
‘i realised tht u cnt make sumone feel a certain way.either its thr or it isnt. id rather hurt nw mayb he wil remember y he wanted me in his life.otherwise its best ended nw.’
Look at the message above. The email with sporadic vowel use. This was from a young girl, maybe 24 years old, who had decided on taking a stand and making a very difficult but necessary decision for herself. Her words resonate in me. These are the kind of decisions that I should be taking with as much courage and self-respect.
But I am not like this girl. I do not possess her strength, her wisdom or her clarity. When I stand up for myself and take a bold step to protect and defend myself, I am shivering with fear. I am torn by regret and indecision. I am aching with emptiness. I am burning with the fever of loss. No, I am not like this girl. How I wish I was.
The doses are stronger this time. The ability to function greatly diminished. The mind plays havoc. Taunts and old fears surface and resurface. The vulnerability rises and defencelessness overwhelms sanity. The tears just DO NOT stop. I am not even at square one. I’m at square zero. I have stepped back even further from where I began. And the phone stays silent. As stubborn as you.
I don’t think I know how to live without you. I guess life is going to have to teach me. All over again.
I heard that a dervish, burning in the fire of poverty and sewing patch upon patch, said to comfort his mind:
‘We are contented with dry bread and a patched robe
For it is easier to bear the load of one’s own trouble
than that of thanks to others.’
Someone said to him: ‘Why sittest thou? A certain man in this town possesses a benevolent nature, is liberal to all, has girded his loins to serve the pious and is ready to comfort every heart. If he becomes aware of thy case, he will consider it an obligation to comfort the mind of a worthy person.’ He replied: ‘Hush! It is better to die of inanition than to plead for one’s necessities before any man.’
It is better to patch clothes and sit in the corner of patience
Than to write petitions for robes to gentlemen.
Verily it is equal to the punishment of hell
To go to paradise as a flunkey to one’s neighbour.
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