“I’m sensitive to my bubble…”

I recalled how when I was 13, being called “sensitive” was a way for others to get to me. Here’s the truth, my heart may tear easily just by the budge of a wind but why should that be a bad thing? I have more empathy and it acts as a power of my own that does more good than any bad. Sadly, the world now that we live in pushes us to “toughen up” when they did the punching.

“Outmost necessary to care the hearts of others till the point where I bleed more than I should. But why do they make me feel ashamed to be vulnerable when they left me in a silence that I filled to begin with?”

I may be cliche here to say that humans are highly complicated and I pay no ill will to those who can still behold kindness in their hearts when the world around them appear to be losing it’s pieces. — A gem they are. However, I’m here to piece the notes I have on my wall by hoping to solve this puzzle on why do they leave me in isolation or having me buried in guilt when this bubble of mine can no longer withstand it’s strength. It bothers me that no matter how many dragons I slain, no matter how much tonic I swallowed (their pain) or no matter how I will do what it takes for them to lessen their distress, it does not occur to them that I have nothing against of giving more of my kindness.

I figure then that it is true that the world is divided into givers and takers and how less astonished I am that I was granted takers more than givers.

“I told myself that it is fine to let the world pin you to the ground. You know your sorrows and you were kind still regardless of how close to six feet under you are.”

Day and night my chest aches and my head throbs of all this thoughts bombarding my intoxicating period of time. I was taught to be gentle and resolve others’ hardships or at least be a warm companion till they can stand up again. The last thing I would ever want (which I hope it does not resort to that), is to have the wounded soldier bleed more not because of their wound, but bleed by the cause of it’s his own fault for feeling the throbbing open cut.

Dear reader, you are not at fault for the grey clouds hovering above your head and it is certainly never your fault to feel like the pain is never ending.

This will apparently be remained unsolved or whether the answer has already been in front of me, then I am to blind to see it. Yet I do learn something from writing this to you besides these two comparisons: we all suffer pain in our own way therefore some can help you get through it and there are some who wouldn't care or less. What I prefer for you to bear within your heart or to learn now is to accept who you are as you and never be less sensitive and less kind just because the people around have you feel ashamed of those characteristics of yours. Anyone can be wearing cloaks of lies and mask their true selves, but I know you know the truth and how the world goes (which it will end soon) so why waste it by being bothered of how they think of you and your path?

I thought I would never get it, but my own sweat and tears proved otherwise after my eyes witnessed above. Many times where I was alone, but it was part of my growth and I am glad that at those moment of when I was the loneliest, I grew to be a better me before I could realize it.

Growing is a lonely journey and my dear reader, are you going to be reading the same already-written-page of your story? or are you going to write the next chapter with better context? I already am so when will you?

A. Hani.