They ask me who I am; they ask me to define myself and confine myself to a single word.
Dear diary, I want to tell them who I am in one word, but I am afraid they will laugh, mock, and fail to understand how profoundly words affect me.
I want to tell them I am a monster, but I am afraid I won’t be greeted with a “That’s tragic; let me make you human” response. I want to tell them I am human, but I am afraid I won’t be welcomed with a “That’s boring; be a madman with me” remark.
Dear diary, I want to tell them I am claustrophobic, but I am afraid they won’t say, “Let’s create a life that doesn’t suffocate us. Let’s run towards mountains and meadows, find a place to enjoy starry nights and morning rains, and escape the surrounding noise.” I want to tell them I am afraid, but I am afraid they won’t say, “Let’s not care about people. Let’s guard each other’s hearts.” I want to tell them I am a burden, but I am afraid they won’t reply, “Isn’t that what Albert Einstein’s General Relativity describes as gravity, which is essential for the universe to function?“
Dear diary, how can I use one word to encapsulate who I am? If I do, the blade of another one-word description stabs my heart. Dear diary, how do I convey that I tried it once, and now I am a body with a million shrapnel and shards of those words piercing my very being? To avoid the pain, I simply tell them in one word that I am an alien.
Dear diary, they say, “One last question: who are you?” but they don’t realize how painful that specific statement is. If that is truly the last question, is there any point in poisoning yourself with one word?
There is no one-word substitute for who I am.
Sadia Hakim
Dear diary, people do not understand.
Dear diary, people cannot understand.