Death of my ego
A series of unfortunate circumstances, but never an unfortunate life. I am currently unlearning everything that I am, rebuilding my being from scratch in the hopes of once again achieving sentience — or maybe glorious mortality. Time and time again, I continued to glorify grief. What I should have done is glorified the moments in between my grief. The depth of my self-awareness still continues to scare me. I never understood or felt the fact when authors of over hundreds of years ago mentioned: to understand people, you have to understand yourself.
The complexities that come with understanding yourself are that you're put in situations — an undeniably excruciating, agonizing life-to-death process. During this time period, I am stuck in my moments of grief — the moments of self-hate, regret, and hit with the nuke of "what ifs." Now this is my limbo. A period in my life that requires me to carry myself with unwavering resilience to face everything head-on. I say all this, but I am nothing but a weak man. My existence continues to amount to nothing. I am so insignificant I continue to have no impact on anything or anyone around me. Now this is one of the moments within my grief. I continue to go through the humbling process. I continue to break myself every day and grow and break into a billion atoms. I ask of myself: do I really have to continue to live, or is there a moment I could find that would glorify my existence?
This is the first thing I’ve written in three years. My time on earth has been a question mark. I have not made any meaningful contributions toward life or myself.
I will continue to put myself down until there is no way for me to go — BUT UP. Shifts start to happen with acceptance. I truly do not own anything. I owe it all to Allah; I owe myself to Him. Practicing gratitude has been one of the biggest game changers when it comes to growth — the growth of both physical and spiritual health. There are people out there right now with a disability, stuck in moments with no way out, and yet continue to radiate such hope and excellence. The ability to hold your phone, look at your screen, and read a stupid yet glorious blog takes such an intertwined divine blessing — to see, to feel, to hold, and to understand. We have so much, yet we continue to think that we have nothing. We're blessed with a roof, a bed, and good food. We're all ungrateful.
The route to growth begins in such a way as well. I tell myself I am nothing, my existence means nothing, but I am alive and well. Alhamdulillah. If I were to mean nothing, Allah would not have created me — blessed with the ability to sit, stand, read, and articulately write pieces. I move up.
To be understood, I need to simplify speech. I still fall short. I am stuck between Kafka's Letter to His Father and Letters to Milena — the suffering between the need for acceptance and the need to be loved. To be approved and to be emotionally understood. I gaslight myself, despite coming from a healthy family background. I have spent most of my life in my head — not in fearing people, but myself. I am in such awe that I find myself lacking the ability to be as raw as I used to. The more I write, the more everything is embedded into existence — it is not real if I do not speak of it.
Gradually, I stopped questioning reality, questioning people and the situations I am put in — and the ones I put myself in. The love for melancholy is nonexistent now. I want to age gracefully. I want to take deep breaths. I forgot the luxury of it. "Sometimes I forget to breathe" was only supposed to be said and felt by Carmen Berzatto. Yet, here I am fighting my being just to remember what it's like to take deep breaths. I should stop following every other thought when I write lmao. So yes — deep breaths.
To let go — I have given up on holding on to emotions: hatred, angst, anger, arrogance, and people. I rely only on Allah to hold myself accountable, to guide me through the sticks.
Agony of compassion — being connected to everything in the universe. I tend to lead a life of responsibility because my destiny is bound to many others. I continue to learn to carry the weight of it despite being vigorously crushed by it. I continue to love the world and everything in it. I must grow strong enough to love this place, to make an impact, and yet continue to be empty enough to sit down at the same table with its worst horrors. I do contradict myself — I say that I have given up, yet I continue to yearn for a place. The complexities of being me, being human. I cater my writing to people; also, at the same time, I write into a void.
I have fallen off. I genuinely feel that this piece lacks flow. Now the final sprint. (It took 7 seconds but we've never been so back.)
It is the 10th of April 2025, 10:58 a.m. — just folded my sleeve and cracked my knuckles.
The amount of effort I put into myself to grow as a kind person has been insane — the effort killed me, continues to kill me. The embers of life have gradually started to show up in my eyes, in my face, and in my being. I hold no grudge, hate no person, hate no situation. Everything that happens is just that: shit happens. That is all there is to it. Nothing more, nothing less.
There are inherently no bad people, but also no truly good ones either. We're conflicted, paradoxical, impulsive — and the reality is that people act the way they do because of how they've experienced life, from their perspective. Not everyone is going to be Aadhil fuccking Muneef. To understand everything from a multifaceted perspective, to grieve everything that I ever am, to find myself and purpose in the process. I know what I have to do with my life now. I need to lock the fuck in.
I am locked the fuckkkk in.
This was supposed to be about the death of my ego, but this seems like the birth of a new one. This piece is one of the moments I mentioned — the moment in between grief. I learn and grow as I think and let it flow. Bars. smh.
I have my emotional stats maxxed out — the amount of suppression of hate and anger directed toward myself for the pain inflicted on myself by people. It is all my fault. I will always continue to hold myself accountable. Shit happens. I will continue toward greater heights, toward greater purpose. I always kept posting about wanting an arc — GOD GAVE ME THE GREATEST ONE.
There has never been a rule that anything you receive from someone is a debt. The kindness you receive is not a debt you owe. People are kind because they choose to be. You can receive love and affection, and not everything has to be transactional. Not every act of kindness you receive should make you feel like you owe people. You can be loved despite the fact it doesn’t need to be reciprocated. Your worth should not be tied to providence and the sacrifices you make — it should be tied to who you are. That is all there is to it.
This new life I want has cost me everything I once was. I'd rather go too far than not far enough.
I keep adding every other thought — I WILL END IT NOW.
The blog, jeez.
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