Feelings; Thoughts; Emotions

Blood bumped throughout my entire body. My head rested between my knees as my shoulders heaved up and down to the beat of my heart. I was sitting against the wall on the platform overlooking our Olympic sized swimming pool - trying to catch my breath after a ten minute workout of intense running. When my breathing finally slowed down, I pushed my head back to look out towards the ripples gently forming on the water surface. From where I sat, the water looked so deliciously cold as if tempting me to take a giant leap from the banister and into its welcoming embrace. The mental image of my head hitting the bottom if I miscalculated the distance flashed through my head. Now that would be suicide, I gently chided to myself pushing the thought away. I sighed - and  after a moment or two my mind unintentionally drifted to the heartrending events of two days ago

          I came home that day to find my mother stressed out beyond her capacity  to the point where she threatened to - oh, I would rather not mention what she threatened - and me, being the stubborn idiot I am, refused to back down and accept my dad's decision of not letting me stay back for Toastmasters that day. 

"But I've always stayed back! He's never had a problem with it before!" - "Why am I being treated like a child all of a sudden?" - "This isn't bloody fair. Nobody else has to be chaperoned!" I trudged moodily around the house - feeling as though I'd been betrayed - not once realizing or it even occurring to me what my mother must be feeling because of all this. I always have been a bit stubborn when it comes to doing what I want. It's not something I'm proud of but rather ashamed especially when it concerns my parents. A vivid memory is of me as a four year old: standing against the cold pane of our empty house staring stubbornly out at my parents and older sister pulling out from the driveway and not saying a single word. 

        Things didn't get any better with me sulking about this new turn of events: my mother (may God bless her and grant her Janat Al Firdous) having been working the entire day and who was bone tired was in no mood to see me the way I was. It took just a single complaint to make her break down right in front of me - and that is when it hit me in the chest. Hard. My stubbornness and refusal to accept my father's decision had clouded my sight - my mother was distressed and it was MY fault. All because I was too selfish to accept a single decision which was probably for my own good anyway. I decided to do the unselfish thing - called up my professor - and told her I wasn't going to be able to make it that day (because if I did - my mother would have to come with me - and that would be asking too much from her) Even before I put down the phone, I could feel the prickle in my eyes and hear the crack in my own  voice - and once the line went dead - the tears came gushing out.

     I cried for at least an hour. The tears just wouldn't stop coming no matter how hard I tried to stop them. I cried for my mother and all the pain I'd caused her. I cried for being such a failure as a daughter. I cried knowing I'd never be able to make it up to her -  everything she's ever done for me. I cried because I try, I try so hard and yet it still is not enough. And yes I cried because I would not be attending toastmasters - and it kind of hurt knowing deep down that it probably wouldn't make a difference whether I was there or not.

     I stood up for Asr prayer and even then the tears kept trickling down my cheeks. When I mouthed the words "You alone we worship, and You alone we ask for help" - the tears intensified until my vision blurred and I could no longer see the floor in front of me. It felt like all my bottled up emotions - my disappointments, my anger, my sadness, my hurt were all being poured out in the form of water - like a tap left running. When I finally finished my prayer, I felt a lot calmer and my tears eventually subsided as if someone had reached out and gently closed the tap.

And my heart didn't hurt anymore.

    Looking back at it I think of myself as being rather silly - crying so much - when I've always prided myself at being strong. "Crying is a sign of weakness" or at least that's what I've always told myself. But I've come to realize that crying is how we know we care for someone - and to care for someone is probably the greatest strength a person can have.

Afterwards, my father sat me down and talked things

 through with me - we reached an understanding - at least for the time being.