I often over analyse myself in order to make sure I never become my father. It’s been my worse fear since I was old enough to understand pain. His selfish ways along with his cold indifference towards anyone else’s feelings made me so scared. My obsession on it has now become a day to day thing, which most people who are close to me have understood. The fear always lingers at the pit of my stomach, will I be like him? Will I hurt people? Will I be so ungrateful and horrid? The voices in my head question every action. A couple of weeks ago, I was sure I had walked the same hypocritical path as him. I was so sure I had become him. I was shattered that my worse fear had finally come true.
Although I look like him, an exact copy according to some, I have come to realise that, Alhamdulillah I have more of my mother in me as substance. Yes I am selfish, impatient, sarcastic, tiring, horrible at times and ungrateful. But I can love others more than myself and I know there are those who I would do anything for, just to keep them happy. I know I would do whatever it takes to take care of them. This of course leads to me getting hurt time and time again, and as much as I hate that, I can’t help but feel maybe all that heartache is worth not being the tin man.
If I can, alhamdulillah, love wholeheartedly and be hurt again and again, then I am already mountains away from the emotionally constipated state of my father. If I can, alhamdulillah, push aside my own wants and needs to give someone else what they want, then I am eons away from my father. If I can, alhamdulillah, hurt so much but only cry in front of my Lord, and if I can, alhamdulillah be treated badly and still love them then I am not my father. I am my mother.
I don’t really think it’s a good thing to be this way, to be used and discarded. To feel love towards those who carelessly hurt you. To be betrayed by those you trusted. To still not be able to hate those who treat you like you are nothing. It’s doesn’t seem good at all. But somehow the fact that it means I am not him, makes it seem not so bad. I know I suppress whatever I have of him inside me, and I know I can channel it if I need to. But lately I’ve come to know that it hurts to. It hurts to be heartless as he is. It hurts to be cold, indifferent and curt, even to those who deserve it. I don’t want to be. Could all those years of trying not to be, and praying for salvation caused me to grow a heart?
I can’t help but feel that perhaps Allah (swt) has finally given me a better heart. A vulnerable heart, and yet far better than that which I might have had before.