I closed my eyes for a second and there I was, standing in an empty, bare room. A canvas that had suddenly been occupied by streams and films of my incoherent thoughts and once-lived dreams. Everything was whirling and swirling in front of me like a labyrinth that hindered my breath and burdened my heart into a perplexed collapse from the overwhelmingness of it all. Everything that I had ever thought of was intimidatingly making its way on the walls of a room that was now a cage I couldn’t escape from. I was trapped. You don’t quite realise how much you’ve lived until you see yourself on the floor and almost drowning in the chaos that your own life has brought upon you. I yearned for someone to shake me back to reality, for it was the first time that I had ever sought an escape through the real world. All my life I had rendered the world we live in as lethal and had found safety in my own head. Until it suddenly backfired. I found myself slowly integrating in the colours of the walls of the room, unnoticeably disappearing with the thoughts that have forever been consuming me. Is it true? Is it true that one can lose himself by no one other than himself? Suicide can come in all forms and intensities and what I was witnessing was a vanquish of my very existence. In attempt to fight back, I tried to voluntarily take over. I failed, I tried again. I failed. I was still a background of a background of something that has become a lot bigger than myself. I have empowered my thoughts so vastly that they have succeeded to take the lead. I finally became silenced. And as soon as I gave in to my silencing, I found my eyes opening to the world again. My eyes glittered with relief that I am no longer bullied by the hideaway that I had once created to entertain me, to shelter me, to protect me. But the much-anticipated breeze of anxiety had again started to take over and there . . . I was afraid of both worlds again. I had no where to run. I had no where to hide. I was haunted. And before I could admit to myself that this is it, that this is everyone’s biggest fear, I let the melancholy burst into salt-water streaming down from my eyes and washing away all the hopes that had once given me a second chance for a life I never wanted.
Some time between spring and summer, the birds find their way between the branches of the blossomed trees for the damp shade of the dewed leaves that have been yearning and loathing the heat of the sun all at once. And while they gently flutter their wings, they bring upon the scented breeze of the fading spring and the dry glitter of the summer’s birth. As I watch, smell, listen to the melody of it all, I halt to wonder whether all this order just merely happens. Is it love that has found its way through the wings of the birds, the petals of the flowers, the dew of the leaves, the broken, tapered branches of the trees, or is it just a mere coincidence that has been brought upon by Mother Nature. And even though I’d like to believe in the majesty of love, I hush the thought in my head, as I have witnessed so much pain caused by love that it can not be possible that love can give rise to something so beautiful.
Getting dorky grades is not uncool. Reading a book is not uncool. Drinking a soft drink at a club is not uncool. Being a virgin is not uncool. Wearing a hijab is not uncool. Sticking to your religious and moral boundaries is not uncool. Going out with your parents is not uncool. Smiling randomly to strangers is not uncool. Writing cheesy love posts is not uncool. Being a wallflower is not uncool. Being different is not uncool. Being who you truly are is not uncool. However, narrowed mindedness is uncool. Bigotry is uncool. Uptightness is uncool. Self-righteousness is uncool. Arrogance is uncool. Racism is uncool. Islamophobia is uncool. Homophobia is uncool. Hate is uncool. Misogyny is uncool. Pointing fingers relentlessly is uncool. Being an elitist twat is uncool. Playing God is uncool. Calling people uncool is uncool.