I’m trying to dissolve a lie I tell myself often – ‘I’m strong enough.’ No, I’m not. I’m fine being vulnerable.
I’m only twenty-two. A young person, still peeling-off the layers from life. Sort of close to many revelations. I don’t know where the way ahead of me leads to. It’s blurry. Not dark or gloomy … but blurry.
I talk a lot about life, and honestly, I never wrote an alphabet I didn’t trust. I believe my lessons. I have faith. Yet, I turn brittle.
- What if I’m wrong?
- Do my words even matter?
- What if I’ve been lying to myself?
Heck, I don’t even wish to sound wise or intelligent. I never intended to gain attention. Call me a fool maybe, but I’ve been writing for no reason sometimes.
I may fall. I may drown in despair and let out a hard cry. I may die. It’s hard to be myself. Sometimes I wonder who’s in my skin. I fail to understand myself. Yet, it’s not been tiring.
Sometimes I let out a deep sigh and whisper “Enough!” But then I recover. I pick myself up. Time works like an ointment. I wonder whether I’ve become indestructible.
I watch it as a spectator, surrendering myself to it, and then it makes sense. It’s all beautiful in a way. The pains, silent sobs, the stinging veins – it all comes together and molds me.
There’s a reason why I’m revealing this
I’m only as strong as my fellow human is.
I feel like a hypocrite when I don’t reveal the truths about myself. I’ve been rambling for a lot for years – but I stop seeing a point in it if I’m unable to speak what needs to come out.
So I want to say this aloud – I’m only as strong as my fellow human is.
- If there’s some God, I believe he blesses us equally.
- If a kid on the street is starving, my own happiness loses its charm.
- If I’m calm and my friend is suffocating, I find it wrong.
The point is that all of us are weak at different times and in different circumstances. But we deserve to live … regardless of how strong we think we are or aren’t.
Also, we’re all capable of bouncing back. We’re fragile and we’re darn powerful.
What’s the point of saying all this?
None of us can’t be shattered.
We’re all weak and vulnerable to hailstorms of pains. All of us get hit and trodden. We tremble, we fall.
There comes a stage when you feel like you can’t bear the burdens anymore. That’s the point where you can either be honest with yourself or still fake being strong.
So if you ever taught yourself that you have a chest of metal, then give up, because our strengths show up when we don’t pretend to be strong.
All beasts bleed and so can you.
Forget your and others’ expectations of being happy or normal. We’re delicate living beings and we’re allowed to taste the dirt and lament in it. Weaknesses and strengths can exist in harmony.
I believe that.
You may be…
- Busy paying-off debts for family
- Recovering from the loss of a dear one
- Mourning the betrayal from someone you loved
- Silently tackling your insecurities and pains
- Searching for a sign of success again
Or perhaps, you’re trapped in one of those whirlpools that hit hard. Life loses meaning. Nothing matters anymore. Happiness appears like a joke.
At such a time, no advice works.
Those eat healthily, meditate and be positive mantras seem like a fine piece of humor. It’s like you’ve turned into a blank slate or piece of wood.
Still, allow yourself to heal.
Admit that you’re not strong. Not strong enough to fight yourself. Once and for all, welcome all the pains. Embrace all your flaws. Let the tears glide. Open the gates to all possibilities.
I’m a coward in some ways
I really don’t reveal my innermost feelings.
On this blog, I hide my face by avoiding everything that’s attached to me personally. I say good things and hope no one would ask me the context.
But you don’t need to know it, either
Because we’re all scarred and insecure, trying to rise from the ditches we’re trapped in. We seek beauty and find it often. We become hopeless and yet light reaches us.
It doesn’t matter how and where we learned our lessons. Because in the end, it’s the wisdom that remains that matters the most.
Right now, to me, it’s admitting once in a while that I’m not strong enough. It allows me to breathe. It gives me a chance to take-off my mask. It takes me closer to being the kind of person I thought I couldn’t ever become.