All posts by A. Rinum

About A. Rinum

I am a pre-med student, and my life is a wreck. No, really it is. Jump into my mind and see the world through my eyes. ( I wear glasses though). But if you need to laugh and cry at the same time. I am here. Read my works and jump into a whole other world. follow me on insta @shadowsofrinum

POETRY: The blast and the little boy…

I don’t know if it was a dream
because it was something, I couldn’t believe.

I saw a boy with tears in his eyes
and fire burning his hope alive.

He quietly looked up and to God, he prayed
“please kill me once and not every day.”

I couldn’t watch so I ran and hugged him tight
I promised him it would be all right.

His fragile eyes looked into mine
his empty soul asked me “why?”

I had no answer to what he asked
he hugged me tight as we heard another blast.

We saw those people run as fast as they could
to get away from this rain of blood.

Shouts and screams now filled the air around
more bodies and guns fell to the ground.

Those people were broken, they had nowhere to go
they lost their dreams and now all their hope.

The little boy looked into my eyes and to me he said
“When will it stop, why won’t this end?
They burned my teachers and shot all my friends
they killed my dad and my mother’s now dead.
they tortured my brother until he couldn’t breathe
I just watched my sister beg on her knees.”

The little boy sobbed as tears rolled down his cheek
He choked on his words, as he tried to speak,
“I’m scared of those bullets and the bombs they hold
please tell them to stop so I could go back home
but why would you care, this isn’t your life
I’ll just tell God everything, and he’ll ask you why?”

He slowly moved back as bullets pierced through his head
he was right, no one helped him it was just all pretend.

He slowly faded away as I saw him smiling
“I’m already dead save someone else from dying
let go of your ego and don’t let pride come in your way
free these people let them live one more day
those leaders have power, they don’t care where you are
they divided you into groups and are making you fight their war
lend a hand, not to culture, religion or race
but to those people who have a past to erase.”

What he had said echoed somewhere in my mind?
Why were we killing if we wanted to survive?

Fire wasn’t on this land it was in those hearts
not another nation but humanity was burning apart.

Everything vanished and I knew it was a dream
but for the 10-year-old boy, it was real,
something I still couldn’t believe.

Picture: Pexels

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Being Anti-social

I’m anti-social. Sometimes. Depending on the people and the circumstance and the time and space and the atmosphere.

I’m semi anti-social or partial anti-social. Or maybe 3/4th anti-social. Or maybe 1/4th anti-social. But the point is that I’m anti-social regardless of how non-anti-social I want to be.

I get nervous around people I’m not used to. Unconsciously, I sink into that dark part of my brain that I dread going into because I drown in questions. Like why do you have that scar on your arm? Were you abused? Did you self-harm? Was it an accident? Why do you have that dark look in your eyes? Do you worship the devil? Does the devil worship you? It’s like I want to know everything about everyone. Maybe because it gives me a clear perspective of where I stand. Am I comparing myself to them? Maybe? Or maybe like Einstein, I’m generally curious about everything and everyone. Like why is chlorophyll green? Why are all the other colors absorbed but green reflected? Why freaking Green? Why not purple? Can we time travel if we travel at the speed of light? What is light? Is it just the absence of darkness? 

Got side-tracked: but when I meet new people or old people I’m not used to, I start observing them like test subjects. Experiment vs control- Where I am the control and everyone else is the experiment.  I notice their actions, the way they speak, the way they interact, the way they smile. I don’t know why I do this. Maybe because in my mind I see everyone as a threat and observing them makes the threat lessen. I honestly don’t know why this happens? It’s like my mind goes into this frenzy and then there’s chaos. Maybe there is some deep unconscious trauma that I can’t pinpoint. Maybe I just overthink which ends up making everything worse for myself.

Some people I meet are the kindest ever, yet I go into this mode. And the worst part is people think I’m creepy because I stare at them way too long or they think I’m showing superiority or attitude when honestly all I’m trying to do is make myself approachable and social.

Picture from pexels

Wrenched anniversary

“It’s our anniversary,” she says so softly over the phone that I can barely hear her.

“That’s amazing! Are you gonna celebrate?” I ask trying to sound gleeful even though it’s 4 am in the morning, and I’m sleepy.

She doesn’t say anything and all I hear is her uneven breathing. “I’ve wasted eighteen years of my life.” There’s remorse in her voice, the kind you get when someone close to you passes away. She’s been married for eighteen years. Time passes by so fast when you’re not the one suffering.

“Huh.” I try to act oblivious even though I know what she’s talking about. She’s never mentioned it to me, but I’ve eased dropped enough to figure out things that I’m not supposed to know.

“Nothing child,” she steers away from the conversation and asks me about college, and when I’m getting married. I laugh it off and brush the conversation to something more convenient, like the weather. We can talk about things that are unimportant for hours, but when it comes to important things, we either have no words or we lose our voices.

Why is it so hard to say what’s on my mind? I want to press her, ask her for the details but I’m terrified of her answer. Sometimes the words I want to spit out are lingering on the tip of my tongue but no matter how hard I try I can’t seem to say them. It’s like they’re caged behind these metal bars that won’t let my words pass.

I know her because I love her like a second mother, but I haven’t exactly been the perfect daughter. I know the torture she’s been through and it gets me angry every time I hear her hopeless voice. I wish I could do more for her then just listen. But how can I help someone else win their war when I’m losing my own battles.

She seems perfect from the outside. We all do, but no one knows what’s happening behind closed doors. Some smiles are etched with knives of pain. Sometimes devils don’t wear horns, they come to you wearing divine wings. And the worst part is that these devils don’t even know they’re devils because they’re hiding beneath culture, sex, ego and power.

What I don’t get is why we become so afraid to speak? Maybe because we’re afraid no one will listen or understand. Maybe we’re afraid of the gossip. Maybe it’s easier to hide beneath veils then to be exposed.

I don’t know why she stayed. She says it’s because of the culture we grew up in and because she had children and there was no way she could fend for herself in a world where divorced women are considered taboo.

I remember hearing once that her husband beat her up because she left the house without covering her face. I do blame the husband but also the mentality he grew up in and sadly we’re still living in that same time frame.

People around me still have that mindset and no matter how loud I scream or speak, my voice falls on deaf ears. People think it’s better to endure abuse than to unveil that curtain. I don’t blame them because I am not in that position and I have no idea what they’re going through. But not speaking up ruin’s future generations. It creates abusers and victims. I’ve seen way too many women around me suffer in silence and their silence screams in my ears.

She- whose name I can’t mention is still in that position. Her children are a mess and it breaks my heart every time I talk to her or see her. I wish I could do more for her and other women like her.

Photo by Northwoods Murphy from Pexels

Needing Validation

Why is it that sometimes… no matter how many mountains I climb, or how many oceans I sail, or how many bridges I burn I don’t see myself the way I want to. No matter how hard I try I can’t seem to rise to a place where I want to be. It’s like the mountains keep on growing, and day by day I become smaller and smaller.

It’s like I’m stuck in this little plateau and the only thing I can do is jump off it. I could crash, or I could fly. The latter seems more likely. But I am at that point where pain seems like a better option than this feeling of being empty. At least that way I’ll feel something. The numbness creeps up on my skin and takes a hold of my being, making me feel like a hollow body without a soul.

I feel like no matter how many accomplishments I kiss, no matter how many victories I embrace, I won’t ever be satisfied because my heart is not content. I feel like I need validation from people close to me like a child in preschool needs validation from a teacher. I need the people around me to tell me I’m doing a good job because that’s the only way I’ll be convinced. I need people to tell me I’m good for me to believe it, which is bad because when I don’t get the validation I plunge into this hole of self-doubt.

I can look in the mirror and chant, “I’m amazing. I’m beautiful. I’m awesome,” day and night, but I won’t believe it, not until someone comes and tells me those things. The people around me don’t realize but their words have a huge impact on me. Sometimes their words hit like knives and bullets and sometimes they act as a salve. Even the tiniest gesture or a simple sentence could hit like a bomb and I would find myself thinking about it for the next eon.

A person could come and tell me I’m a psychopath and I would believe them because my brain is wired to listen to the outside voices, rather than the voices in my head. This is one of the most toxic traits you can have because it leads directly toward self-destruction and that’s the one thing I’m good at. Destroying myself. The worst form of abuse is the one that comes from within because at the moment you become your biggest enemy and there’s nowhere to run.

If someone told me I was ugly, I would agree with them and I would feel uncomfortable in my own skin and if someone told me I was beautiful, I would make myself believe that I’m worthy of being on the cover of Vogue magazine. Sounds stupid. I know.

Imagine having a computer and you need to reset it or fix it. The first thing you’ll need to do is turn it off, then take out the wires, untangle them and plug them back in. You might even have to reboot it. It takes effort and time, and fear that your ‘useful’ information will be lost with all the useless information.
That’s how rewiring your brain is like. You have to detangle yourself and, in the process, you might even cause more damage, but the best thing is that every form of damage is reversible and curable.

Rewiring your brain is hard. It’s not, ‘oh let me shut my brain off and turn it back on like a computer.’ It’s more of ‘oh shit, this was wrong’ or ‘oh snap I should’ve done that,’ but that’s how you learn. That’s how you progress. That’s how you break bad habits, by replacing them with good ones.

I’m working on myself, by making amends and filling in holes that I have because I was too busy doubting myself. Too busy looking for someone else’s approval. I’ve started listening to that soft voice in the back of my head now. It’s not always nice, but it’s there… dim… and barely audible.

I want to be you…

I want to be you….

I want to have your hair, your body, your job, your lifestyle. I want to be everything you are or everything you’re pretending to be. Can we exchange lives for a day or two or maybe forever? You could try to be me, and I’ll perfectly fit into your shoes like Cinderella.

Maybe then you’ll see how the demons I fight with swords of hope are crashing into my mind causing havoc worse than earthquakes. Maybe then you’ll realize that these fake smiles as wide as the horizon are carved with knives of anger. Maybe just maybe you’ll understand that the way I am is because I’m broken into so many different pieces that I can’t seem to glue them back together. And the worst part is that I don’t know what part of me is the original one.

When you’re bouncing between opinions and advice of other people, who think they know more than you…you become lost in this sea of voices that your own voice becomes so dim that it refuses to speak to you.

I want to be you because I envy that voice speaking to you. I want my voice back, but where do I search for it when it’s lost in between this sea of people. Where do I look for myself when I’ve become blind? How do I open my eyes when they’re sealed shut with glue as thick as metal?

I’m not asking for enchanted castles or showers of gold or status’s as big as the sky. All I’m asking for is self-acceptance and I don’t know where to find that. Does it grow on trees? Can I purchase it from Amazon? Would it miraculously fall from the sky? Maybe I can steal it from someone because I’m that desperate.

But NO.

Self-acceptance is something that I need to yank out of myself. I need to dig in deep. Carve out memories… break taboos… tear my insides and drain out all this negativity. Self-acceptance is understanding that you’re imperfect and that is what makes you perfect. Beauty is when you look into the mirror confidently and say, “I Love you just the way you are and there is nothing in the entire world that will make me want to change that.” It’s when you breathe a sigh of relief because you’re content. It’s when that tiny part of your soul is at ease.

Self-acceptance is when those voices in your head are kinder to you than the people around you. It’s when love reflects from you because you’re filled with it.

Photo by Ismael Sanchez from Pexels