Aadhil Muneef

Dirt. Dirt under my nails. I claw myself out of the grave I buried myself in. The horrors an unstable mind can conjure. I write this with a conflicted heart—not as heavy as it once was, but lighter than it’s ever been. Gradual growth. Expansion? Ascension? By the time I reach the end of this, maybe I’ll have sorted the war within. This is for clarity. As everything ever was, and everything that will be. In alchemy, the law of equivalent exchange states: nothing can be created without something of equal value being lost. As someone who reflects obsessively, who questions everything, I’ve lived a questionable life. My actions, more questionable. I dwell in a glass house, the essence of transparency. And yet, there’s no one I’ve been more abusive to than myself. For every two cents I gained, I lost a billion dollars in spirit. The law was never equivalent. I bled more than I built. My situation didn’t change. Maybe I did. Camus says in The Myth of Sisyphus, "The struggle itself towar...