When I was a kid, I had plans of becoming some famous rock star and then using all of the money I’d earned to help starving kids, or kids without homes, or kids with abusive families. I used to think my life’s purpose was to make a difference, to change the world single-handedly (hello, Ego). I started this Wordpress because I wanted to a place to express myself and to promote doing good in the world. It’s not generating much attention and I could say that it’s because I’m not focused on stories, poems, or even anything relevant.
Did you see my mention of the bombing of the only pediatric hospital in Aleppo? No? There wasn’t one. I’ve been hiding from the pain. I said as much, I told you I couldn’t handle the pain of the world anymore. Does that solve the problem? No. It ignores it, like an ostrich with its head in the sand. The pain doesn’t go away because you don’t acknowledge it. It becomes louder and louder until it’s screaming in your ear while you sleep at night. There is no rest.
The other day I wrote a piece about my coming into feminism. I stand by what I wrote, it came from a place of honesty, but I also feel like it promoted misandry (which, incidentally, I almost misspelled as misangry). I was angry when I wrote it and though I am allowed to feel angry, to feel indignant, and to wonder why people are the way they are or think they way they think, it’s hypocritical to rage in such a hateful way. I don’t want my life or my work to be about hate or anger. Those are important emotions, but I gave them too much of a spotlight. I owe this world much more than selfish musings and angry commentary.