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Stingy Trust

Expectation is the root of all heartache.
(William Shakespeare)

We are told to see the best in everyone; Not to judge people before we get to know them;People are fundamentally good so treat them kindly and they will in return be good to you.

These advice in and of themselves are good however the world and the people in it are not so black and white. You can get stabbed by the people you love only for someone you hate to treat the wound. Humans are not fundamentally good, we are all born actors. A child learns by imitation:repeating the actions they see and hoping that’s what people want to see. Human beings are but self-serving creatures prepared to do everything it takes to portray them in the best possible light.

Joseph/Yusuf had his own family literally sell him into slavery but a stranger saved him . If his story is not a cautionary tale on the danger of misplaced expectations I don’t know what is. Relationship tags mean nothing if the person hasn’t earned it. Someone being your Sister, brother, best friend, father, mother, aunt, uncle, cousin etc should not award them an automatic VIP section in your heart and life if they haven’t done anything to secure that place. Be kind to your heart and authenticate whoever is to enter: make sure the residents of your soul will not leave it destroyed in their wake.

For there to be betrayal, there must first have lived in its place trust. Be stingy with your trust but generous with love;expect the worst from people but be open and ready to accept the good when it comes. Should anyone say you have trust issues, tell them your soul demands to be protected at all costs.

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Poetry

The war within

A Warrior on the battlefield
She stands with her sword drawn
Ready to kill
In this war one must die
Or all will die.
The fight between who she is
And who she should be
There they are
Shouting and stabbing
Kicking and pulling
Each sings its battle song
‘The world is cruel child, assimilate’
‘No. let your kindness dilute the earth sweet girl’
They beg that she listens
They demand that she choose
But how can she decide the voice to obey
Who to be
How to be
How can one be kind when one has only known cruelty.
How does one judge hate when one has never felt love.
The warrior thrown down her sword
She decides
No part shall dies
Every part shall live
She will be both
Who she is
and
who she is

I pride myself in being authentic. I am completely transparent. I understand that in this world you have to hide the best part of yourself so as not to lose all of yourself but I refuse to do that. If there is a part of me fragile enough to die from exposure, I’d rather it be dead and leave room for the stronger parts of me to wildly flourish. I guess it would be easier, more rewarding even, to ‘assimilate’: be one with the world and massacre my authenticity at the altar of societal acceptance. Or perhaps I could ‘be kind’ like my mother and holy book tells me to. Be like the prophet and the angels: the perfect Muslim girl. It has afterall been guaranteed to make Life easier and heaven secured. I can’t be either of these persons because I despise these persons and I am both persons. I am like everyone but unlike anyone. I am a juxtaposition of opposing complexities so incredible. I am broken: I am whole. I am strong: I am weak. I am open: I am closed. I am glorious: I am hideous. I am everything: I am nothing. But the beauty of it all is that in spite of all these, because of all these: I am Hafsah.