I can't tell you

"Tell me"

"I can't tell you"

"Why not?"

"I'm here for you,

do you not trust me?"

"I do".

"Well then, why don't you tell me?"

Because if I tell you,

 I will sound ridiculous

I will not be able to show you 

the hurt

or get you to reach far enough 

to feel it for yourself.

Or maybe because when I share this with you

you will have a piece of me that I cannot take back

and then I will feel a little too exposed.

a little too naked.

Or maybe if I tell you,

you'll label me,

and wonder why I'm being such a downer,

or worse,

and you'll tell me

 that there are other people in this world

who go through much more.

"What a spoiled little brat."

"Who does she think she is?"

"She's got men at her feet

gets compliments left and right, 

and yet she complains."

and then maybe you will

start contemplating about your own life

and make me feel stupid 

for ever telling you in the first place.

Because if I tell you,

maybe one day

without meaning to

it will slip from your mouth

and I will be the word on their tongues

and then I will be wondering why

suddenly they whisper when I turn around

and why people around me start to fade without warning.

"She's got baggage", they'll say.

Or maybe it's because I don't want 

to help myself.

Maybe in all the melancholy,

I find myself more than I ever did when I was happy.

Something in me is so undeniably me when I shed that tear

and when I laugh,

 I can hear that other side of me snicker,

"that's not you"

Maybe that demon has found a home

and I have made a friend out of it.

But mostly I can't tell you

because it hurts too much

because if I tell you,

it will be too real

and I don't know if I want to face it,

 yet.

Or maybe I'm just scared

I'm scared you'll find me too messy

too sensitive

too insecure

too anxious

and too complicated for your liking.

So when you ask me to "tell you what's wrong"

 I end up responding with silence 

with my head lowered slightly to one side

avoiding your gaze

and my eyes might just shed the tiniest tear,

the last hopeless cry for help

I hope that in my silence you may be able to understand

that although

I have a deep desire to share everything about myself with you,

 I can't.

and

I'm so sorry

I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment

Signs of Humility

I will write as I feel and as the words pass and as they come and as they go. I no longer feel the need to write for an audience as I do not find gratification in their collective praise. I only want a listening ear to what befalls me and do not care if that means you might see me as less than what you knew before. Perhaps this is the essence of humility. Perhaps this is what it means to humble yourself and it is a sign to be unmoved and indifferent to the opinions of others about yourself. With time, as we begin shedding parts of our shells for others to see our insides we begin to question if those who loved us really loved the essence of who we are. Our core.

I no longer write with the certainty I wrote before. And some may think that this is a sign of lack of confidence in myself. Perhaps so. But more than anything this is my way of being human. I see my limits so clearly now. And yet there is a horizon of truth and knowledge still yet to be consumed. I have yet to see.

I bother very little if not at all with putting on some sort of spectacle to comfort those around me. I will not be overwhelmed anymore with accommodating for everyone for the sake of proving myself or showing that I am not at all what they might come to believe. I don't care what they hear. Neither do I care what they say. My truth is with my Lord and it is the only truth that matters to me.

Life has beaten us down and has shaken us up as it is. Why must we try to resist with phony versions of ourselves? It is tough enough to live as a human that is bombarded with casualty after casualty. Must that not be sufficient to remind us of our mortality? How much more must we endure until we say that is enough? And until we finally utter the words,  "I surrender". I surrender to the All Knowing. He who knows everything about every little thing. He who is vast and encompasses all that exists and possibly could exist.

While I let parts of me become small such as my power, dominance, social standing to name. The biggest thing I make small and perhaps diminish completely is my past. Although it is the place where I find room to reflect and understand myself with, with others I seem to completely forget any trace of it. I am a person being made by the moment; I laugh, cry and smile for the first time. The child that looks me and smiles is smiling upon another of his own, who is delighted and overwhelmed with joy to have been acknowledged by another.

I am humble when I cry. It is when I let tears fall down my cheeks and weep in the shadows where everything is concealed. It is when I remember that there exists only one entity that may possibly know of the pain I feel while I do so. And this is why I cry. He alone understands and the thought of this leaves me so overcome with emotion. This little creation of His cries and pleads and He listens. He who encompasses everything that ever was and ever will be, listens to me.

Alhamdoulillah. Alhamdoulillah. Alhamdoulillah.