Mariam Fishere
When she was younger, she used to scream out for help and nobody ever got it. They said she was smarter than the average children were, they said she was wiser or more mature, they never really got it. As balanced as she sounded or seemed to
be, as insane and wild she could have been. There was a completely other world, a different one, inside of her head. It was this type of world where she can be whoever she wanted to be, the type of world where she could actually be free, be herself, without always listening to the expectations others had from her. She tried as much as she could, not to listen to these expectations, she always tried to be the person she wanted to be, and she finally managed, but it took her a while. Meanwhile, she was suffocating without even noticing it. She used to think she was oversensitive, she used to think she paid too much attention to these small things some people don’t even notice, but that wasn’t it.
While those who didn’t want fame wanted power, and those who didn’t want family wanted career, and those who didn’t want money wanted happiness, she wanted nothing at all. There was nothing that sounded enough appealing to her, nothing could really move her. Life was more of a duty, for her. A routine, something she does every day, without putting much effort in it. She has been doing it, all along, but she never really noticed, maybe because she hasn’t thought about it, and maybe because she didn’t really care.
It is the kind of pain that she can’t stop, a kind of pain that she enjoys, sometimes, and a kind of pain that is completely independent. The pain in her head, that never fades away.
The air gently caressed her cheek while she was lying down on the sofa. It has been a while; it has been a long time that she hasn’t felt that calm and peaceful with herself. She has been running for too long that now when she stands still, she feels that she has to get back on the track and keep running. Keep running. But, from what? And where to? She closed her eyes and she knew this is a moment she has been waiting for, a moment when she faces herself. It wasn’t in a mirror, what she always escaped from. It wasn’t her reflection in somebody else’s eyes. It wasn’t anywhere but in front of herself. She knew she was present, finally present after years of absence. It wasn’t an absence due to distance, nor to sickness, neither to separation, it was because of her running all the time that she was absent, even to herself. For a few minutes, nothing separated her from her existence. Nothing. For one second, she doubted her presence. She was too used to being absent and feeling numb that she didn’t get what was going on.
