“Are you okay, though?”,she said.

I can hear the weariness in her voice. I know she is tired of me.

On our first days, I remember hearing the sincerity in her voice. When she asked if I’m okay, I knew she meant it. I knew it from the deep pit of my heart and from my ears. She used to ask how I am doing holding my hands, putting my head to her chest as if it was all that mattered in the whole world. I remember her caring eyes looking through me. Not just at me.

And everyday, I used to say “I’m okay”. I know that I am not. She can tell that, too. But I wanted her to hear it from my heart, not from my mouth. My soul screams, but my lips are glued. She listens. Then she hugs me. I get healed. At least for a little while. Even though I can’t be raised from the grave, I come alive just for a little longer. I start living inside my tomb winning my own death for a while. I breath a fresh hot air. Even though I hate living, the bitterness of it leaves my side for a bit. I call it the neutral world. Like the purgatory. Neither heaven, nor hell. For someone who is used to living in hell this is a slice of heaven. So I breath! For someone who is used to being hated, not being loved is a heaven of sort. (Dislike is grey shade between love and hate, perhaps.)

She asked me for the thousandth time. I replied “of course I am”. But I broke down when she asked me once again one day. I felt like she deserved the truth. She at least earned it to know how I am right now.

“Truth be told,” I said. “I am not okay! I don’t even know what being okay means anymore.” She was relieved I told her the truth, but sad for my state. She reconciled my soul and my lips, for once. She smiled while her eyes were tearing up. Then I told her my pains. Multiple pains. Things I haven’t been telling myself, things I have been covering up with the phrase “I’m okay”. I talked until my soul felt bare naked. I showed her the most ugly version of me.

She listened. Intently. I even started to wonder, doesn’t she get ever tired of listening? She listened me through her whole body. I couldn’t even hear her breathing or sighing. She heard everything until I felt like I defiled her ears with my foul stories.

She heard me thoroughly. Not once, but many times more. And me, I felt like a baby who started talking for the first time. Pouring out my pains to her ears become my customary thing. I forgot she was just a human who has her own pains, too. She became my listening god. Sometimes, I judge her for it. Who told her to poke my everyday dying body? What else would be poured out except a sour potion?

Today,
“Are you okay?” She said. I was shocked. Really shocked. I can hear the frustration in her voice. Sound is miraculous, isn’t it? You can hear the emotion of the speaker along with the words. I realized it’s like an encrypted message which can only be deciphered within the rhythm of a heart. How magical!

I read her voice. I heard the deep notes within my heart. I unrevealed the code. She is worn out. She has grown tired of me. I see her ears. They seem older than her entire body. Listening to my continual painful tales has burnt her out. She never said the words. But I heard it. Words may lie, but not voice.

Now my soul is in the fire pit of regret. I saw how selfish and self involved I was. I resented the moments I felt better by telling her my pain. Does being okay means transferring your pain to someone else? Do we even heal ultimately? Or do we just learn to manage and accept our pain? Does sharing our pain to a fellow human being makes us feel less pain?

I wonder if the law of conservation of energy applies here. Pain is neither created nor destroyed. It’s converted from one person to another.(Law of Conservation of Pain)

I felt all the ache now. I felt it all more than ever. May be even more pain than the other times. The twinge of hurting someone with my pain. Is there more painful thing than that? I don’t know! I really don’t think so. It hurts to ail someone. Putting someone in affliction for the sake of momentary relief is really painful. I swear it is!

“Are you okay?”, she repeated the question when I indulged in my silence for longer than a while.

“I’m really okay”, I said swallowing my tears from my eyes to my heart. I know it will boil my heart to death. But then, it felt worth it.

She smiled at me. Unlike her tone, I couldn’t tell if she meant it or not.

I smiled back my false grin trying my best to make it look like real!

#the_confused_world

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Translated from an Amharic piece by an amazing writer I know – Yonathan Getachew

For more of his works, visit https://t.me/yonis_home