Dear Leila,
Your Dadi and I had a fight last night. You see, there’s an echoing disconnect between her and me. The vibrations of our stubbornness and my short temper scatter off the walls for all to hear. But the whispers of our broken hearts and the traces of erased dreams linger faintly in the space between.
She claims that I’m a liar. The truth is, she’s right.
When she asks about my aspirations, I lie. My answers, once spontaneous pickings from a tree of imagination, have now become a rehearsed, dishonest routine.
How can I tell the woman who has dedicated her lifetime to her sons so that they could dream bigger than she ever could that her younger son would rather be ordinary than great?
I can’t, so I lie.
How can I tell my mother that when I long for a brief moment of peace, I picture a white picket fence and a girl who doesn’t exist yet?
I try, but the words are never right.
How can I tell her that when my head lays to rest at nightfall and I close my eyes to dream, all I can think of is you.
She’d lie and say “I’m proud of you.”
_______
Riya aunty asked me if I was okay, I answered yes. The truth was that the angel of death had been whispering in my ear all day. My lungs were exhausted, my heart ripped through my chest.
The truth was that as I looked out at the vast horizon, as I gazed at the all encompassing sea, I saw my brave friends battle against the currents. And then there was me —
drinking the ocean’s salt as I drowned in acceptance of my failures and begged for some tranquility.
The truth was that fighting and finding my worth and purpose felt pointless. I even lie to myself.
Leila, I’ve lied to your aunties, your Dadi and everyone in our family tree, including me.
But I can’t lie to you.
I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. I fight against the currents so that one day I can hold you, teach you to walk, teach you to talk, tie your tiny shoes and adore you. I want nothing more than to be a good father and love you.
I aspire to be a lover because I learned from your Dadi and Dadu. They left a piece of their hearts 10,000 miles behind them and traveled the world out of their love for me and your Chachu. I wouldn’t be me if it wasn’t for them.
And I wouldn’t still be here if it wasn’t for your Riya aunty. As the voices rang out screaming how little meaning I had in this delicate world, I spiraled deeper into the void of the darkness. The voices fooled me into believing there was no need for me to climb out. They fooled me into believing my tomorrows weren’t worthwhile.
Your aunt gave me a reason why they are. Without knowing I needed a light, she provided one. Without knowing I didn’t plan for a tomorrow, she unloaded the gun.
And when tomorrow arrived, she reminded me that each day is a new opportunity to love — and what feeling is greater than to love and be loved?
Leila, don’t let the darkness fool you.
Please, don’t let the voices through.
I pray you never have to destroy your kingdoms of pride and joy.
I lied for too long. I pretended, to look strong.
But the heart will find its way. So let it love.
It’s how you battle the currents.
Today, it’s how I stay afloat.
MiC Columnist Nazim Ali can be reached at nazimali@umich.edu.