A Perfect World

A tale of two lives lived in the face of prejudice.

She was a Muslim.

From the beginning of her existence, she had been taught to believe that she was special. That she meant something in this world that meant so little, that she was valued. Her individuality, the qualities that set her apart as her own person- they were to be treasured.

From the very beginning of her existence, she knew that this was a lie.

Innocence was a mask that failed to shield her from the reality of her own life. From the stares that pierced through her body when she walked down the street, from the words that struck her heart like violent fists, beating her and her family into miserable silence.

She did not need to remember who she was when so many people were ready to tell her as much instead. Outline her identity until it was branded into her mind like a handprint, until she would be sure never to forget it.

Her people were dangerous. They were to be feared by all, and trusted by none. The mistakes of others had been forced upon her shoulders from the moment she entered the world, declared over her life so that everybody would know the kind of person she was destined to be.  A future had already been written for her by authors that cared little for her story. How it began. How it finished.

Normalcy had been defined by the people of her town so that she should never fall under its category, should never be blessed with belonging or the opportunity to experience the sweet peace that came with just being ordinary.

Sometimes, she did not want to be unique. Did not want to be special, or different or diverse. She wanted to be like the uniformity of the bricks that lined the walls of her school, like the sureness of the days that passed by her in dreary waves.

She wanted to blend in. To become a different kind of insignificant. One that didn’t involve whispers and words that gripped her insides like a forceful hand, twisting and turning until the agony of it all became too much to bear.

Sometimes, she wanted to give up. To release the scarf that covered her head, to feel the wind whisper through her hair and know that now, everything would be ok. Everything would be so much easier.  

But easy had never been an option for her.

Because amidst the dark potency of her doubts shone the smallest flicker of a flame.

Of determination. Of faith in what she knew to be true. Try as she might she could not deny its existence, close her eyes or turn away from belief in her own way of life. No matter how small that fire inside of her became it never extinguished, and so it remained. Casting shadows yes, but also bringing light. Her only guide in this endless world of troubles and heartaches. Her strength.

Her survival.

 

His skin was black.

Twenty winters had passed before his eyes and his heart was still cold. Still frozen hard like the ice that encased the rivers in a glass cage, that trapped rain its glacial grasp and refused to let go. In winter everything became stony and sharp and that was just the way he liked it, that feeling of being strong and impenetrable and untouchable.

In a time where so little solace could be sought in the place that he still managed to call his home, the coming of winter meant that he didn't need to feel so crazy anymore.

Winter understood him.

When the world turned cold he felt no guilt that his heart was that way also, felt no remorse for behaving like the man he knew he had become. It no longer mattered that hope of happiness had been abandoned a lifetime ago, that his life now consisted of the harsh realities of being alone. Isolation was welcomed and rejection was commonplace, and the pain that came with both could easily be ignored, because winter knew who he was.

Knew it was not his fault he had become this way. Knew exactly who was to blame.  Recognized the cocktail of anger and bitterness that bubbled up inside of him, threatening to overtake. Winter had taught him long ago that freezing your emotions was safer than allowing them to explode. Losing your temper was not an option for the people of his kind. Of his colour.

Ice was safer than lava.

He did not have many friends in this world, but winter was one of them.

It had saved his life.

For whatever it was worth.

 

They came from two different worlds

But they were treated the same.

Their lives defined by hardships and trials, existences marred by the persistent beliefs of others.

Hands callused with signs of work forced upon them, hearts scarred and spirits slashed by knives held firmly in the hands of hatred and disgust. Like a disease infecting the minds of all who breathed, their injuries displayed symptoms of a greater problem.

Maybe, she could have been a politician. A revolutionary.

Maybe, he could have been a doctor. A life saver.

Maybe if the eyes of society had not be concealed by the blindfold of prejudice, if their potential had been recognized and their talents cherished, perhaps things would have been different. Better.

Maybe.

For although they did not recognize this world they lived in now, they knew how they wanted it to be. Hope was a blessing gracing them with the belief that one day things would change. That their children would live a life in a land filled and overflowing with peace. Acceptance. Where friendships were not determined by beliefs, by race or by colour. Where equality reigned supreme and opportunities were abundant.

They dreamed of a perfect world.

And although they would not live to see it

Did not know if it would ever really happen

For now

Hope was enough.

 

It had to be.