It's Smothering Me, I Have To Do Something...

Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.
-Martin Luther King

Yesterday after I logged out of all my accounts on Gmail and Yahoo, I began to read my blogs trying to recollect and bring back to reality the thought processes I had when I wrote those old posts. I even wondered if I am the same person who had written them. I realized nobody else can put it all that way! I found many errors in the posts. They were not exactly grammatical - the erratic behavior of my fingers that put some alphabets at absurd locations made the spelling mistakes look like grammatical. I am not justifying my language - alphabets come natural to me!

I had a long reading exercise on the computer yesterday as I read not only my blogs but several others. I am using Google Reader these days to collect feeds and present them to me from a single access place. Its making my work simple and I don't have to open any page other than my account there. I can even share the posts I like. I just have to click on a button and the blog-post's name appears on the widget on my blogs. Using this application from Google, I can keep a track of all the updates made on several blogs. It doesn't save any posts; it just makes them available to me.

A day my mother takes leave from her work always comes as a blessing to me if I have a holiday that day. I get to spend some time with her without worrying about her mood. She has problems from her work-place and I know it takes a lot from her away. We went for shopping in the morning then to meet my grandmother. I reached home in the evening and left to attend the reception of the marriage I attended a couple of days back. I missed the presence of a cousin there. We have more functions coming up.

I got around a blog yesterday and read many posts from it. It made me feel good; but it made me feel bad more. It was the feeling of overpowered emotions and the victor was the blog. Some things hit hard with no reason - or perhaps a reason we are afraid to talk about and don't even realize unless we think about others who have faced it. I have light all around me, I have the whole world open to be explored, to be enjoyed, to be overpowered - if that can be mentioned with no isolation of desire, and the only one who can change anything is Allah. But after I read this blog, I saw in real words that there can be people who have the whole world open in front of them, it will even help them enjoy it, they can overpower it if they want to; but the desire is lost, the prime mover of life - love - had exploited them.

Nobody is to be blamed - not even love. It does its work the way guided upon and the way it can be guided. Neither the reality nor the dream hurts - it hurts from inside. The pain can't be measured. Even an innocent child laughing in his sleep would hurt us making us feel that he is laughing on our plight. We try to be strong and tell ourselves that we can endure anything that pain gives, that we cannot be exploited by any emotion, that we have to stand tall and keep a smile on our face always. But it hurts from inside. Because a smile has to come from inside. I know how easy it is to make it appear in my eyes with nothing similar to it in my heart!

There might be no light ahead in some people's lives. But this blog introduced me to a person who has lots of light ahead of her but perhaps she has fallen in love with that only view. She won't let herself enter the joys of the brightness. She can't for the light betrayed her past. She had been made to weep. All I could do was read her words and comment. I don't know her. I could just pray for her sitting at my desk. I found myself naïve not able to understand what exactly I can say to make her feel better. My words could hurt her. So many people must have said her so much and tried to console her. I tried to put myself in her place to imagine what could make me feel better.

Putting me in her shoes was horror to me. The light I have mentioned looked really obfuscating. It was intimidating. I somehow felt that nothing could sooth and there was no face or a word that could make me feel good. It looked like the end - the end of what I didn't know or perhaps couldn't understand. There was no fight to be fought and no reason to be salvaged. Not even pain to be felt. Just silence. No voice.

I remember when I used to feel bad about various things some months back. What my parent would say passed through my ears like unnerving voice. Every thought was giving me pain. It used to hurt in the throat first. Then it started to move inside like some fluid accumulating in my head, moving into my teeth and then in my chest spreading all the heat and breathlessness there. I wish I could be more descriptive but I haven't felt like that since many weeks now. Only some tears have rolled. Yesterday I recollected how it used to feel. And understood that she must have endured more than that.

Companionship is the best word to describe a necessity worth life and all its prerequisites. It's not just about having an intimate friend. It’s not only the peace it gives. It’s not just about love. It’s about being complete. Its about being in the place where we belong to. It’s about having a home. It’s about sharing life and the commitment to give it all when needed. It’s about having children and furthering life. But when life itself steals away the right to all this, how can a person move ahead? No matter how much light she finds around her, she can't see it. Her right has been stolen. She has been betrayed by the light itself.

I might be too young to understand this or I suppose one would agree if I said that I don't have to understand this. I don't care for what the ethics or the cultures say. It makes a difference to me and I don't know why it does that. It moves me beyond my comfort zone. It makes me think - think if somebody has to suffer so much then I have no right to be happy. It gives me guilt, it makes me sad. It makes me hate what love is about. It makes me feel like betraying myself. And the worst part - I can only sit and write.

No matter how hard we try we can't cause to make any differences by any means. We can analyze them, learn from them, and even teach others. But where is the point when we cannot help the person who is making us realize all that. She is the one suffering. There might be people to stand by her, to take care of her, to be with her. But they are not the ones she is supposed to be. She is not living in her home. She is not living the life she must have. Is anything I can do apart from praying for her?