چون قلم اندر نوشتن می شتافت،چون به عشق آمد قلم بر خود شکافت
Ink of Love
And so, I'm going through a little bit of blues these past couple of days. I used to agonize over whether or not I should talk about my sad days. You know, some people may not expect to hear me nag or complain or just be plain sad! I think I'm past worrying about that, and when I'm sad I say I'm sad. I am a very ordinary woman, with my joys, fears, pains, and hopes. Some days are good and some days are bad for me, just like everyone else. I think the only difference between me and some other people is that I write about my life more than they do, so I take that responsibility seriously.
One of my young friends kindly criticized me recently, saying that I am always only talking about positive things, alluding to the fact that I might be making my life to sound "unreal" or "incomplete," for no life is perfect and devoid of pain. I told her that at my age and station in life, I have lived long enough to know that even on bad days, good days will definitely come my way again very soon, and that even the worst days of my life these days, cannot compare in intensity and pain to some days I experienced in my life not too long ago. I know the difference between temporary irritations and permanent miseries, and these days I have no permanent miseries in my life to complain about! Simple as that! I told my friend that when I was her age, I reacted to situations a lot more dramatically, but that I have learned to wait out the harder days with what good things I can find.
There have been things in my life which I didn't, couldn't, write about recently. I had some crises in some of my personal relationships which were very painful, bringing me feelings of anxiety, confusion, and betrayal. I felt writing about those feelings on a public medium wasn't in the best interest of the people involved, including myself, and would be unfair to all. I kept quiet during some pretty hard times, then. Was that "unreal?" I don't think so, because even on those days I could find something else to write about. A pen is a double-edged sword! It can do good and it can cause harm. Given a choice, I'd rather my humble pen write about hope, write about love, and write about things I find amusing and interesting and positive in life. I know I am capable of writing about powerful feelings of desertion, betrayal, and abuse, too. Those who know me a little better know that I also have personal stories which would fit into those categories quite comfortably. I don't want to talk about those stories, though. They may be a part of my life, but not all of it. I should like to think that my life is a lot bigger and better and more positive than those events. I truly believe that eyes covered in tears cannot have perfect vision, and pens which dabble in the ink of hate and rage and sorrow, cannot write good things. I write with the ink of love.
Photo by Mona Atashfaraz.