Author: irfan

We have become entirely numb in the face of injustice. We are trapped in such inertia that we struggle to escape, desperately clinging to stagnation. Our minds, turned into the hell of sameness, extinguish the idea of revolution before it even takes shape. Why have we grown so passive? Why do we appear so utterly inept as a society? Why, having once soared to the skies, do we now fear the unity of the ants beneath the earth? Our sense of wholeness has been reduced to mere individuality, making it harder than ever to achieve anything together. We have regressed from a generation that stood tall in defiance to a hunched-over macaque monkey.

Humankind is a social creature, yet this status has now been reduced to a herd of amoebas sipping coffee in cafés. Grand words are spoken, only to be forgotten within a minute. After all we once achieved through unity, we have been lulled to sleep by the flickering glow of foolish little phones. And so, in the silence of the night, we awaken to regret, dreaming of the things we will do the next day—only to become sleepwalkers, drifting aimlessly through the daylight. We choose sleep to escape our thoughts. Sleeping has become our new normal; we yawn through the day, and our happiest moments are now those of utter uselessness.

When did we start bowing to authority’s decisions without question? When did we shrink so much as human beings? Since when do we tremble at the thought of speaking a single word? Since when did we begin hoarding the truth, keeping it to ourselves? Since when have we lived in perpetual humiliation? Perhaps we have always been cowards; perhaps our knees buckle because we have always been willing to kneel; perhaps our hunchbacks are the result of our habit of submission.

Isn’t it time to put an end to this?.. Isn’t it time to lift our bowed heads once more?.. Isn’t it time to raise our voices, once silenced by fear?.. Isn’t it time to reclaim our humanity?..

I am dragging, dragging from place to place. My mind is constantly in search, filled with the hope that I might be happy, despite all my will to the contrary. A continuous journey, a stillness, a hope, a failure. My belief in achieving success, shaped by the ever-changing nature of time, ends with my relocation, settling for merely watching success drift further away at the end of the road. I attribute everything to change, yet I remain entirely passive in the face of what change brings. Why do my thoughts always strive to keep up with change? Why am I constantly tossed around by the idea that my understanding of life is evolving? Should I start taking life seriously? Should I embrace the ambition of humanity? Should I, like them, endlessly strive for success? Or perhaps I should simply write about how my thoughts meet with laziness in this very spot where I sit.

Writing always brings unease; instead of feeling relieved, I am overwhelmed with sorrow the moment I start writing. As soon as I begin, I find myself stark naked in the clutches of a great sadness. I fear that someone will remind me of my nakedness. Perhaps it is not the act of writing itself but the criticisms I direct at myself that distress me—I am afraid of the thoughts in which I know I am right. I fear my dull convictions that I will never be successful at anything. These days, I am surprised by the praise I receive from others; knowing how utterly useless I am, I feel ashamed of the false perception I project onto people. The moment I receive praise, I want to run away, not even look back. Especially, I do not want to look back—I do not want to look, I do not want to, I do not… because I fear that someone might be behind me.

I do not want them to know that I am a coward who appears confident. I do not want them to see me trembling with fear at night. I cover my mouth so they will not hear the gaps between my sobs, the voids within me. I love the security that silence brings; I fear the meaninglessness of the words that might escape my lips if I speak. I fear people getting to know me, terrified that they will discover my true self. I have been acting all my life, performing like a good actor. I even act for myself, afraid that if I stop, I will come face to face with who I truly am. I fear that the only thing I have ever been truly successful at is acting. I am just afraid.

We are falling, yet we remain unaware until we hit the ground. Each step taken while climbing the stairs marks the beginning of a new universe in one’s mind. Every step is an ascent, and with each ascent, the stakes of what can be lost grow. Every rise carries within it the weight of an even greater fall. But what does it mean to take a step forward while simultaneously stepping back? This is a phenomenon exclusive to democratic societies, for those in power never think of tomorrow; they never cease lying to maintain their position. In a world built on lies, relying on deception to uphold order is both vile and utterly normal.

Distorted laws, dysfunctional institutions filled with loyalists, rising votes fueled by the decline of education, rules imposed through the ignorance of the people. The people are so foolish that they always believe a savior will come to rescue them and transform their world completely—but that savior never arrives. The savior has always existed within us, but we lack the courage to bring it forth. Perhaps it is the inevitable result of our acceptance, which was born from rebellion.

We forget—we forget everything. We forget what has happened. We forget right and wrong. Those who were our enemies yesterday become our friends today; those we despised turn into the ones we love most. Our memory is limited, and we live in a palliative society. We no longer know what pain truly is. We are eager to numb our mental suffering with our phones, our physical pain with anesthesia. What we fail to realize is that this constant societal anesthesia has erased our already fragile memory. We have all become dementia—only we are unaware of it…