A Sincere Fool

In my journey to finding my place in this world and sharing myself with it, with all of you, there are times when my vulnerability brings me to people who are overcoming with an urgent need to just hurt me, to shut me up. Sharing something vulnerable with the world is unnerving on its own, but to then have people mock you or try to hurt you by using what they see as a weak spot, it’s so incredibly painful. Not least because you could have prevented that by not opening up to start with! Almost as if life is taunting me with a big neon sign that spells ‘ I told you so!’.

Such one moment happened to me earlier today. I’m no stranger to backlash and trolling, but this time it was significantly different. It was calculated. Without going into details, I was shocked. Gutted. I started crying. The story I had shared, that this person used to hurt me with, was one of the most painful stories of my life, and I felt so helpless when I was attacked. My usual boldness and bravado didn’t hold up. I didn’t even try because the pain was electrifying and it seared through all layers of me. I didn’t know what to do. I was faced with so much pain, and I didn’t want to stay exposed. My knee-jerk reaction was to delete everything, stop sharing of myself, and deactivate my facebook. I wanted to run away, far away. Contrary to how I may appear, I hate being seen by people. If I could have my way, I’d be a hermit in a cabin by a lake. It’s easier to be anonymous than to be misunderstood. Every time I write something or post something, alarm bells go off in my head. And I hit snooze every single time. I choose to be present in the battlefield, fear and pain be damned! All those fears and alarm bells came raining down on me in a torrent of self-consciousness and regret. Why oh why oh why oh why! *You’re fooling yourself into thinking that your writing makes any difference ! You are so stupid and naive !!!*

A calm voice pushed up from beneath the sea of chaos that was taking over me. It reminded me that I should stay in this moment, and just feel the pain. “Own it – this moment, these feelings, this pain. Acknowledge it. Cry it out. It’s going to be ok. There’s no shame in what you did. You can’t control what people will think of you or do to you. There’s always the risk of being hurt. That’s the rent you pay for your place in this world.”

These words embraced me from within and I felt calm, albeit tired, the way the earth briefly holds the rain water after the rain stops, before it’s absorbed into its core. A moment of stillness after the clamour of raindrops beating against windows and rooftops stops.

As the chaos ebbed away, there was a newfound purpose in its wake; a renewed intention to tip the scale of this world in favour of the powerless. I had felt the fear, felt the pain of humiliation and mockery surge through me, and that meant that I was free. I didn’t have to live out my days locking it inside the deepest recesses of my mind, patrolling it so it didn’t come out.

I decided to go right back to the battlefield where my spilt blood had mixed with the rainwater. It formed a small pool of murky water that reflected the sky that had cleared of the rain clouds. I looked at the sky mirrored in the puddle, and I saw strength looking back at me.

“There’s nothing more efficient than honesty and nothing more powerful than vulnerability because, vulnerability reveals everyone in your life who will abuse power immediately and almost irrevocably.

There’s nothing weaker than hiding your vulnerability because, it means a refusal to stare at those who abuse power and see them for who they are which means they still have power and control over you. Nothing is stronger than vulnerability. Nothing more clarifying. Nothing is clearer than vulnerability, and if you hide who you are you are just making a tombstone of your everyday actions because you dont exist in hiding and you’re letting the past rob you.

Exercise the power of vulnerability. When you are vulnerable you are signaling to your system that the past is over and done! That you’re no longer a victim! That you’re no longer trapped in a destructive and abusive environment! Vulnerability means it’s over, it’s done. The war is over but, if you continue to use the same defenses that you had in the past all you’re telling your whole body is that the past is not over.

Be vulnerable. Be honest. Be open and show your heart. That’s the best way of telling your heart that the tigers are no longer in the grass. I’m telling you, just take it for a spin. Vulnerability and openness will get you what you want in your life and hiding will only get you the feeling of being prey from here until the end of your life.”

― Stefan Molyneux

Death by numbness [II]

I’m a criminal

and my frail heart my unwitting victim

It was I who broke my own heart
It was I who brought this pain upon myself
It was I who broke my spirit this way,

For it was I who held onto an illusion.

 

Death by numbness [I]

My heart is sobbing and I’m sobbing with it
It’s telling me something that I can’t understand
It’s fumbling in my chest, as if it’s looking for something buried in between my ribs
I sometimes catch myself succumbed to a mysterious melancholy
Crept upon me like a fog
or the way dusk permeates the sky in a discreet fashion
I feel my heart conspires with the fabrics of my soul and mind
Huddled in a hush-hush conclave
I’m assigned to bear the brunt of my own secrets
I’m a foreigner to my own heart, and for that I’m mourning.

Emotional orphan

I was emotionally orphaned.

My mum told me that I was a very fussy baby who’d cry nonstop. So she made sure I was fed and clean – physically cared for – and just leave me be when I cry ‘for no apparent reason’. I believe we are all born with fully formed souls and personalities and we spend life learning to accept ourselves. I think that first year when my body was cared for but my mind ignored, something within me broke. Shattered to smithereens. Because when I turned one, I changed drastically. I became reticent and quiet. Still. If I were told to sit down, I’d sit there for hours until told to get up. That’s not normal for a one year old is it? I don’t think so.

My dad was much more compassionate than mum. He was a doting father who wouldn’t let me cry. He observed my every move to try to decipher my language. He even kept a shorthand notebook for my baby babble and he’d be my translator of sorts. They really tried, my parents. I was a very sensitive and old soul and they had to improvise because I wasn’t like normal infants. I was even scared of the dark! I was merely a couple of months and I’d freak if the lights were turned off. 😀

I was 1 year and 8 months when my twin brothers were born. It threw everyone off course, because they were unplanned. Not only that, but mum almost died giving birth via c-section. She spent the first 6 months or so in and out of hospital. My dad had to work. We lived in a small southern town of Sweden where we didn’t have any relatives to help out. It was hard. I think the sudden change of dynamics where I was pushed off the only child seat and relegated to the background in the face of the clamour and mum’s illness, affected me very deeply.

One day I blurted out something that couldn’t have belonged to my mind and be spoken by my tongue. I wasn’t even 2 years yet, when I addressed my parents and a family friend who were in our midst;
‘ hooyo mid, aabe mid, aniga baabah’. Which is Somali for ‘ mum one, dad one, me nothing ‘, pointing out that my parents’ hands were occupied with both my infant twin brothers and I was left alone.
Heart wrenching and mind-boggling as it was, the family friend was utterly devastated and scooped me up immediately, sobbing at my words that I was too young for.

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Electrifying pain

As a young child I was bizarre. Curiously pedantic. Pedantically curious. I was attuned to intricate details, mesmerized by the most mundane stuff. Stubborn! Oh lord, my middle name is ‘hardheaded’. I, of course, have my biased defense of the trait; ‘ I’m incessantly curious!’ I quip.

I asked mum why I had to feel pain? She told me that pain was useful because without pain there is no sensation and then we wouldn’t be able to walk. And if we hurt ourselves really bad, we wouldn’t feel that too and we could die.

 

That lesson stuck with me. For every step that I take inwards in introspection, it’s as if I’m performing a surgery without anaesthesia. I’m cutting away the vines of my childhood pain and rip open the scar tissues to extract the bullets that have been slowly permeating my mind, lacing it with a young child’s fear.

Being vulnerable is like being pierced and keep from flinching. The pain becomes physical at times. I feel it run down my legs. Knot in my stomach. My chest constricted. My back tense. I let it surge through me like a gushing river. I tell myself to ignore the urge to suppress it, and to let the river of tears out. Two decades of tears and blood.

I collect memories. I hide in the pain, in plain view. I close my eyes,grit my teeth and lie down. Whenever I reach a level of consciousness within me, the accompanying pain always startles me. Though I know the drill, nothing can prepare me for the pain because the more aware I become, the stronger the current of pain that surges through me. I brace myself.

The current of pain electrifies me. In its wake I find energy. It livens me. I’m vaccinated against fear. I pain, I live, I reflect, I am free.

I loved what I saw in him. I love who he is behind the iron curtain he set up against pain. How unfortunate it was that he couldn’t see himself. I hope that one of these days he’ll reach that place within him and brace the pain to see himself. For that day, I’ll be patiently awaiting.

 

My crude crude world

    Midnight thoughts & thunders

     〈serial soliloquies〉

                 ♣


 I’m crude. I say the wrong things at times and I don’t adhere to common courtesy if it falls out of my frame. My edges are jagged, my core raw. I’m naïve and narrow-minded at times. I’m spoilt,impatient and lackadaisical. There’s no twist, no ‘but’s. That’s the crude part of me; the underdeveloped. But I love it. After smoothing the hem of my mask for pretty much my entire life, I realized not too long ago that even though things looked super sleek on the surface, my true nature remained intact beneath. So whilst I was ironing out the wrinkles, my true self lay beneath seared by the steam.

My goal is to retrace my steps to who I was when I was 6 years old. I don’t know why exactly, but I sense that’s before I was tainted.

I want to be silly and ask all the questions I’ve been raring to ask, but didn’t for fear of being ridiculed. I want to follow my curiosity as if it were a butterfly even though I might seem confused and erratic to others. I want to love madly and deeply and authentically without any undertone of pathological need or expectations for reciprocation. I want to venture into the unknown with lofty and colourful hopes despite the risk of rejection. I want to risk rejection. I want to feel the bad so I can feel the good. I want to be vulnerable and not be defined by the bad that happened to me but by the good with which I responded.


                                                                                  trey-ratcliff-domes-in-playa-burning-man-X3

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