Eman Atwain
The Absence of Light
The source is well known, but the destination is unknown. Where is my ambition taking me? Is my ambition the source of light, or is it leading me there? Is my path already written for me and I'm just following God's plan, or am I establishing it as I go? The darkness has blinded my eyes. I'm fighting for something that doesn't exist. I lost my sight and am now left with only wishes, hopes, and dreams.
The view of a place you call home or perhaps the land you're deeply in love with, nature's doors are endless and the possibilities for discovery are limitless, the cloudy sky surrounds the area with a sense of safety. The brightness of the sun announces the coming of another day, and the beauty of the scene leaves you speechless and with a sense of belonging.
I allow myself to open my eyes, overcome my fear, and accept the consequences. I'm lost in the middle of nowhere. I look around in the hopes of finding a place to recognize, but everything is suddenly black and white, and despite opening my eyes, I can't see color. It seems that I lost the sense of recognizing color, and my surroundings all look the same. Light no longer enters my eyes. Is this why my brain lost its ability to detect colors?
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Nature's beauty slowly takes over my soul, slowly introducing me to the meaning of living, happiness, hope, and what it means to have human feelings. The blue river reflects the sun's rays, and the smell of fresh air redefines the meaning of everything.
I'm a teen who learned that everything is worth sacrificing in the pursuit of a dream. I learned how to dream. I learned that nothing is easy. I learned that my purpose in life is to make the impossible possible. It's easy to say that you should work hard to make your dreams come true. It's easy to say that if you give your all, your dream will come true. What if my all is not enough? What if my hard work doesn’t pay off? What is the price I must pay for that dream? Am I the cost of that dream? Is it worth it to lose myself? They say you'll find yourself on the road to becoming, but I'm losing myself in the process. I’m becoming someone I can’t even recognize. I’m becoming something that’s not me. The new narrative I created is becoming a part of me, and finding myself again is impossible because I no longer recognize my true self. The feeling of being fully aware that what you're displaying to the world is not you is overwhelming, but what hurts even more is that the person you created forgot about the person behind the mask. Who am I? Who did I used to be? And who am I becoming?
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The color white is no longer empty but a reminder of what used to be there. It’s a reminder of a beautiful dark night where the air travels freely and the stars shine elegantly. It’s a reminder of a rainy day, the happy tears, the magical scent of the air, the wet soil.
The white color of the sky at noon does not mean that it will no longer have color, but it’s a reminder of all the changes that the sky has gone through, a reminder of all the bright colors that the sky once had, and hope for more to come.
The sun's brightness during the day serves as a reminder of its absence during the night. We're left with a beautiful dark night where the stars can show off their beauty and how bright they can shine, filling the night sky with hope and a reminder that the dark doesn't have to be associated with ugliness.
I grew up in a world where light symbolizes hope and darkness symbolizes destruction. I see beauty in the dark. The darkness allows you to see things for what they are without being blinded by light. The light creates illusions. I'd rather live in a world where the ugly reality is exposed than one where the ugly reality is hidden behind meaningless "beautiful" things.
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In the morning of a hot summer day when everything is melting, the sound of the air conditioner overpowers the space, and the silence is no longer present. The blowing air is like an angry windstorm.
I feel isolated in the middle of the crowd. I'm not sure where I belong in the world. I'm having trouble hearing the loud noise, and instead, unheard voices are speaking to me. I'm telling my story to myself because no one else is willing to listen.
I witnessed poverty as a child while growing up in Yemen. I witnessed how hard most people had to work every day just to get a piece of bread to satisfy their hunger. I witnessed war crimes, where the sounds of bombs kept me awake at night. I witnessed a building full of people bombed in the middle of the night and wake up to hear about the families who died, people who lost their homes, and people who lost loved ones. I witnessed people escaping their homes in search of a safer place to live. At the age of ten, no one explained what was happening to me, or more so, nothing needed explanation. I understood everything. Everything made sense. The bombing never stopped.
In 2015, I woke up shaking in fear due to the sound of a bomb in the area; our house began to shake as a result of the effect, and the cries did not stop throughout the night. The next day, I witnessed what has become the norm: bodies among the collapsed buildings, blood, bodies of women, men, and children, the blood was dry and darkened, and people were trying to figure out who was alive and who was not.
I witnessed people cleaning up the destruction, acting as if nothing had happened, and resuming their lives because it was their only option. They sleep and then wake up full of hope. Despite everything, they will smile at you as if nothing happened. The kids will return to fill the space with laughter, and people will greet each other with "As-Salam-Alaikum," which means "may peace be upon you," and the other will respond with "Wa-Alaikum-Salam," which means "may peace be upon you, too." Through these experiences, I gained 100 years' worth of wisdom.
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The sound kills the peace, and the cries for justice are no longer heard; thought appears to haunt me alone. During the summer in America, places are packed with people looking for a good time during what is known as the "happy season." The streets and roads are filled with people and cars, and pollution continues to pollute the air with no one being aware.
The sound gets louder and louder, or is it just my frustration with the world making it seem that way? I find this world a place of useless information, but perhaps a place with so many limitations. A world where the people lack the sense of admiration but, however, feel the need for a celebration.
On July 4th, fireworks and bright colors fill the sky in celebration of America's independence. With so much frustration, I poke my head out the window to see what deserves to be celebrated. Should America be celebrated for partaking in war crimes? Should America be celebrated for the deaths of black people as a result of police brutality? Should America be celebrated for failing to regulate gun laws? Or for the countless children whose lives were lost in the mass shootings? Should America be celebrated for being a place where people are judged based on their sexual orientation? Should America be celebrated for depriving women of the right to make decisions about their bodies by overturning Roe v. Wade? Should America be celebrated for its lack of democracy? Or maybe it’s celebrated for its continuous hypocrisy.
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Out of sight yet nothing is destroyed, everything is the same but not really because nothing feels the same. The world is quickly changing but nothing is progressing. The light is shining at the end of the tunnel, but I’m not sure because I haven’t been able to make it. Is there any light at the end of the tunnel? Is the light real, or is it just an abstract idea? How long do I have to run? How long do I have to keep holding?
Is the hope that used to fuel me no longer present? I can't feel it anymore. I'm feeling constrained. Is that hopelessness permanent or just a temporary feeling? I believe in the presence of light and I want to acquire it. Perhaps I need it, but can I only find it at the end of the tunnel? Why at the end rather than the beginning, and what guarantees that it can be obtained?
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They say, “The road to success and the road to failure are almost exactly the same," but I have no superpowers.
Me: Who is to blame?
Thought: How am I to know?
Me: If what I'm doing in search of a better future is harmful?
Thought: How am I supposed to distinguish the difference?
Me: I'm stuck on a road with no exits. I'm on a straight path towards light, a better me, a better tomorrow, but nothing feels right, and I'm lost.
Thought: I can't ask for assistance because every time I do,
Me: I'm directed and advised to walk to the end of the tunnel, where supposedly the light I seek is, but who can I trust?
Thought: I had lost faith in myself.
Me: Isolation has turned the world into a hallucinatory environment. The world suddenly becomes a delusion,
In unison: and visions of the future made the present undesirable for habitation.
