“You can’t quantify unhappiness. No one can say whose misery was greater.”

“But people have it worse!”


Read the list of the reasons why I’m miserable.

-Because my people have been dying through out history and no one cares anymore.
-Because I can’t do anything to help them.
-Because I feel helpless and useless.
-Because they have been dying for asking for their simplest rights:
Their language.
Their heritage.
Their traditions.

-Because a man was shot 15 times for singing a song in his mother language.
-Because some people can’t learn their mother language in school.

-I’m miserable because I have an ethnicity.
-I’m miserable because of history.
-I’m miserable because I think.

Whose fault is it?
The fact that I don’t know enough of my mother language.
Whose fault is it that I know more English words?
That I wasn’t born in my hometown?

-I’m miserable because I can’t read a book that one of my ancestors wrote.
-I’m miserable because I’m a coward.
-Because my ancestors were cowards.
-Because people now are cowards

-I’m miserable because I see fighters, fighting bravely.
-I see people die for what they believe in.
-I see women fighting for their rights.
-I see races fighting for freedom.

But that’s all I do.

I see.

And I don’t do anything.
But I want to!
My bones ache for it.
My throat constricts and my heart hammers.

But I don’t do what I want.

-Because my life is too comfortable.
-Because I can’t afford risk.

How will my being ever have a meaning?!
How will I ever have anything that means something?!

-I’m miserable because we’re not us anymore.
-We didn’t kill our daughters .
-We didn’t disrespect women.
-We weren’t ignorant.
-We had our morality stolen from us.

We had a land.

-I’m miserable because my people’s religion has nearly disappeared.

Where’s your fire? Where’s your book?
Where are my deities? Why were they stolen?

-I’m miserable because I’m angry.

I’m angry at the world.
I’m angry at myself.
I’m angry at my nation.

I resent history.

-Because of all the people that have had their rights stolen.

And I wish I were a god or a mage to open people’s eyes,
To remove whatever spell that has clouded their minds.

Yes, I’m miserable.
And I’ll always be.
But I won’t quantify misery.

Because I know what it feels like,
To have your misery invalidated.


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