Sunday, March 28, 2010

Can You Hear Me?



I try a lot to scream, but my tongue falls deep in my stomach, and I have not even the power to speak. So I don’t. 
I squeeze my eyes shut and force a series of images to stare at them. They evoke no emotions. I try to remember where I left them, my emotions, but my memory constantly fails me and I wind up questioning the fact that I ever had any.
Something is wrong; I am not supposed to be sitting in here. I don’t belong here. I want to enter a coma, cut all that crap and wake up to find myself in the right body, possessing the right life. Or maybe I never existed, maybe I’m still in a dark womb dreaming another life to amuse myself till I come out to the light. But really, this is nothing like amusement.
Who exactly is the person typing this right now? The different masks that automatically fall and are replaced depending on the time of the day and the people around are way too many that they confuse out of my mind.
What is it that they say? Black is not a color at all, it’s lack of color whilst white is a color that waits to be filled with other colors. I wonder which one I really am.
Pain no longer hurts; it has long faded into the background of my life, a constant guest that completely paralyzed a part in my heart. The amount of damages exactly, I cannot estimate.
Do not blame me that you are all the same, do not blame that you allowed them to brainwash you, do not blame me for the fact that you are all coloned versions of the same person. Try to smother my word as much as you like, but I’ll always shout. 
Can you hear me? Because I don’t.

15 comments:

Tracy said...

That is so beautiful and sad - hopefully not an autobiography at the moment. Your words are always so beautiful, and I think we all feel that way sometimes.

THE BEATY said...

wow awsome short story

Oddyoddyo13 said...

This put tears in my eyes Maha! Your white-waiting to be filled with the most amazing colors, each of them gleaming, brighter and more radiant than the next.

I feel like I know exactly what you're talking about.

stairway to heaven said...

WOW..Maha! this was too strong ..i loved it..&you kept me there till the last word! i know the feeling,i used to believe it is all a dream that i am still in my mom's womb waiting and fantasizing about life too..but eh, the dream is never complete..keep writing..:)

Lisa said...

Maha,

If these are the sentiments swirling in your inner self...You are the white canvas, waiting to pick your colors, waiting to paint your masterpiece. I was once in your shoes when I was younger. It takes time get our bearings in this world and to find out just who we really are.

Don't focus on those who seek to tear us down or who don't understand us. Remember, God makes no junk and He made you. You have a purpose, you are special, and you will have a beautifully glorious life. Embrace the color, the light, the laughter, and all that life has to offer. Remember, there can be no flowers if a little rain doesn't fall...hell, sometimes even a giant storm can bring beauty.

Hugs, Lisa (Power of Only One & World According 2 Lisa)

Bernie said...

I do hope you are not feeling this way my friend.....it is an awesome story with many emotions.....Hugs

RA said...

Maha, you are both black and white, because both are made of all the colors put together. They are one and cannot exist without the other. :)

Nishant said...

This put tears in my eyes Maha! Your white-waiting to be filled with the most amazing colors, each of them gleaming, brighter and more radiant than the next.
home based data entry

Felicitas said...

I hear you. I remember being in a similar place - a very long time ago.

Life is a process and we are all larger-than-life souls trying to squeeze ourselves into an imperfect vision on this planet. Those who are lucky, eventually figure out how to do that without really compromising themselves. Something tells me you'll have no problem figuring that one out.

Magpie said...

Very powerful, Maha. We all need to walk through this valley to get to the other side.

Kay said...

sometimes our own voices are so loud that they can become deafening... but, as we all know, one minute can differ from the next, the simple comfort in knowing everything is temporary.

Peter Stone said...

What you share here Maha could have come from my own diary.

Where you talk about wanting to wake up and find yourself in the right body reminds me of what I wrote in 1990:
"Oh, how I wish I could go away and come back next year,
Come back and have someone tell me how I was healed.
Where does this road lead?"

magnoliaamber said...

I want to hug you, this is so awesome and makes me so sad at the same time!

Cynthia said...

This prose reads like someone
writing from inside a veil. Pleading with herself and life
to open up her hidden heart.
Written so honestly and brave.

Vladimir C. said...

Extraordinary atmosphere... so full of immaterial particles that it's hard to believe these are just words on a material and impersonal medium.