by Ahmed Mukhtar
There was a time psychologists used to advise people to write what irks them. They counselled that writing was an avenue of draining the emptiness within you. In today’s world, that safe space has been crowded by judgements. When people feel like penning their thoughts to free their minds, it ends up stressing them further as they dread how they will be perceived. Gone are the days when social media was a ‘free-speech’ space where people could express ‘what’s on their mind’. It has become ‘a troll station’, for lack of a better phrase. Gone are the days when we needed a blank canvas onto which we could paint our delusional thoughts. Now, committees are formed by virtual communities to examine written pieces, to undress them and to decipher hidden messages in the thoughts behind a piece. The internet has become a haven for versions of self-made Sherlock Holmes – only that they neither have the wisdom nor the wit to note when their efforts are inconsequential, or when white is simply white and not a bleached version of another colour. Gone are the days when people could listen, and not only hear. When one could truly give a listening ear. When one could really be present and attempt to comprehend and to understand your tribulations.
One wonders what safe spaces we are left with. Spaces where we can empty our thoughts without any fear of ridicule, rebuke or (mis)judgement. Or should we wait to be buried with our thoughts? Or for our thoughts to bury us? Have you ever reached a point in your life when your brain is noisier than all the noise of a busy town market? Have you ever reached a point in your life when you just want to run away from your thoughts because you are their captive? Have you ever reached a point of no return because you feel worthless and helpless? Have you ever felt that you cannot even feel your own presence and that you would be more of a burden to others if you opened up? As if to reinforce a confused presence, have you ever felt that you might be overthinking your situation—that maybe you are complicating things? Have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, you are the problem and that maybe, just maybe, you are beyond help? Is it that the world is too busy and we are lost in our busy minds? And are we too busy to pause for just a second and ask ourselves what the problem really is? Why am I being so paranoid? If I am the solution, then why am I also an impediment to the solution?
Sometimes I just feel like running away from all these noises in my mind, because if I can’t bury them, they shall surely bury me. But does the solution lie in one burying the other? Why can’t we just coexist? Why can’t there be a balance to regulate or tame the noises so that I can hear, listen to and appreciate my other thoughts? I acknowledge that my noisy brain is at times—if not most of the time—useful. And this noisy, stubborn brain also realises that I hold the limbs to show it the world, the world that never judges such a utopian existence.
Oh my pen, please take away this pain and do not transfer it elsewhere. Oh my brain, please give me visitation rights, for I need to be visited by my former friend called ‘peace of mind’ to fix these pieces of my mind. Oh my noisy brain, what kind of white noise can I play for you to give me peace? Oh my noisy brain, if only you could convert the drowning noise to white noise to lull me to sleep and end this zombie mode of existence. Oh my pen, I have let these thoughts out not to cause pain but to relieve my pain. Please, accept the ‘blood-offering’ of my pride to give me peace of mind before I shatter into pieces. Oh my pen, do not cause me more pain.
Penned by a pained soul that fears to be judged. (journey4rmdpression@gmail.com)
Editor’s note: This is the first piece in a series of pained thoughts by Ahmed Mukhtar. Look out for more pieces in the coming days. You may write to editor@nairobibookshelf.com.
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