Healing

Wren’s heart is deeply faithful. when we lived in the same building, I never once saw him miss a prayer at the mosque. not even Fajr. no matter the hour, he was always there.

I met him when I was around eighteen, and we remained friends from that point on. he has one of the most beautiful voices I have ever heard in Quran recitation. our conversations were light. he was gentle, considerate, quiet. a pure soul. he did not have many people around him, at least that is how it felt to me.

If you were to ask me what the worst feeling is, I would not choose one single emotion. it is not anger alone. not grief alone. not sadness or longing by themselves. the worst feeling is when they all gather at once. tension born from emotional suppression. confusion layered over alienation. longing mixed with hopelessness. pressure sitting beside grief. anger tangled with sadness. it is not one storm. it is many storms colliding in the same sky.

You’ve asked me before.

Is there a way out of this?

“What you can’t say owns you. what you hide controls you.” — something my brother Mustafa kept as a bio, somewhere around 2016

I do not complain about the life I am living.
I do not point fingers at the surroundings anymore.
I used to do that, a lot, but I stopped. now I look inward and stay there. and sometimes a quiet question rises.
what if I never stopped blaming the world and allowed it to carry my pain for me.
what if naming the environment was easier than naming myself.

you go through life for a long time believing no one has ever suffered the way you have.
and then, one day, you read something. or you hear something.
and you realize your suffering does not isolate you. it is your bridge.