The truth is, I’ve been staring at my laptop screen for a long time, not knowing what to write. Not because there isn’t any material to write of, but simply there is too much of… everything.
There are words that I need to leave out, as a blog writer. There are urges, sentiments that I do not mention, because they are impertinent to the content of my post. There are concerns that I want to communicate but do not, because I do not want people to reassure me and tell me I am not wrong.
But since it seems like I cannot proceed with anything else without spilling out these sentiments, in an ironical reversal of my declaration in the previous paragraph, I must attempt to unwind the knot in my mind and speak the words that perhaps I do not have the claim to speak.
I know more, much more, than I did two years ago. I’ve explored my city, met fascinating humans, read profound literature, and experienced many unexpected emotions. Yet it sometimes seems like this new knowledge has made a new compartment in my head, instead of fusing with my old mind.
I read news articles about Ghana immigrants losing their fingers crossing the Canadian border, a Syrian girl who got emergency treatment in a (now-bombed) hospital in Aleppo, the crude conditions of sex workers in Sri Lanka. And yet, I often sit miserably in my privileged life, brooding over a bad lunch or a dress I wish I bought.
Now, I must stop myself. Because I know how people would respond to what I just wrote. They will remark that I have grown- that at least now, I demonstrate more compassion, a willingness to fight for these injustices, an opening heart. This is the truth, but this is only one side of the truth. There are parts of me that are still frustratingly, irrationally entitled. Continue reading “To speak the words not spoken”