Identity Crisis

People’s perception of me meant more to me than how I percieved myself. Needless to say, I was oblivious as to who I was; it wasn’t important.

For almost two decades, I lived up to family, friends, even strangers’ expectations rather than my own. Like a lovable character in a fiction novel or screenplay, my actions satisfied the appetites of hungry spectators. “Are you not entertained?” was a subconscious, matured way of me asking “how high do you want me to jump?”

As pathetic as it sounds, I was a slave of mankind’s thoughts, under its command and trapped inside its narrow mind.

What is life without liberty?

How can a man live freely if his choices aren’t his own?

In order for me to be liberated, these lost questions needed to be found. One deadend after another, I searched for clues. Eventually I heard screams of agony coming from a near yet rare place. Tracking my inner voice, I discovered a mountain of skeletons and broken bones.

It then became obvious where the noise was coming from.

Without procrastination, I climbed up and dismounted all of the skeletons and bones. The closer I got; the screams grew louder. When I got to the bottom, a naked, scared little boy lied there. As I extended my arms, the boy desperately hugged me. “It’s okay,” I said. “You’re safe now.” The whimpering boy’s streams of tears ceased.

Buried deep inside my soul, I dug up the key to unlock the chains that ruled my life. Understanding who I am and what I want, I don’t care what others think of me; but moreso what Latif thinks of Latif.

Photo by Kat J on Unsplash