Important: This is a personal essay inspired by the “pardon my sanity, in a world insane” line by Emily Dickinson.

“Pardon my sanity, in a world insane.”
Pardon my kindness, in a world cruel.
Pardon my humanity, in a world satanic.
Pardon my sensitivity, in a world apathetic.
Pardon my depth, in a world shallow.
Pardon my honesty, in a world false.
Pardon my pulse, in a world cold.
Pardon my hope, in a world ruined.

Pardon my empathy, in a world insensitive.
Pardon my healing, in a world broken.
Pardon my stillness, in a world rushed.
Pardon my wonder, in a world bored.
Pardon my color, in a world gray.
Pardon my logic, in a world blind.
Pardon my softness, in a world hard.

Pardon my silence, in a world loud.”Pardon my disillusionment, in a world blindfolded. Pardon my disgust, in a world disgusting. Pardon my depth, in a world of surfaces.”

“Pardon my disillusionment, in a world blindfolded. Pardon my disgust, in a world disgusting. Pardon my depth, in a world of surfaces.”

— Sadia Hakim

Why does virtue feel like a crime?

“Pardon my sanity, in a world insane.”

We live in a time of deep inversion. We have reached a point where the things that make us most human, such as our empathy, our stillness, and our depth, are treated as inconveniences or even as defects. When you look at my poem above, the word pardon carries a heavy weight. It is not a polite request. It is a weary acknowledgement that to be a functional, feeling human being today is to be in constant friction with the environment around you.

When the world is insane, the sane person is the one who is marginalized. When the world is cold, the person with a pulse is the one who feels the bite of the wind most sharply. We find ourselves apologizing for our sanity because it prevents us from participating in the collective madness that society has deemed normal. To be sane is to see the cracks in the wall that everyone else is busy painting over. It is a lonely, quiet burden.

The weight of a pulse

“Pardon my pulse, in a world cold.”

There is a terrifying mechanical quality to modern existence. We are expected to move like algorithms, to produce without fatigue, and to interact without friction. To have a pulse is to have a rhythm that does not always match the ticking of the corporate clock. It means you have blood that can run hot with passion or cold with fear. In a world that prizes the cold efficiency of the machine, your pulse is a reminder of your fragility.

I find that I am often apologizing for my sensitivity in an apathetic world. “People mistake sensitivity for weakness.”  They do not realize that it takes a massive amount of strength to remain soft when the world is hard. To remain gray is easy because it is a form of camouflage. But to have color is to be a target. To have hope in a ruined world is not a naive act. It is a revolutionary one. It is the refusal to let the external decay dictate the internal landscape.

The disgust of the disillusioned

“Pardon my disillusionment, in a world blindfolded. Pardon my disgust, in a world disgusting.”

Disillusionment is often seen as a negative state or a loss of something valuable. But disillusionment is actually the removal of a blindfold. It is the moment you stop seeing the world as you were told it should be and start seeing it as it actually is.

If the world is disgusting, then disgust is the only honest response. If we are not disgusted by cruelty, by apathy, or by the satanic disregard for human life, then we have lost our humanity entirely.

We apologize for our disgust because it makes other people uncomfortable. It forces them to look at the things they would rather ignore. Your disillusionment is a gift of clarity, even if it feels like a curse. It is the price you pay for refusing to wear the blindfold that everyone else has tied so tightly.

The silence and the stillness

“Pardon my stillness, in a world rushed. Pardon my silence, in a world loud.”

We are told that to be silent is to be empty. We are told that to be still is to be lazy. The world is loud because it is terrified of what it might hear if the noise stopped. It is rushed because it is trying to outrun its own shadow. When you choose stillness, you are making a stand. You are saying that your value is not defined by your velocity.

I have often felt the need to apologize for my silence. In a loud world, silence is seen as a lack of opinion or a lack of presence. But silence is where the wonder lives. It is the gray world that fears the silence, because in the silence, the color starts to show. In the stillness, the logic that the blind world has lost begins to return. We must stop apologizing for the space we take up with our peace.

The healing in the brokenness

“Pardon my healing, in a world broken.”

There is a strange guilt that comes with healing when everyone around you is broken. We feel the need to hide our progress, to mute our wonder, and to dim our logic so that we do not offend the blind. But a broken world does not need more broken people. It needs those who have found a way to color the gray. It needs those who have a pulse that can restart the hearts of others.

Honesty is a sharp tool. In a false world, it cuts through the layers of performance and pretense. We apologize for it because the truth is rarely convenient. It ruins the boredom of the gray existence. It demands an answer.

Refusing to beg for forgiveness

As I look at this poem, I realize that the word pardon must eventually change its meaning. We start by saying pardon me as a shield, a way to navigate a hard world without being crushed by it. But as we grow into our depth and our humanity, the pardon becomes a statement of defiance and rebellion.

We are not asking for forgiveness for being sane. We are announcing that we have survived the insanity. We are not apologizing for our softness. We are demonstrating that it is the only thing the hard world cannot break. The world may be ruined, gray, and cold, but your hope, your color, and your pulse are the only things that are actually real.

Do not apologize for being the only one in the room with your eyes open. The blindfolded world may not like what you see, but that does not make your vision any less true, any less human. Your disgust is a sign of your health. Your sanity is a sign of your strength. In a world that is insane, to be pardonably yourself is the greatest victory you can achieve.

So, pardon me saying this again. Pardon my sanity, in a world this insane. Pardon my kindness, in a world this cruel. Pardon my humanity, in a world this inhumane. Pardon my sensitivity, in a world this insensitive.

— Sadia Hakim ©️

Author’s Note:

This poem is an original derivative work by Sadia Hakim. The line “Pardon my sanity, in a world insane” is an intertextual reference to Emily Dickinson and remains in the public domain. All subsequent lines and the specific anaphoric arrangement, and the essay are the original intellectual property of Sadia Hakim © 2026. All rights reserved.

Read more here.

Follow me on Instagram.