Speak by Anoud Zouman

Posted on April 27, 2013 by

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I have a thousand parts of myself and they live in my head. In every second, every moment that passes by, I always find them shouting all at once.

 

“Listen to me. I’m right for you. I know what’s best. You don’t want this choice of life and you shouldn’t lie to yourself. You didn’t choose to be born Saudi or Muslim. You didn’t have a say in being the Daughter of Waleed, the Grandchild of Hamad, the one-day Wife of Man or Mother of Son. You are different identities that you never chose. Never a whole, only parts that you show to certain people at certain times. You want out, don’t you?

Then listen to me.”

 

Shouts a part of me that finds the sentence “Freedom or death.” holy treatment.

 

“Abide by the rules. They keep you safe from consequences. You can tell the driver to stop the car and leave in the middle of a street, but you wont. You can suddenly stand up and dance in the middle of a café, but you wont. You can voice out an opinion you know wont roll of your tongue with ease, but you wont.

You chose a lifestyle that kept you safe for many years. Keep it that way. I know what’s in your best interest.”

 

Interrupts a part of me that believes in being the ideal version of who I am.

 

 

Right now, in this moment that I’m writing this, the moment that I’m reading this, I feel so conflicted. I’m in two parts, torn in half and yet, I never seem to meet any side. I’m always right in the middle, hovering in an abyss of choices. I’m pulled to the right on a Friday, and on a Sunday I’m slightly tilted to the left.

 

I want to fit in, in the middle of a crowd and walk with the thoughts of any other.

But, I want to stand out, be an initiator of something so great I’d leave a mark upon the world.

 

Hand me a canvas and I’d kiss it a spectrum because I know I live in a world of grey. Nothing completely right or wrong because there’s complexity in every breath anyone inhales and every thought a daring person exhales.

But I might want to color in black and white because I’d prefer to stay on the surface of simplicity.

 

 

I want to speak.

Better yet, I want to yell.

 

I’m not this or that. You can’t point a finger and list what I am.

 

I am my own thoughts, and frankly, sometimes I wish I weren’t.

 

 

I’m ending this piece right in the middle, I still don’t know if my meaning was clear, if it seemed like debris in words or if it was so clear I should have shut up by now.

 

This piece is just as confused as I am right now.

I want to speak. So I’ll settle in with the fact that I can’t.

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