Another Friday night. I’m at home, sitting on my bed waiting for the weekend. I’m looking at the rain that tries to wipe away the long day’s tiredness, the wind passing through the trees outside. I focus on traffic light that changing color every few seconds, and think back on the week that I had spent with hundreds of feelings. One of them was pretending to be strong in trying times. What does that mean?
Starting the day with believing of the writing on the blackboard in your room that says “today is gonna be a great day” is that being strong?
In the corner of a crowded tram after crying in silence, wiping your tears with both hands at every station and just going on with life is that being strong?
In the middle of the day during a break, after washing your face and taking a deep breath, looking at yourself in the mirror and repeating “No man, everything is okay, you can handle,” again and again, is that being strong?
At the end of the day with the sky accompanying your loneliness, taking a seat on the bench near your house thinking of the ones you miss but ignoring the lump in your throat and then getting up to prepare a lonely dinner, is that being strong?
Late at night telling stories to yourself, dreaming of the outstanding days, slowly wiping the tears gathered in the corner of the eyes with the palm of your hand, with a small smile on your face and humming “because you need to be strong,” is that being strong?
Oh, thoughts make it hard to breath, so I lay down on the bed and stare at the ceiling again, and after few minutes I say to myself “but what if I don’t want to be strong?”
29 March, 2023
