fourth year zara inam

“If everyone fought for their own convictions there would be no war.” 1

I wish I could spend my harrowing moments in bed, tucked under sighs of defeat. But truthfully, I can’t. I spend them staring at walls, shoving frustration further into my body, sitting in silence. I can’t cry, and don’t ask me why, just trust that I’ve tried.

Just a few months ago, a small part of me hoped for some sort of hardship – the way people in books somehow always romanticize hardships. I thought it would make me stronger, give my story some worth. But here I am, in the middle of a war, and it’s been raging on for a while with no end in sight.

Somehow I’ve become the burden of the women before me – each of them carrying their pains in their bellies alongside their growing children, until their children themselves represent all of that hurt. I think I’ve been silent for so long that I had no choice but to observe the ways people react in situations – the ways their emotions bottle up and how they have to force those around them to mirror their deflections or responses. The thing about generational trauma is that it happens for so long that it becomes part of one’s identity. Our success is represented by our struggles and pains.

As I get older, I realize that living is, in a way, the cause of our own demise. I can rationalize my thoughts, rationalize my pains, rationalize my desires. And along with that, I realize how my search for happiness is wounding my family. When you think about it, it seems kind of fucked up – that my happiness comes at the price of the retired hopes and dreams of those around me - the way happiness isn’t really a real concept. It’s just every single person’s belief of what makes them feel giddy inside. I’ve become tired of the superficial praises that come when I do what I am told, because in those instances that is what makes me a good person. Overlooking my distinctive qualities – the way I love, the way I talk to people, the way I care for others - those qualities will never be praised because they don’t represent what others have tried to force on me. Only the qualities that aid them will be praised.

I am curious though, about what happens at the end of all this – when I hold down the fort that is the collection of my hopes and dreams, what happens? Do people leave - when I cannot offer them the superficial gifts they wanted from me? And if they do leave, will I carry the burden of having loved myself enough that it meant I somehow hurt them? What will I regret more – letting them go at the price of my sanity or choosing to fight for myself in an ongoing war. “I simply want to live; to cause no evil to anyone but myself.” 2

But I can sit here and realize my apathy. I don’t care. Not about the disappointment, the superficial wishes. The stupidity, the opportunity – everyone else’s needs. I’ve become apathetic and I think it may be a good thing. Because the less I care, the more content I become and the more okay I become. “I’m not everything I want to be, but I’m more than I was, and I’m still learning.” 3

1,2 - Leo Tolstoy

3- Charlotte Eriksson

War and Peace