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

Parenting done right

Why don’t parents understand that in their desires for their kids to be something great, they’re ruining them? That in their wants, their children are getting trampled and damaged.

I’ve seen too many children sacrifice their mental health just for the sake of their parents. I’ve seen friends cry on school staircases because they felt like disappointments. I’ve had so many friends cry on my shoulders because I was the only form of comfort they had. What I didn’t understand was why did I have to be someone else’s comfort when I myself was a volcano waiting to erupt.

I don’t understand what is the point of sacrificing one’s very existence to give life to someone else. Isn’t that mental suicide. Why ruin your life just to make sure someone else is satisfied?

It’s like you’re willing to give up your freedom just because you’re scared of a war, which will erupt regardless of the appeasement. The British did that with Adolf Hitler. They gave him what he wanted, and he still opted for more. Sometimes some things are just inevitable. You cannot stall certain things just because you want them to stop. You can avoid a war for as long as you like, but one day it will consume you. So, might as well pick up your sword and charge.

Maybe when you don’t have a choice, you tend to choose between wars that will cause the least amount of damage and in this case, the self-damage that is caused has lesser destruction compared to the outer war.

It’s better and easier to keep everything inside, nod your head, and smile than to explain the destruction and eruptions going on inside.

But my point is parents need to understand that their children aren’t made of clay. They can’t just alter their children the way they want them to. They’ll ruin the beauty that nature has bestowed upon them.

It’s like forcing a plant to grow in a certain way, with certain nutrients, under certain circumstances, like an experiment and then complaining that the plant is ruined. You can’t force an apple tree to grow into a mango tree and you can’t force a mango tree to give lemons.

Every child is special and instead of altering these children, it’s time to accept them for who they are.

Einstein once said, “Everyone is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”

Everyone is a genius in their own unique way. There’s no point of forcing uniqueness into people, you’ll only damage them. Let things take their own course. Let people grow on their own. Let them mend with their own antidotes. Let them search for their own cures. Let them heal however they can. Just be supportive. Don’t push your children away because they aren’t what you wanted them to be. Teach your kids to be courageous but kind. Strong but courteous. Let them grow without expectations. Cherish them so they could cherish existence. It’s hard to break the cycle, but a little effort can save generations.

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Political games

Let’s wrap ourselves
in these political games
Let’s call it propaganda
and throw out blames
Let’s kill more people
and say it was a mistake
Let’s celebrate the spilling of blood
with coffee and cake.

Let’s take selfies
and watch little kids die
Let’s pray for forgiveness
while we burn you alive
Let’s divide ourselves
in these small little nations
Let’s believe in God
but slaughter his creation.

TIMES UP
Now pick up your bodies
and get out of our land
Just a peaceful message
hope you understand.

Sometimes the monsters we’re trying to kill are residing inside of us. We fear weapons of mass destruction will fall into the wrong hands, but how clean are ours? We act like we’re saints while the rest of the world is filled with sinners. I wrote my first book “The City of Saints,” to show that humans will find whatever excuse they can to start a war. It could be religion, ethnicity, skin color and in this case eye color. The protagonist of my book is a ten-year-old girl, Nuha Edel, whose trapped in a war her elders have started. She’s naive, witty and smart, but innocent. I wrote the book to show that history always repeats itself. The place, time and people are different but the events taking place are the same.

The robots in my book represent the oppressors, and how they’re exactly like us, but we see them differently because that’s what we’re taught. The robots or cyborgs are programmed to kill, but humanity gets the better of them. SAM (Specialized Assassin Military-bot) says, “I have a mind of my own, but I am not allowed to think.” It’s the concept of the “OTHER” and “FRIEND AND ENEMY”. Just because someone disagrees with you they’re considered you’re enemy. Just because someone is different they’re portrayed as evil and vile.

“We fear weapons of mass destruction will fall into the wrong hands, but how clean are ours.” Why do we see others as a threat when we’re no less of a threat either? If we all want peace, then why are we fighting. Maybe because we all have our own versions of peace. Maybe because my version of peace does not align with yours. Maybe we need a common ground.

I wrote “The City of Saints,” as a way to show that history always repeats itself; the people, time, place, and events would be different, but the end result would be the same because we as humans refuse to change. We’re all quick to play the blame game, but we refuse to take responsibility. Why? Why are we like this?

The slit of a wrist

I slide against the door, sitting on the cold floor with my knees pressed against my chest. The back of my head is leaning on the wooden door, next to the doorknob. A pounding headache is wrapping its arms around my temples. I can’t think straight. The voices in the back of my head that I’m trying to ignore are getting louder and louder. They’re buzzing through my mind like bees do when they’re making honey. But the thoughts pulsing inside my head aren’t sweet, they’re as bitter as blood.

“You’re so useless,” a soft echo screeches in my mind.
“Maybe you should just die.” Another argues. “God doesn’t make mistakes, but look He made you.” I find myself nodding, silently agreeing with those greedy voices. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I am useless-

“No,” a softer voice cajoles. “Don’t say that, love.”
“Yeah. You’re amazing.”

The war I’m trying to avoid is taking place within me. I’m tired of begging to a God who has no intentions of listening to me. I’m done fighting a war that only leaves behind scars no one can see. I’m scared of embracing a future I can’t fully comprehend. I’m terrified of looking into a past I can’t understand.

My chest is bleeding, but there’s no blood. My wounds are so raw, yet they can’t be healed. I’m losing, falling, failing, and I’m okay with that. The tunnel that’s supposed to be filled with light, is drenched in darkness.

In my hand, I’m holding a blade that’s an inch long but it’s as sharp as a knife. I twirl it in between my fingers and wait for the voices in my head to subside. Tears as thick as raindrops leak through my lashes and roll down my cheeks, disappearing somewhere in my clothes. The saltiness stings my eyes, making me blink twice as fast. The blue bathroom tiles seem so blurry and the fishes on the curtains, hiding the bathtub from view, seem so alive; I’m convinced I’m underwater. Maybe that’s why I can’t breathe. My lungs are imploding, and I can’t seem to inhale or exhale.

The anxiety kicks in first and then the panic attack. Anxiety slowly slithers into the pit of my stomach as it nestles in my chest. The panic attack creeps up behind me, and I find myself begging for it to leave me alone as a helpless child does to a kidnapper. The voices in my head become sharper and the anxiety is starting to take a hold of my limbs, draining all the energy in me.

For a split second, I numb out the voices and focus on that blade in my hand. It doesn’t seem sharp anymore and for some odd reason, I want it to be sharper. I place it against my arm; the cold metal tingles my flesh as I slide it down, putting more force towards the end. Blood pours down my skin, paralyzing all those voices screeching in my brain. I watch the drops trickle down my arm as they drip on the pink tiled floor. I move the blade and jab it back into my skin, putting in more force then I did before. The sting freezes all the emotional pain, and all I feel is the ache in my arms spreading through my shoulder, palm, and fingers. It’s the kind of pain that brings joy. The one that makes you feel alive when every cell in your body is aching to die. It’s the kind of ache that sidetracks you from pain. The kind of euphoria that comes in the form of a burn. More blood drips down, forming a puddle that’s mixed with my tears.

I take the blade again and this time with rage mash it into my wrist with as much force as I can, pouring all my resentment and anger in that tiny metal. The blood rushes out like a gushing river, and I am so dazed by the red hue that all the pain just vanishes. The white wooden door, my clothes, the tiles, everything is draped in red.

Like a murder scene.

The soft voice whispers in my ear with such ease that I smile. I lie down on the cold floor, on the pool of my own blood.

It’s okay, child. It’ll all get better.

I close my eyes listening to that alluring voice as it wraps me around in its thick arms. I feel an odd darkness take a hold of me.

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Back to the starting point

Do you ever have those moments where everything that could go wrong, goes wrong? Where you’re trying so hard to understand what role you had to play in this destruction, but you can’t seem to find any. Where the sky breaks apart, and you’re just standing there wondering why things are happening the way they are. The land beneath your steps shakes like an earthquake, and you plunge straight down in the core of the earth.

Everything you stood up for comes tumbling down. All the things you did in life replay like a movie, and you’re counting every single memory wondering if you ever did anything wrong to deserve this. And you find so many flaws and loopholes in this small life of yours that you accept everything that is happening because you deserve it. Because you’re an inconvenience in a world that is supposed to be perfect. Because you’re a blemish in the face of beauty.

That’s how I feel right now. Like a huge chunk of my chest is missing, and I don’t know where it is. Like there’s a hole in my heart, and all the happiness is leaking through; I can’t seem to keep it in no matter how hard I try.

Like water, contentment is flowing through the gaps in between my fingers and no matter how hard I try to grasp it, I can’t seem to hold it in. All I have are empty palms, and I keep looking at them in hopes that they’ll miraculously be filled. But they never are.

It’s this odd feeling of emptiness that takes away so much energy. Like you’re trying to create happiness from whatever source you can, but it’s time-consuming and it’s hard. It’s like forcing a lump of coal to transform into a diamond. It’s like forcing the sun to come out at night.

It’s hard fighting this emptiness, so you give in to this feeling of despair because the war you’re fighting isn’t worth the damage. But the most ironic thing is that no matter how hard you try to avoid being injured, you end up with wounds so deep that no salve can cure them. The war you’re trying to avoid is forcibly kissing you on the lips.

I guess life has a way of dragging you back to the starting point. Maybe because the road you were taking wasn’t yours to take. Maybe the victory you dreamt of wasn’t in your destiny. Maybe your whole direction was wrong, and life is trying to point you to a path that has your name written on it.

But we’re stubborn. We refuse to see what we can’t comprehend. Sometimes the only thing we can do is have faith. Have hope. Believe. Happiness is like a butterfly. The more you run after it, the more it’ll fly away. Just stay still. Be calm, and happiness will come to you, and it will settle down in between your palms on its own.

Picture from Pexels

Giving into failure…

Do you ever become so tired of fighting that you willingly give into failure? You stab yourself in the back so no one else would have the chance to do it. You fall to your knees, clench your teeth as tightly as you can and scream until your own voice gives up on you and then you give up on yourself.

It’s like you accept failure even before you try. You give into defeat even before you start the war. You lower your weapons and your guard and wait for that blow and when it hits, it knocks the breath out of you. You become so helpless that no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to rise. It’s like the ground has wrapped its arms around you and is pulling you down (and in this case, it’s definitely not gravity).

Why do we do this? Why do we let doubt cloud our judgments? Why do we accept defeat when the outcomes are infinite? Maybe because the thought of losing is worse than the actual loss. Maybe because it’s better to be prepared for the worse; it hurts less. Maybe we’re actually scared of winning, scared of not knowing what will happen. Maybe it’s the unknown that hurts. If we knew and we were a hundred percent sure that we would lose, it wouldn’t cause too much damage. But not knowing and having that tiny glint of hope is what makes us ache at the end.

But the thing no one has ever told me is that fighting isn’t always about winning. It’s about falling, crashing, bleeding and then rising and reforming. The bravest warriors don’t come out of war wearing a crown and a silk cloak. They come out in pieces. In ruins. In wrecks with tears spilling down their cheeks. They come out with wounds as big as the sky and cuts as deep as the ocean.

They’re torn and broken, but they manage to keep themselves together. These warriors don’t always win every war, but they make every war count. They learn from their fall and pick themselves up no matter how badly injured they are. They strike and plunge. Hit and ache, but they don’t give up. They find new ways. New paths. New strategies. They learn from defeat and fight until they have no option than to rise.

This is how life is. You won’t always win. You won’t always get your way. You’ll fall, just as you will rise. You’ll drown but that’s the only way you’ll learn how to float. It’s hard. I know. But the next time life drags you down and threatens you with all of its pawns. Smile. Look it in the eye and say, “bring it on.”

Photo by Sharon McCutcheon from Pexels