I cried non-stop yesterday for two hours.
My finger doubled its size under the fierce grip of a three tier ring twisted in style. In less than an hour, my blood circulation was cut off.
The physical pain was intense, the mental strain from the possibility of losing the finger as it turned blue combined with the horror of watching as a cutting saw was used to sever the band.
Still, I have felt more pain back in time.
On that field in Nsit Atai. Running the 100m race was a welcome escape from the mindless routine in the camp.
I remember stretching before the heats, I remember not eating. I remember feeling cramps in my thighs, I remember not stopping until the finishing line.
Rolling on the grass, the moans began, then the tears. My legs throbbed even when I willed them to stop. My heart stopped as I imagined the worst. If I am being carried out on a stretcher, I may not walk again. I cried for two days.
The most pain felt holds several anniversaries to its name.
“If you die, I will die”. Is there someone you would speak these words for? A pledge of togetherness, an oath of love, sealed with the inseparable bond.
Yet, death severs all ties. When this happened, I was left with the memories that floated by. My eyes were cloudy and sore from the tears that flowed for two months.
How does one numb the pain? Tell me where to buy a pain eraser and I will share it to the world.
Unending fuel queues, stigmatized children. Homeless laborers, victims of prejudice.
Your pain is in my heart. In all its degrees.
It may take an hour or two days, it may take three months or four years.
Even if the waters remain stagnant, time will take it away. This pain.