There are times when our inhibitions cause us to delve far deeper than we ordinarily would. That moment of courage that leads us to define who we are without realizing it.
We internally attest the person we’ve become, underlining what we want the world to see of us and bracketing who we want to identify ourselves us in private.
The very Schizophrenia that is medically defined as an illness is a disease that resides within every single one of us.
The personality we show the world isn’t the colours we share with ourselves or those close to us, yet we display them. For it is the opinion of the public that matters more than the people that will tear for us at our demise. Or so it seems.
Corrupted by the reassurance that overall perceptions of the person we are is determined by individuals that barely know us. The very same individuals that judge you by your lineage, your field of study, the job you have applied for, your skin color and the size of your fathers bank balance.
The very same individuals that will host fund-raising events for indigenous children in underprivileged situations but then declare their son as unfit when he chooses to marry a women who is of a different ethnicity.
It seems as if we’re smother by societal notions,nothing can be passed off as our own, not our identity nor our humanity.
But whilst we’re plagued with questions surrounding our identity and our being, there are millions of those whose lives are regarded with nonchalance. Massacred mercilessly all in the name of democracy – but what sort of democracy allows for innocent children to be a part of a war between 2 adults.
I am not ashamed to admit that whilst searching the internet for pictures, video’s and information to share with you I found myself weeping bitterly.
I’m not an emotional person by nature. I don’t easily tear. It can be the death of a close family member and even then I’d shed them in seclusion. Emotions are a luxury only the weak can afford, or so I thought.
The conflict in Syria is not a war that has recently submerged but regardless, it is one, alongside Palestine and Egypt.
The massacre of lives can never be regarded inferior irrespective of colour, race, creed or religious affiliation.
The plight of these individuals stirs feelings of humanness, empathy and compassion.
Our everyday lives separate us from the on goings of the rest of the world. We switch on our TV’s routinely, listen to the news on our way to work, discuss politics with a colleague but how much of our interests are genuine, how much of our involvement, meaningful.
Blood ridden bodies lay lifeless in mass graves, people covering their noses because of the stench. Distance separates us.
Will we ever be able to feel their pain, understand their sufferings, and endure their anguish?
Countless photographs showing mothers huddled over the mutilated bodies of their young children, weeping achingly and I wonder to myself – how would I have reacted had that been me?
Can we ever become immune to loss, to perpetual damnation, to the starvation of a ‘normal’ life?
I look at my previous postings and I find myself embarrassed. My concerns are inferior compared to those whose lives are the equivalent of unwanted food – easily discarded and left for the flies.
I have perused through a number of photographs depicting the plight of the Syrians (and many others in similar situations).
I see suffering and yet I see an interdependence that is wholeness. Men, women and children who haven’t made their suffering an isolated one but share a sense of togetherness that seems far fetched in today’s ‘me’ filled reality.
And so you will probably ask (as I did too) so what can I do? What can I contribute to make the lives of those suffering more bearable?
To that I shall quote:
And when My servants ask you, [O Muhammad], concerning Me – indeed I am near. I respond to the invocation of the supplicant when he calls upon Me. So let them respond to Me [by obedience] and believe in Me that they may be [rightly] guided.
If not in the form of monetary aid, make the war torn countries a perpetual part of your prayers.
And when your life seems like one constant rainbow with no pot of gold bound to the end of it, then think of the child who didn’t know the meaning of ‘life’ because he/she was born in unfortunate circumstances.
Fatima Haffejee – Cii News | 22 Shawaal 1434/30 August 2013