Dear Stranger; A Series of Letters, Pt.1

Written By: Farah Hatem

This is the first piece of many pieces that came from my soul, and throughout reading, you will get to know me better with what I’m best at, writing.

I would like to welcome you into the workings of my brain, the core of my being, the well of my thoughts. It’s dark in here sometimes, but other times, it’s full of flowers and rainbows. You’ll find fragments of ideas, thoughts, and everything in between. Nothing here is whole, including myself. I hope you don’t feel like you’re obliged to stay, you’re only partially obliged to do one thing; to read on. Enjoy reading. 

Dear Stranger, 

I make myself cry sometimes. I would remind myself of moments in life where everything seemed too dark, or too bright. I would replay memories inside my mind until it feels like I’m making them up, to make myself feel better. I would scroll through texts and old photos with a wide grin and wet cheeks and feel everything and nothing at once.

I don’t let people get to me. I’ve built a barrier that surrounds me from every edge, thinking it would protect me, thinking the harm is out there and if I don’t allow a person to make me feel pain then maybe I’ll be infinite. Maybe I’ll never get hurt. But the barrier shattered into pieces because the harm was never out there, the pain was not coming from outside. It was coming from within me. I was the harm, I was the pain, I was the ‘hurt’ and every other synonym.

I am writing this only because I couldn’t write it to a friend. It’s often so much better to write to you than to speak to someone who knows me, who knows what makes me strong and what makes me vulnerable. Writing those letters are a form of me communicating with the universe within me, and the world outside. Maybe through these letters I will learn more about myself, but I will learn nothing about you and that makes me a little mad.

I love listening to people speak with their eyes lighting up better than stars. I love hearing about what breaks them, what makes them ache, cry, smile, what makes them feel indifferent. I’ve always been the listener, never the talker, which will make this a little hard for me. However you should know, I am good with words, bad with feelings and speaking my thoughts out loud. I am made through pen and ink, I breath in metaphors, and you’ll probably find me somewhere between the lines.

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