I had wanted something that was, well, hard to get. Not impossible, but hard. And, well, I didn’t get it. It was a hard time for me. I had wanted this so much, so incredibly much, that when I didn’t get it, I was heartbroken. It was like all my dreams had shattered. I thought I was over it, that it seemed to matter much less to me, until now. I saw the picture of someone who did get what I had wanted, and had prayed for two (or more) years.
All the emotions came back. A million and one thoughts crisscrossed my mind, with one thing in mind: I didn’t get it. Why? I asked Allah a thousand times. Why hadn’t I been able to get it? Was it because I didn’t want it enough? Was it because I wasn’t good enough? I knew I had tried my best; but the epicentre of the pain was one big w h y.
How could this be “better” for me? My life after that was one black abyss of nothing. I had dreamed and day dreamed and hoped for this one thing so much, that now, I wasn’t sure what to do. I could try again, but who was to say this time wouldn’t be the same?
And then the familiar feeling of dread: my entire life would be one of inconsequence. I would have no place among the world and I hated this feminine body even more. But that was life, I guess. Perhaps my life would be a suffering. What force could I bring against fate?