diary entry

The most pathetic thing one can say when troubles come is sometimes the most truthful. It hurts, it pains, and it doesn’t comfort, but it’s just there, a solid truth, and you can’t fight it. After everything that has been happening, all my mother and my grandmother can is this: ‘Life has its ups and downs beta- all you can do is to stay out of everything that causes trouble and Allah will make you happy.’ They’re right, but what does that do to make anything even the littlest bit better????? And they don’t understand. They can’t understand that I can never be happy when others are unhappy. I can’t cut myself off from friendships, I can’t accept myself until and unless I am satisfied that others have to come to harm through me or through anyone else. I’m responsible for people insulting and hurting others, and even more so when they’re my friends. But I feel so helpless-there’s no one who would support me. Not even my own family. All I got that day when I came back from listening to S’s outrageous anger was a scolding from my mom at being about ten minutes late. I was crying in the car, crying at home, and no one came to comfort me…all they had to offer was their advice. Friends are not important; I should forget everything that happened, I should just concentrate on making myself happy, blah blah blah and on and on and on. My mother is convinced that all this is not important at all- not important enough to cause her ten minutes inconvenience, anyway. I guess it’s time to take up the mask again…I’ll just pretend to be happy, extremely happy, so that no one catch even a glimpse of the torture within me. I have been placed on this earth for other people, regardless of what I might have posted before. I’m here not to be comforted, but to comfort. I’m here not to weep, but to wipe away other’s tears. I am not here to fall in love with anyone, but to be there for people who are the victims of unrequited love themselves. And it’s also OK to reject me in favour of other people who might be better than me. I’m here to be pushed away, to be shoved into a corner until I am needed. That’s what I am: nothing more, maybe something less. A hurting blindness it is inside O Darkest Soul, O Lord Above How hast thou cursed this life not mine Ah joyous child! Black’s love that’s thine