Whispered Redemption

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Whispered Redemption 

By: Bedor Alobaidi 

Illustration: Unknown. Google Images. 

I always walk amidst a flock that differs from me, trying to infuse a bit of my uniqueness with my peculiar ideas. It never fails to stir my curiosity and concern. Your mix of fear and bravery is what captivates me, a novelty in my nature. I instinctively shy away from those who mirror me too closely, striving to avoid replication. I openly express my aversion towards those who approach me, finding myself darting in different directions without clear guidance, losing the compass that leads me towards safety. 

Safety, whether it be the vastness of the sea, the pages of a book, the verses of a poem, the melody of a song, the hues of a color, or the presence of a person, or even an idealized lover from old tales and novels, or perhaps from the silver screen, or the captivating images that exude a sacred love, as I perceive it in those narratives or lengthy films. If they are not lengthy, I delve into their intricacies, watching them repeatedly, hoping to stumble upon a more satisfying alternative ending than the melancholic ones or those that culminate in ambiguous and unresolved scenes. Here I am, once again losing myself, but I possess the ability to regain equilibrium and manage my emotions, though it may prove challenging at times, but not impossible. I have grown accustomed to disappointments and the loss of my smile. 

Swiftly, I find an alternative word or image that dominates the same scene, becoming a mere supporting character, almost invisible and on the margins. I am aware that I do not excel in playing hide-and-seek or blending into the background in any given situation, but those who I long to have by my side intentionally shatter that image, ensuring I do not appear alongside them, brimming with overwhelming joy. Yes, I am the one who stands amidst it all, in the midst of everything, even those things that my mind conjures, imagines, and experiences in vivid detail as a dream, rather than reality. Reality persists as a recurring nightmare, stubbornly persistent, and my inner demon purposely extinguishes my genuine smile, a smile that requires no pretense, while my voice remains soft when my heart screams towards a place or a person within that place, believing it to be the eternal remedy. 

Yet, I forget that I am in a phase of physical healing, not just mental, and there is no theater to attend, no special performance or play that will be etched into the memories of future generations. I pen down this disappointment, to prevent it from festering within me, allowing me to find solace in sleep once more. I write to unburden myself from the weight of emotions, the feeling of foolishness at times, and the inclination to make excuses for you, even before I hear your words. 

There is a personal pleasure I find in your silence, an inexplicable madness, perhaps. I must express my gratitude to you for your apparent desire to read what I write, whether to satiate your curiosity, genuine interest, or perhaps a fleeting interest that quickly fades away, concealed within the drawers of your desk, bringing an end to your day in tranquility. Perhaps, the next day, you'll open that drawer once more, seeking reassurance about your story, your place within it, and the emotions that accompany that imaginary tale you conceived, penned, and wove to please yourself, dear reader. Well, I shall consider this as part of the healing process, without the need to portray myself as a victim, neither do you bear guilt for your spontaneous curiosity, nor do I bear guilt for allowing myself to be drawn into a beautiful dream that I hope will never cease. 

I am uncertain if it shall come to an end, but I promise not to disturb you. So, endeavor to find me once more, perhaps through words, perchance between the forbidden lines, or by discovering a better means to instill a sense of calm within me when I behold you. Each time I catch a glimpse of you, a mere fleeting moment that lasts no more than minutes, I strive to control myself, for your gaze overwhelms me, leaving no trace of calm within. 

I am not composed, nor are my nerves at ease. I confess, I attempted to appear composed, solely for your sake. I am the one who does not make an effort, nor do I concern myself with those who make efforts for me. I attempted, though not in the sense you are familiar with. Perhaps, I have deviated from the primary objective, which is to aid in my own healing, and for that, I am truly grateful. All endeavors and attempts shall not be in vain, believe me. You strive from one side, while I endeavor from a slightly different angle. Perhaps, this is the most fitting approach to address my stubborn condition when it comes to you,  and by that, I do not solely refer to the physical aspect, but rather everything and yet nothing all at. 

I am stuck, how do I unstuck myself from this? From all of this? From you? 

Bedor Alobaidi