A Letter ,The World

By Tasmiya Ghauri

"All of us see the world through a personalized lens; I call it the vision. I wonder how void  the world would be if all of us had a similar perspective. I can write on numerous topics, but  today I choose to exhibit the reflections of my identity. They say the things concerning the  heart are fictional, but the brain is the core of our being, where every thought, feeling, and  action comes to life. The heart versus mind debate is endless, so I won't indulge in that  consciously. Time and again, I have been damaged terribly, which makes me qualified to  speak about this untouched dimension. And to top it off, I have major bipolar disorder. No, I  am not ashamed of my vulnerabilities, nor should you be. The world is too cruel for you to be  feeble, so gear up and embrace and own what they consider fragility. Death is inevitable, but  what about the times you experience it being alive? Is that inevitable too? Silence is the  loudest voice; it clears all the chaos! Even the most exquisite flower withers if not nourished  potently, so why not humans? They are the most complex creations, and I am no exception.  These are some of the most arduous questions I ask myself. 'Too emotional' is the word they  use to describe me whenever I over-shed my tears, not realizing the consequences of this one  sentence on my courage. Practically, a drop of tear consists of water, protein, lipids, salt, and  a few more elements. But wait, why not we leap a little deeper to understand what makes a  human eye bleed? Growing up, I was tabooed for crying as it enticed attention, but the  question is, did it help me ease myself? Certainly. I considered crying a medium to elude the  profound pain I persistently encountered. I will not be lying if I tell you that every speck of  tear that descended gracefully from my eye created a fresh crater on my heart — a heart  which is turning into a colossal debris of reminiscences. The world is filled with uncountable  people like me who want to voice up but cannot. During my analysis, I have come across  multiple reasons which hold a human back from sharing his side of perspective: lack of  acknowledgment, ignorance, fear of being judged, and the list goes on. This unsaid narrative  then accumulates into a massive baggage. With every passing year, we carry forward this  baggage to the future, and one day, all of a sudden, the weight of this baggage gets so heavier  that it consumes our conscience. If you have read it till here, yes, you guessed it right. I have  been weighing this baggage for years now. I cannot take this anymore. If there is only one  thing that I want to happen at this moment, it would be stopping the constant mayhem. I feel  so futile that being anonymous feels right. The strokes of disillusionment run like venom in  my bloodstream, turning everything around me into a bleak inertia. There exists a cage which  is shrouded with a million spikes, and whenever I try to liberate myself, I end up being  excruciatingly wounded. I want to be the armor to myself, guarding me against all odds and  damages. From lips to limbs, I am in pain and nothing helps to cure it. I am breathing, but my  soul is strangled in some sort of eeriness. I equate to an armless soldier who is craving to  prove its patriotism but is helpless. But I am hopeful that better days will come. So, goodbye  until we meet again."

By Tasmiya Ghauri