There is a growing hatred inside me. Silent, yet burning… A hatred for the land I live in, for the people who stole what was mine, for those who shattered my heart and then wore innocence like a mask. It grows—this hatred—for everyone and everything. Even the last fragments of my will to live are giving in to the darkness of helplessness.

When people ask if I’m okay, I no longer see concern—only a devilish curiosity. Those who mock my beauty while turning a blind eye to their own ugliness make my hatred grow stronger. But what I despise most are the ones who first made me desperate, only to act like they were being kind.

I slip into bed at night, tears filling my eyes… I sleep, I wake—but the pain inside never fades. Every moment I’m left needing someone, my heart aches more. My mind overflows with hatred, so much that love can no longer bloom. Tears fall—not from sadness, but from rage.

Being born in the Middle East… there are no words strong enough to describe that burden. To explain is never enough. Some things have to be seen—but not just seen. They must be felt. You must understand without a single word being spoken. You must feel without needing someone to explain.

Every time I look in the mirror, I pity what I see: ☆ Where did I grow up? ☆ Who was I forced to rely on? ☆ What pain have I endured?

My emotions lose meaning. My feelings lose value.
I no longer want anything from anyone.
Not a glass of water, not a piece of bread.
Because I know… One day, they’ll understand.
And when that day comes, all feelings will turn into hatred.
One by one. Piece by piece.

And me… I won’t smile at those people ever again.
Smiling after all they’ve done would be betrayal—of myself