It’s raining, and I am writing again. One of the freedoms I am grateful for is having the time to write in solitude, away from the noise that surrounds me each and every second of my life. Noise. It’s everywhere. I could barely breathe when I made my way through the aisles at Decathlon, children shouting endlessly, overjoyed by the free space provided to try out the necessary sports equipment they might purchase. There was play in action but I couldn’t handle the noise. It went above my threshold. So I was suffocating, oddly to say.
Yesterday. I had a moment of silence. In the car, alone with my thoughts. It was blissful, because I was alone. It was also the time for me to pen down my thoughts on paper – finally. I had been trying to escape from my environment. So that was a good time for me to write down what’s been causing me to…suffocate. I can hardly breathe these days – mentally, emotionally, physically. But faith in Allah is always there. My soul was telling me to get out from the noise. I don’t know how people can endure a day of noise – from the tv, the radio, the music, the chatter. I dread all of these. I really do. Give me some space. We all need space, don’t we? To think things through, to reflect and contemplate on life. Some people have the privilege to have their moments of silence to themselves most of the time. I don’t. No matter where I try to hide, there will always be noise.
Or maybe, I just want to be alone in an empty room, with all the noise filtered out. Masajid are an exception of course. It does provide me with the space I need. But, I need a home to live.
Maybe that’s the problem. I don’t have a home to belong. Maybe that’s why I don’t feel secure at this sojourn to be as open as I would like to be. Maybe it’s the freedom of movement that I so badly need that’s causing me such mental distress. I have never felt so perturbed, and I just need to get out and find relief.
I am writing again. I am thankful for that. At 24, the fears are still here. I am slowly learning to get rid of them, one by one. I cannot unstitch a patch of my life when it took me almost a lifetime to sow it. Back then, it was all black and white. I am slowly adding colours to my life. Black is dull. White is dull. I love blue though, it keeps me calm.
The emancipation of the mind from mental slavery. Words like these seem gold, for what I know is that along the lines of these words come from revolutionaries who chose to live life by their own definitions, away from what the society and the government impose on them. They chose how they wanted to live, and they lived it.
Revolution. Freedom. Writing.
Writing. It gives me the freedom that I need. It gives me the pleasure, the joy and structure my mind needs in order to withhold the heart into its shape and form.
We are all finding our way to Allah. I am finding mine through writing. It will always be so. He has given me this gift, and I am thankful for it.
It’s still raining.
I will go for a run, maybe.
Or I will go for a run…to Mcdonald’s. Maybe.
I will write some more, If Allah wills.