Rant or Die
Through my lens: the perfect man in an imperfect world
Losing him took so much strength out of me. I fought to put myself back together. Most days I feel like I will burst with rage. The anger sat in my chest like a stone, heavy and hot, threatening to crack my ribs from the inside.
But then I see my mother’s face, everything fades. I stop pulling on my anger. My sanity crawls back to me. I try to make her smile at every chance I get. Wouldn’t want to make it too obvious that I am just a frustrated little man-boy on the inside who isn’t half of what his father was.
After it all began, after he was gone, I broke. From myself. From the world. I took time to figure out the difference between the pieces of me that actually mattered and those I’d been carrying unnecessarily. Or to understand if anything actually mattered at all.
I have now come to realise, that the hardest thing is knowing what’s really important before putting in the effort. Doing something is easy. Understanding the thought that goes into that action, that is the hard part. I spend most of my time now reflecting on his acts against mine.
Measuring myself against a standard I can’t reach.
I remember waiting for him at the gate. I was six I think. An imprinted emotion. A memory faded from infancy. Yet the feeling somehow as clear as ever. He would come home late in the night and I would run to him, happy, pure bliss. A moment I looked forward to all evening and sometimes late into the night.
When I was in fifth grade, my father very abruptly, realised there was more to life than coming home after a hard day’s work. He grew up believing what he was taught in the place he came from; work was worship, and everything else was noise. He couldn’t sit idle. He had to keep himself busy. I didn’t disagree. The same mindset was somehow ingrained in us.
During this time, I watched him dissect his emotions. Take control of them. Being away from his birthplace, gave his mind the freedom to think about what was actually important, beyond portioned food and timely sleep. I watched him go against the hardwired customs his childhood had embedded in him.
But I didn’t grow up in the same world. I didn’t understand what he was doing. I didn’t understand him at all.
Fast forward to my grown-up time with him. To me, one of his bigger achievements was being steadfast through whatever life threw at him. Even when every particle of the universe was going against him, he stood his ground. His priorities, as I understood, were divided in two parts: his religious beliefs and the world. As much as he wanted to get away from the latter, it chased him until the end.
I never completely understood what he was, till he was gone.
For instance: when the call to prayer echoed and he rushed toward God, I would run in the opposite direction. It was impossible to live up to his level, so I wanted to defy it all. I was afraid I couldn’t be as determined as he was. Here I was, just an ordinary punk, and that’s all I wanted to be. Not ordinary but still. The obvious choice seemed, to be rejecting the path he was leading me on.
Religion was for the faint-hearted, I thought. And I had gotten some academic recognition, so all his wisdom was just extra. I was a rebel, not like he was. And I was resisting for all the wrong reasons.
Ten years later, his tolerance, a hug, a hard line, whispered in my ear got me thinking:
I had not understood his impartiality to religion. I was still trying to prove to him that I was better. I had always felt I never fulfilled his wish to see me become the best person I could be. I believe he knew I was trying, but he couldn’t forgo his habit of pushing me harder. And I couldn’t beat mine of misunderstanding his intentions.
Consequently, my anarchic rebellion had run its course. I longed to make him proud. I would have gone to any lengths to do just that.
Toward the end, I realised: he smiled through most of what I had been putting him through. Sometimes he cried behind my back, as I found out later after he left me.
I arrive on point but I am always late.
He understood that.
In actuality, he could be described as an undermined perfect storm.
He didn’t want to command or conquer anyone. He wanted to help everyone if he could. Brute force wasn’t his weapon of choice. Patience was his greatest virtue. He didn’t want to fight. He believed love could deliver us all.
He didn’t want power. Knowledge was his capital.
He didn’t want to deal in anger and hate. He wanted to spread kindness and compassion.
He didn’t want the riches of the world. Only enough to spread it around him.
His struggle was with distrust and greed. Purpose was his pursuit.
He understood that revenge could not liberate us. Only forgiveness could set us free: first forgiving ourselves for the wrong we’ve done to ourselves, then forgiving those around for the wrongs they’ve done to us.
He didn’t hate, he had seen the unloved carry hate in to the abyss.
Make no mistake: we are in that pit right now. The light seems too far to reach. But we can choose to either rise from this fate together as one or perish in the viciousness of our oppressors.
Somewhere, we have lost his way. Anger has poisoned our souls. We have learned to react, not act. We have stopped chasing truth and settled for the hate of tyrants. We deviate towards the common road more taken, to steer clear of looking inside ourselves. By blaming the world we have imprisoned ourselves in our despair.
But witness this: we will prevail.
My father’s memory will run in our veins and torment us until the absolute end, but we will be victorious. The power they took from us will return to the righteous. The hate of the oppressors will pass, but his sanctity will remain.
I have felt his unbiased love, we will have his legacy too.
I stand here, trying to hold my ground. Not sure if I will be able to put myself together the next time. The only thing I know for sure is I lose a few parts every time I piece together myself.
I pray for the strength to hold on to purpose, to hold on to my family even if I have to lose everything else.
— Feeble son of a man who carried mountains with a smile on his face