scarf to her back. Each day she would go to the market and come by with a brand new story. It would either be about the thief that was beaten up or how the vegetable vendor smells like rotten fish. As I escorted her with my eyes as she walked away, I always wondered what it would be like to have a mother like that.

I grew up frequently hearing mama being called ‘mama Fatma’. I always wondered why they still called her by my older sister’s name while she no longer lived with us. I still remember that tragic incident that shattered our family forever; the night when Fatma called from America. She had finally graduated and now she had her degree in hand. Mama sounded very excited talking to her; telling her to take the first plane back home. Suddenly, she fell silent and handed papa the phone. I stood still at the door, listening quietly. I could see how much mama was straining to hold back her tears. Papa took the phone, gesturing to mama, as if asking what was wrong. It didn’t take long before I saw papa’s face turn red with rage. His voice grew into a thunderous roar as he barked several questions into the phone at once.

“What do you mean you got married?! How could you do that without seeking our blessings?!”

I didn’t like the sight of my parents but for some reason I couldn’t detach myself from the room. I looked at mama once again who was now seated at the edge of the bed, hugging herself tightly and crying silently. I stared at her for a while before I was startled by the end of the conversation when papa slammed the phone into the floor. I had never seen him that livid, even for a policeman who had been through so much stressful times. Papa had always been very patient. I always considered him to be the coolest police officer ever, and now I held my breath, unsure of what would happen next and afraid for the first time ever around my papa.

He moved around the room in restless steps, fidgeting with his fingers. He then sat next to mama before he turned to her after a short pause.

“You knew that she was interested in an English non-Muslim man?”

Mama nodded slowly before sniffing loudly.

“I…I tried to stop her…I did, I swear!” She sobbed.

“You should have told me!” papa said with finality before he stood and left.

The whole neighbourhood soon knew about Fatma’s marriage. It wasn’t surprising at all that they knew even without mama telling them. The news just had to get to Mama Aisha and the whole neighbourhood soon knew the story. Some friends came to console her silently and Mama Aisha was obviously there. Soon though, as with all other stories, it died away and people found more interesting topics to gossip about.

We didn’t hear from Fatma for quite some time. It was much later that she called to inform Mama that she was expecting a baby. Being the golden heart lady that Mama was, it wasn’t surprising that she was soon in frequent communication with Fatma. She often tried to give the phone to papa so he would also talk to her but he would push it off by saying, ‘I don’t have a daughter.’

Papa was my biggest role model and mentor throughout my life. He was tall, masculine and his brown skin shined under the sun.  He walked in quick steps and he spoke very little. I looked up to him with so much admiration as he sat with his colleagues and held what seemed to be very important conversations. He never spoke much but it was very clear how the visitors frequenting our house respected his opinions and thoughts. My friends were always amused that papa was a policeman, but what was even more amusing was that he wasn’t rough as many expected; he was simply a tough hard-willed gentleman. He and mama always took turns entertaining guests at home. They would talk on politics, the society and many other things. I always felt proud when he’d call me along to sit with him as he spoke with his guests.

He sometimes took me along to the police station where he worked in Mtwapa whenever he could. Because of this I always though he wanted me to become a policeman like him and like his father and his grandfather too. It felt like family heritage that the men ended up being protectors of the law, or more importantly, guardians of the common mwananchi. In fact, for the sake of continuity, I never imagined myself doing any other job apart from being a police officer. So I just followed him without complaining.

Mtwapa was the kind of town that had a stretch of bars from one end of the town to the next, which meant the police always had their hands full. I would stand outside the police station and watch drunkards stumbling as they walked past and the provocatively-dressed women who had no business being out so late.  It was a queer town. When sunset approached, just before the evening prayer, I would get a stool from the office and sit by the gate next to the guard. I was always amused and concerned by the sheer number of bars situated just next to churches and mosques. It seemed like a never-ending struggle between servants of their own desires and purists. There were times when I could hear the call to prayer blend with the loud booming music from the nearby bars and I’d just shake my head. Strange world.

When papa was done with his work, he joined me where I was seated, shook his head and said, “Where Satan is involved, fickle humans always grow weak. It is the end of the world.” I slowly nodded in agreement. I was thirteen years old; old enough to understand his perception of life.

One day, after another long one at school, I stood by the bridge together with my friends watching the beautiful ocean beyond. That had always been our norm. We would stand there for as long as it would take before dispersing upon hearing the evening call of prayer.

I fastened my steps and dashed into the house to avoid mama’s scolding for coming late but she didn’t even notice my entrance. I could hear some loud weeping from the sitting room. That isn’t mama’s voice, I thought to myself. Puzzled, I peeped at where she was seated and saw that it was Mama Aisha who was crying uncontrollably.  She was chattering away, pausing once in a while to wipe away her tears and blow her nose. I couldn’t clearly hear what she was saying but I could read the deep grief on her face. She kept calling out her eldest son in a depressing tone. I inched closer to the door to eavesdrop some more when papa appeared and gestured to me to follow him.

I rushed into my room, dropped my back pack and changed into a kanzu. Papa was walking really fast and I could see he was deep in thought. I tried to ask him what had happened to Mama Aisha but all he did was whisper, ‘Not now!’

When we got back home after prayers, Mama Aisha was in the company of another elderly lady. I could see that she was still crying and all I ever heard was, “He was going to Dubai and now they say they found him at the Kenya-Somalia border! This is too much! They won’t even allow me to see him…” Papa interrupted my attention as chaperoned me off to my room and ordered me to stay in there.

Back in my room, I pressed my ears to the door. My curiosity was really getting the better of me. It was hours later after I had climbed in bed when I heard some commotions from our front door. I rushed downstairs immediately to find Mama Aisha’s husband at the door, yelling at her.

“Come back to the house woman! Why are you bugging everyone about your useless son who can’t even help himself?!”

Mama Aisha cried as mum held her hand.

“I’m looking for help unlike you who does not even care about his own son! The only thing you ever know to do is spend your day at the maskani and chew khat and get high on your family!”

I stood still on the stairs hoping I would not be noticed. Papa led Mama Aisha’s husband out of the house and they talked for a moment. Then papa called Mama Aisha outside as well. I never found out what happened next for I was asked by mama to go to sleep.

The next morning Mama didn’t come to wake me up for morning prayers. I woke up several minutes late and rushed to my parents’ room. Mama was busy folding clothes in a suitcase and Papa was fully dressed; checking some papers on the bed.

“Where are you going papa?!” I said as I went to kiss his hand.

“You have to go to the mosque by yourself today son. I will pray on my way to the bus station” he said without looking at me.

“Where to?!”

“To find justice son. To find justice,” he said as he picked up the now closed suitcase and left the room. Mama followed him to the door and waved him goodbye.

“What is happening mama?” I asked, worried without question.

Mama took my hand and made me sit down next to her.

“Your dad is going to help Mama Aisha find her son. He will be leaving with her husband to find out what really happened.”

“But why was he arrested mama?”

“They say he was caught at the border heading to Somalia. The police are now holding him as a terrorist suspect….so sad. I’ve seen Hassan grow up in the neighborhood all his life. He was a good boy,” mama said, tears welling up.

“Do you think that he might really be involved with terrorists?” I asked as I stared at mama, scared of the answer she might give.

“That is what your papa has gone to find out. There might be a misunderstanding, maybe a case of mistaken identity, or at least we hope it is so…Last we knew was that he was heading to Dubai for a business trip.”

“But what if he is found guilty mama?”

She took a long breath and said, “Then it would be very unfortunate…” She patted my back and asked me to prepare myself to go to the mosque.

A week passed without a word from papa and mama was getting so worried. The days seemed so long and the nights were dragging. Mama could barely eat. She had dark marks under her eyes and her face was so pale. Weeks turned into months and the silence was deafening. But Mama was not alone in this misery. Every evening upon entering the house from school, I would hear mama Aisha’s loud weeping; she had not only lost her son but her husband too. Mama was mourning silently, she would let her tears flow yet she was too quick to wipe them away. She made sure to smile when with me to make me believe that she was alright yet I knew how much she was hurting deep inside. Then finally we got the call we waited so long for; a call from papa, only it wasn’t papa on the phone but someone else using his phone. No one had to tell me that, it was just so clear from how mama talked. She had started talking with a very excited tone before her voice slowly died away.

“What do you mean?!” she said in a slow yet anxious tone. Her eyes were watery and her hands were visibly shaking. My heart was beating fast and I kept hovering around mama, trying hard to hear what was being said on the other end. Mama suddenly dropped the phone and fell on her bed. She sat frozen as tears welled up her face.

“What happened mama?! What happened?!” I asked, panicking. She sat still in her position, staring at the wall as the tears mixed with her running nose.

“What happened?” I asked, almost shouting and in my anxiety, I broke down too. I hugged her and stayed in her arms for the longest time.

Papa and Mama Aisha’s husband had been shot; Mama told me in the quietest, most depressing tone. Millions and millions of questions raced across my mind as the house started getting crowded with visitors coming to console us. I watched Mama as she sat silently in a corner, wiping her tears. Mama Aisha was seated next to her and she kept wailing uncontrollably. I was confused and depressed, but mostly I was angry; I did not know what or who exactly I was angry at but all I knew was that the fury inside me was going to consume me. What had happened to papa? What had gone so wrong that he was shot? Who had shot him?!

The next morning I bought all the local newspapers I could get my hands on and sat in the sitting room, poring over each one.

‘A local policeman shot dead by unknown people during his investigative probe into the arrest of one terror suspect …’

‘…shot along with the suspect’s father where he was planning to release the terrorist suspect from the hands of law…’

‘It is alleged that the policeman had connections with the terror suspect’s handlers…’

‘As to the question of who could have carried out this heinous act, that still remains a mystery…’

‘Could it really be possible that an officer of the law was so deeply connected with a terror group …?’

I pushed the newspapers away. My anger had now turned to bitterness and my mind seemed to be moving in circles. I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry, I wanted to hit a wall; I just needed to do something. I looked up to see mama standing at the window staring outside with longing; as if expecting papa to appear any moment. She sniffed slowly and wiped her tears every once in a while with her head scarf.

“I talked to Fatma, she cried so much. Your papa died before they reconciled,” mama said between tears, “She will be flying in this evening with her husband.”

I moved to where she stood and hugged her tightly.

Strange world this is, I muttered to myself, where in the struggle between good and bad, the bad always won!

I did not know how, but I was going to avenge papa’s murder somehow. Even if it meant the death of me!

…Even if it meant being on the Wrong side of the law!

#To be continued…

by
Keep Reading
Creative Non-Fiction

IN THE HUMILIATION OF NEED

By

IN THE HUMILIATION OF NEED

 By Lubnah Abdulhalim
Photo Courtesy: Salem_Beliegraphy
The word ‘need’ might as well be one of the most despicable words existing in the dictionary. Well, maybe not literally but we can say it is, hypothetically. Anything related to the word is often connected to misery, pain, agony or unhappiness. Whatever the need is; whether it is for food, water, money, shelter or anything else, there is no worse need than that of another human being. When need is attached to another human being, then there might as well be no other misery in this world than that.

Have you ever gone to ask for assistance from a person; it could be to ask for some money or help with an assignment or anything but once you get there, they will tell you to wait a moment. That moment may turn to minutes to hours and you are just seated there like a helpless sheep being extremely patient. Why? Because you are the one in need, so you have no option but endure all humiliation a person puts you through. After being kept there waiting for the whole day and maybe went without lunch, the person comes to you and asks you to come again the next day. That kind of game may go on for days before you finally get what you want. If you were hungry and it was food you were seeking, you might as well lack the appetite for the food anymore. By the end of it all, you are frustrated and humiliated beyond limits but you choose to swallow your pride and your personal dignity just because you are the one in need.

However much powerful one may be but once they are in need, arrogance often belongs to the satisfier of the need. It can be so annoying, agitating, irritating, frustrating how another human being can treat you like a puppet; “No, today I don’t have time to listen to your issue. Come next week.” And maybe at that moment, you’ve been going to the same person for the past two weeks. There has always been the option of just quitting and saying “I wont let another human being do this to me ever again” but being needy makes you weaker than you actually are. It makes you dependent; and being dependent is another miserable thing to live on.

Yet the most painful need is the need of affection from another. It is what messes up a person since they have attached all their happiness to this one person who may not even care for them as much as they do. It gives such kind of excruciating pain that may never heal. That kind of need; is like a basketball player that holds the ball in his/her little finger and swirls the ball with such expertize. The player is the satisfier of the need while you become the ball that is being controlled. You become as helpless as that ball and that player has power on what they want to do with you; whether to swirl and spin you in circles or drop you down or throw you from one hand to the other or simply kick you off.  It is like how a person can just come into your once peaceful life and mess around with your life like they are messing and playing with your hair. That kind of need is what has left most people dead of emotions; they are tired of need.

I always thought honesty should be made a must rule to be followed.  Lets keep it real and simple. You just be open and say, “hey buddy, so here’s the thing. I would really want to help you but I am sorry I can’t.” Or “Honestly, I don’t have sufficient time to teach you this. I think you’d better get someone else.” Or rather, “hey girl, I don’t want to play around with your feelings or to disrespect you…stop wasting your time on me.” It is undeniably true that the truth often hurts, but I believe its better you hit on point straight away so that the person in need knows how to sort themselves out. It’s not tasty to send a person up and down and in circles while you very well know you aint interested to help or offer what is expected of you. Believe me, all the blessings you were ever going to get by helping or assisting that needy person may all go to waste just because of the humiliation and suffering you made them go through before you finally gave them what they want. And if you are willing to help then do it with sincerity and without troubling the needy. Let’s learn how to be more compassionate. Today it may be me, him, or her who is need, tomorrow may be your day, who knows? After all, every dog has its day.

by
Keep Reading

Powered by WordPress