A Part Of Me Had To Die.

This is going to be a highly personal and rather painful reflection, but I’m going to write it down in hope that you can also relate. And you all know that my purpose is to bring to light experiences that we humans have to go through in order to break free from restraints, limitations and boundaries to truly live a meaningful, beautiful life.

And little did I know that this whole beauty involved death. I might have poetically envisioned it, but I was unaware that such an experience could be real and powerful, even painful.

Let me start with that late September evening last year, when I walked into my balcony to take a moment to observe my surroundings. Instantly, I noticed my geranium plants in the southern corner of the balcony with a strange hue, a rather faded complexion and structure. I looked closely and touched their leaves—

They were wilting.

It took me by surprise because, geraniums don’t normally wilt so early; I was even looking forward to enjoy their greenness as the weather cooled down as autumn slowly arrived.

Similarly, at that time, I was feeling quite odd— empty, lost, sore. I didn’t know what was going on especially after that peak of life and vigour I had reached. I knew I was on my way to get back on track and regain this bright light, somehow, anyhow. I was so determined, nothing was

going to get in my way.

But then it hit me— maybe a part of me is dying.

I remember feeling struck to the point where I had to shed some tears. I didn’t want my soul to die, not now, at least. Not when I was already having all those things to do— these responsibilities, new adventures, experiences and ways to grow and improve. I wanted to emanate this light at such a crucial time. I panicked at the thought that I had to face the world with this emptiness. It seemed impossible, for how could I deliver value when feeling so invaluable inside?

I resisted. You may even see it from my blog posts that September, talking about climb downs, new beginnings and the hope associated with it. Deep inside, I was just telling myself to get up, stand on your feet, get yourself back together, it’s not the right time, you have a lot to do, go go go, run.

I didn’t want to die. I wanted to thrive, like always. But then I realised that this was happening, and I pushed everyone away. I isolated myself from those I loved, because I was changing and I thought, perhaps they only loved the person I was before— kind, loving, positive and upbeat. They wouldn’t love the stronger, fierce yet vulnerable person I was becoming. I decided to push them away.

I had to go through this transformation to shed my persona. How blind I was! That persona I developed throughout the summer; this infinite force of love towards ones around me, putting them first, weakening my voice. I thought it was me, but it wasn’t. I had to go through this to shed my false identity.

And now I see it clearly. I let that persona die. I let it go. And now, I’m Soraya. I’m a bundle of contrasts and opposites. I’m not a gentle stream but a fierce river of conflicting currents— and I love it. I love the realisation of knowing who I am, knowing that I don’t have to mask myself to quiet down the conflicts, knowing that I don’t have to sacrifice my beliefs or ideals just to fit into this world.

Now there is a peace I didn’t feel before. A peace of feeling loved from within and by those who truly know me. The ones who don’t mind what I portray, the ones who see through my rain.

I have my own things to face now, but at least they are sincere. At least now I have this new layer of skin that is ready to plant new motives and ideals, for the love of the universe, for the beauty of people, for the kindness of sophistication and confusion.

And now, I look at my sister and mother and don’t feel like I have to stay with them. I don’t feel as if I am attached to love or family or anything. Perhaps it’s beautiful to be with them, it’s healing in a way, but as opposed to last year, I don’t feel that I am dependent on the notion of having to give love to others because it’s already out there— it’s within God, our sole provider. Nothing amounts to this infinite source.

My sister asked me just last night, crying out of the blue, how I felt when I was in the airport, ready to go back to Egypt. I told her I felt empty. I wish I cried, but no tears seemed to come, and now I’m thinking— will I cry by the end of the summer? I’m quite uncertain, without any premonitions. I don’t know how that new, fresh person I am will react.

But whatever it may be, let it be sincere and genuine. Let it be from a place of love instead of fear. Those few days have been transformational as I learned where love can take us as humans. Those learnings are ones that I only used to imagine, but they are real and even better than what I visualised them to be like. They’re forgiving, accepting and infinitely supportive. They recognise the value we hold, the awareness we cling to in order to create our own individual, independent journeys. It’s a beautiful lesson.

I’m grateful. I hold no expectations from the person I’m becoming, but I dearly hope to add value to my little world. To do something different, something challenging and ground-breaking.

Only with love.