Memoirs of a youth.

The end of youth, a personal story by Fatimah Musa

There was no street light but there was a full moon. I kept on walking with tears streaming down my cheeks. I did not know where I was heading except that I have to keep on moving. Inside I was screaming for help, for understanding and for love. Everything around me was broken and shattered.

"Why do I have to go through this life of turmoil? Help me, please! Can someone just hold me close and tell me that I am going to be alright. This is too much. I can't take it anymore." I knelt by the deserted roadside and sobbed.

I heard a voice asked me if I needed help. I shouted at him and told him to leave me alone. He scurried off and disappeared. I kept on crying and hating myself.

I was 15 then. I still remember that night when I tried to seek the meaning of life and was questioning my existence. My life was a vacuum. I was desperately looking for someone to talk to and who would listen. I wanted my family with me. I wished to have my youthful spirit back.

Nobody turned up so I conditioned myself to endure. I learned to withhold my emotions. I taught myself not to have a feel for events and people. It made life more bearable.

I thought I was growing stronger by the day. I was only fooling myself. It caused a larger void. I tried to put up a brave front but as I looked back I realized I was actually dying to regain the missing part.

Without my realization, I desperately reached out for attention. I demonstrated it through my behavior. I acted in ways to make me feel worthy and to prove that I was capable of being loved.

I stumbled many times. I cried and at the same time laughed at my miseries. I thought I was going insane. But I did not want to lose myself. I kept fighting within.

Now, so many years later, I confess that my emotions and sufferings were the composites that brought about my immense growth. The pains hurt badly then but without which I would not have learned the meaning of love and the beauty of being alive.

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