u/Ill-Piglet-9608

“Everything has a crack in it.  That’s how the light gets in” - Leonard Cohen

I know you were left out, mocked, laughed at, despised, cursed, compared, and stabbed in the heart.  But you found a way.  In all the troubles, you carried through.  You carried through with such strength that the deepest feelings of isolation, self-hatred, grief, loneliness, embarrassment could never steal your warmth, love, compassion, kindness, and the desire to solve others’ pain.  It could never be stolen.  They could do it, but they would have to kill you, disintegrate you, break you into the tiniest atoms, and then break them down too, for kindness and compassion have always been who you are.

I know people couldn’t see that.  Friends, teachers, or family.  Forgive them, for they are too immature.  You know you don’t mean this with detest, but actual knowledge of human nature.  I know they might never get to know you that way.  I am sorry about that.  I truly am.  

But you are not just your wisdom.  You might sink in it, bathe in it, live in it.  But you also have skin, bones, muscles, a heart, veins, arteries, a brain, and hormones.  They do too.  And that’s the point.  They will understand you that way.  They would have to.  Kindness is the true human nature.  We have seen that.

I know that some will never see the waters of wisdom in you.  They might always see you for your body.  They will never know you for your wisdom.  Let them.  Being seen is better than being invisible.  

So reach out.  Find someone.  Talk with hundreds.  Chat with thousands.  Smile with millions.  Share with billions.  Some will not like you, for they are not you.  That is to be expected.  But some will.  Most will.  They may not see your wisdom, but they will see you for your body.  A few will smell the salty smell of your clothes and skin, a smell you gathered in spending time, sunk in your wisdom.  Invite them in.  If you do, they might too.  They may even let you sink in their wisdom as well.  But first, reach out.  

Forgive those who said you never could, and you will die alone.  And those who killed your spark when you were a child.  Forgive those who killed your wonder.  Forgive those who stole your heart.  Forgive those who forced you to veil your face and your kindness.  Especially, forgive those who told you you are worthless, just because they couldn’t swim or sink like you.

Like your wisdom, some will never know how much you would do for them.  They might never see you for the human that you are.  They might never know the weight of the memories, hurt, happiness, and wisdom you carry on your shoulders, like a giant.  They might deem you cursed and shallow.  They might call you immature.  Childish.  Eccentric.  And, that’s okay.  

You were once ready to give everything for the happiness of others.  You would have entered caves, navigated forests, and crossed seas by your own, for the betterment of others, without a single thought of credit.  If a person like you does not get to experience the gift of life, then the world would stop, the seas would flood, and the mountains would crumble, until they clear a path for you to the mountains of fruits, trees, and sunlight.  

You deserve to wander with others.  Both right and wrong.  Find the right.

“Seek and ye shall find.”

{This is a short story I wrote for catharsis, during a particularly depressing period of my life. Found it by accident yesterday, and I decided to polish it. I would appreciate some comments, especially because I have never written before.}

I stopped my reply midway as I heard my mother walking up to my room.  She opened the door and walked in.  “Who were you speaking to?” she asked.  I couldn’t read her expression.  

“I was just singing,” I said.

“Dinner’s ready.”

I got up from the foot of the bed and started walking behind her.  In the kitchen downstairs, she asked me to sit down at the table while I was putting food on my plate.  I refused, since I would be returning to the room after the meal, and spending time downstairs would just be a waste of time.  

At the top of the stairs, I could see the evening sunlight beaming through the window, through the slides, creating a pattern of bars on the opposing walls.  The rest of the room, out of the sun’s reach, wallowed in darkness.  If my mother came to my room in such lighting, she would turn the light on.  But I like the way it was at that moment.  I always did. Outside, I could hear Tommy, one of my classmates, laughing with his friends.  Despite those harsh beams falling on my face, I walked to the window and watched them.  I wished that I could phase through the walls.  I started humming the tune of a silly song, Tommy, and I sang it when we were kids.  

***

Nine years passed.  I still look through the window of my apartment sometimes.  On this rainy day, I watched some kids playing on the street, drenched from top to bottom.  Seeing them, I could not help but wish that it rained when I used to walk home from school.  But those times have passed.  Should I have jumped out the window? 

I knew the hood of the porch would have borne me.  

I knew my room would have enjoyed a moment or two without me.  

Then I realized that I was never afraid of jumping out.  Yet I didn’t, for I wanted to phase through the walls.  I didn’t want Tommy to know that I had to jump; I didn’t want him to see that I had to escape. 

In a hopeful world, I could have phased through the walls.  Tommy would have asked why I had to take such a measure.  I would have told him that I was afraid of walking out of the front door.  He would have asked why, and I would have confessed that I am weak of heart, and the walk from my bedroom to the front door was just long enough for me to realize that it was a waste of time.  

At some point in my thought process, the sound of my turmoil must have escaped my mind in a song.  So, I started humming, but eventually, words forced themselves out of my mouth again.  I realized that I could have sung even back then.  Tommy would have heard.  He would have known why I was inside.  He would have been surprised to know that I can still remember our songs.  He would have realized that I, too, have silly things to sing about.

“Life is a song, confined to a hum.”

I think.

***

The thought of meeting my old friend made me feel bittersweet.  Bittersweetness was the only happiness I knew.  

The cab stopped on the front lawn.  There were a few feet of rain between me and the house.  The evening sun was shining despite the rain.  

“Your house looks like a ghost’s den, mate,” the cabby chuckled.

“That’s because ghosts used to live there”.  I joked back.

As the cab reversed back into the street, I walked in long strides to avoid being drenched.  

With my key, I walked into the empty house.  The ground floor wallowed in darkness, while the top floor shimmered in orange light.  I walked up the stairs.  I could see that the door to my room was closed. 

I walked down to my room and twisted the doorknob.  

The inside of the room was bare.  The weight of heavy furniture was imprinted on the carpet.  The room smelled damp.  Since the slides have been removed for a long time, sunlight shone in the room freely.

I couldn’t help myself walking towards the window.  No one was on the street.  I broke into singing.

“O’ friend, life is a song, trapped in a meager hum,” I sang to my childhood bedroom.

“Nay, it’s a naked song, tuned to your meager hum”, the room sang back to me.