Cry, I cry and I cry like never before.
I don’t remember when I’d first unleash the sobbing beast, probably when I was born. Or not because when I was born I was too weak to even breathe... but that’s another story. I‘ll tell it some other time.
I was in my age of innocence, busy in making others laugh while enjoying myself unintentionally. The self interest in this act came way late. I was good but not in a social sort of way. Shyness and slyness together were my apt virtue and was diversely vulnerable to both situational and mean abuses.
I always played strong and calm because my mother always told me that “son, don’t take part in any ruckus, don’t be in a fight, don’t be naughty, don’t be a bad boy”. So there I was trying not to be a bad boy. Pretending to be strong with a dreadful and fragile inlying.
Sometimes kids of my age and beyond inflicted misery on me but I remained strong, I didn’t cry. My voice was quivering and my veins were frenzied, my eyes were serous, my spirit is anemic but still... I didn’t cry.
The police, the civil force of scaffolding education were embarking there self-appointed feudal authority by all savage ways to make me like them. They did succeed I guess, not understanding my state of mind a bit, didn’t try to see through me what I was.
Withal I didn’t cry. My legs were defunct, my hairs were stiff, and a lagoon has separated my transparent vision from my eyes. But It didn’t broke into tears, maybe I wasn’t afraid, may be people saw me crying but in my reality I wasn’t.
I didn’t cry because we were always taught that weeping is for weak, miserable, pathetic and women. I don’t want to be called weak or pathetic. It was the fear of being derelict from the society ruled by alpha men.
I didn’t want to be strangulated by the embarrassment that would come after this act of pure expressiveness. Nor I wanted to be called by derogatory names. “A girl could do better then you” of course she can, if she is better she can. So what if she is from the presumptive weaker section of gender. “You are a disgrace, a coward” “what a pussy”. No I didn’t wanted to be identified by those phrases, nor did I want a badge of these ever humiliating qualities upon my chest.
‘For the love of my unknown, imaginary repute I won’t cry.’
Is crying that wrong???
One of the most natural displays of sadness and relief one can express.
Is it that bad???
Why didn’t they let me cry??? ...
I don’t remember when I’d first unleash the sobbing beast, probably when I was born. Or not because when I was born I was too weak to even breathe... but that’s another story. I‘ll tell it some other time.
I was in my age of innocence, busy in making others laugh while enjoying myself unintentionally. The self interest in this act came way late. I was good but not in a social sort of way. Shyness and slyness together were my apt virtue and was diversely vulnerable to both situational and mean abuses.
I always played strong and calm because my mother always told me that “son, don’t take part in any ruckus, don’t be in a fight, don’t be naughty, don’t be a bad boy”. So there I was trying not to be a bad boy. Pretending to be strong with a dreadful and fragile inlying.
Sometimes kids of my age and beyond inflicted misery on me but I remained strong, I didn’t cry. My voice was quivering and my veins were frenzied, my eyes were serous, my spirit is anemic but still... I didn’t cry.
The police, the civil force of scaffolding education were embarking there self-appointed feudal authority by all savage ways to make me like them. They did succeed I guess, not understanding my state of mind a bit, didn’t try to see through me what I was.
Withal I didn’t cry. My legs were defunct, my hairs were stiff, and a lagoon has separated my transparent vision from my eyes. But It didn’t broke into tears, maybe I wasn’t afraid, may be people saw me crying but in my reality I wasn’t.
I didn’t cry because we were always taught that weeping is for weak, miserable, pathetic and women. I don’t want to be called weak or pathetic. It was the fear of being derelict from the society ruled by alpha men.
I didn’t want to be strangulated by the embarrassment that would come after this act of pure expressiveness. Nor I wanted to be called by derogatory names. “A girl could do better then you” of course she can, if she is better she can. So what if she is from the presumptive weaker section of gender. “You are a disgrace, a coward” “what a pussy”. No I didn’t wanted to be identified by those phrases, nor did I want a badge of these ever humiliating qualities upon my chest.
‘For the love of my unknown, imaginary repute I won’t cry.’
Is crying that wrong???
One of the most natural displays of sadness and relief one can express.
Is it that bad???
Why didn’t they let me cry??? ...
Well written man and never forget, there is nothing wrong in crying, nothing wrong in taking out emotions and nothing wrong in being weak for a while! Period!
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