Today, I allow myself to just write badly. Messily. No editing, no excessive holding-back. The idea of ‘perfection’. It necessitates cutting all the edges off, sanding things down. I think the ensuing results of this might be a bit… boring. I want to learn how to truly honour the parts that make me, me, and while honouring those that make you, you.

I think this life is too short for too much cynicism. People are just beautiful. Eyes, hair, smiles, knees. And, yes, so too is the sky; in its majesty, it is cleansing to bathe. And look how mighty the river’s waves are. And look at the flowers that are turning into fruits, this season. And, have I done enough today? Of course I have. This is one day out of the finite number of days I shall be allowed to have, upon this Earth. I ate an apple today, you know, and I sat by the river with a friend. I made my brother laugh a lot, today; I listened, sat close to the window, while it rained outside.

And I don’t mind anymore. I don’t mind if people think I am too talkative or too quiet. It’s okay if they think me too childish or too mature. Smart or stupid. Or anything else, for that matter. You may think what you wish of me; I live not for your applause. I see you through my own eyes; unless you truly value (me and) my opinions, why should they even matter to you at all? And vice versa, you to I. The point of all this is not to ‘convince’ anyone of anything, conjuring up all such labels, subsequently looking for all the evidence that may bolster them. The point is not to ‘convince’ people that you are ‘perfect’ in any way. People will look for a few seconds, form their judgements, based on what goes on inside their own heads all the time; they will look away.

You will be what remains. If, today, you wish to paint an orange in a less-than-van-Gogh way, then so be it. If you find that you do not ‘vibe’ well with some people, this is okay too. Nothing wrong with you; nothing wrong with them. Just different; you can still honour them from afar.

Their ideas of what is ‘perfect’ are boring; so are yours, most likely. And oh how such notions differ, from person to person.

And I cannot be who you are, and vice versa; I cannot be whom you want me to be; I cannot be whom you wish you could be, either. [I urge myself, first and foremost, to simply] Take people as they are, and look for the beauty therein: it is surely there. When you let a person be, extracting from your mind whatever you think they may lack, you will watch the beauty of this being unfold before your eyes. I can promise you this much.

It is scary to think, sometimes, just how quickly time is moving. Right wherever you are now, whatever you may be doing (reading this blog article, no less) — blink, and you will surely miss it. I hope we choose not to live these lives of ours in sedative states; I hope we live not for brief applauses, here and there, either. Let it be understood that we can make mistakes; help ourselves up, and then laugh at ourselves a little. It is okay, it is okay, it is okay. You are doing just fine. It is okay to colour outside of the lines, sometimes — so long as you are using your own colours.

I have faith in you, dear friend. Nobody has ever existed who is quite the same as you. You have dreams, you have those awesome personal characteristics of yours; you have this entire world inside your head, and I hope you are kind enough to yourself to also listen to your heart. She might be telling you: it is not about what others may see. It is not about titles and pride and chasing images whose templates you think you’ll be able to somehow step effortlessly into. It is about beginning from this gorgeous being that is already you, going some places on this life journey of yours, and then ending there, at you, too. It is about the people who will be there with you, along the way, and all the times you will laugh, and all the times you will cry, and all the times you will cringe at yourself for actually publishing such cliché-infused works. All the secrets you will tell, all the cakes you will eat. This moment just now is so new. So what do I reckon I wish to do with it?

Call me childish, call me ‘primitive’ — I don’t care. It is not you whom I am aspiring to be. And, it’s true: I do crave a particular closeness with my Fitrah. I want for it to be quite fruitful, a tree. I don’t want to chase things, and for these very things to then just turn me cold, stressed and tired. I’ve been scared, felt unduly lost before — but, to a great extent at least, no more. I know not what is coming, though I do know what has gone. And this gorgeous moment of existence right now, how do I learn to honour it as best as I can? How do I learn how to flow through life much like how water does?


Sadia Ahmed J., 2020 

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