A shunned, pariah, guilty individual sentenced to life imprisonment. With not a thing to look forward to. And not a loving memory to look back at. An individual who feels completely worthless no matter how much he or she atones to innumerable sins.
That’s how some Pakistanis(inside and abroad) treat the country. Like a crippled stray dog. Like a child begging on the streets with mud-lined fingernails and mucus-flowing nostrils. We show no mercy. We show no reprieve. We spit in its face, time and time again.
I see a huge, growing disparity. Between generations. Older generations are either now indifferent, too sick, or just too bitter as a result of years of carrying the burden of hope. Everything infuriates them. But it is an anger that is meant only to simmer, not to boil over and create revolutions. It is an anger that hides regret. It is an anger that regurgitates toxic fluids of despair.
And then I see younger generations. Swooning over the latest social media gimmicks, television hypes, fashion trends, happening restaurants. Or hatching plans to fly abroad. Consciously assimilating into the society to keep things status quo. Or putting on masks of beauty to conceal all that’s rotten.
And then the chosen ones. The few, unreal-real people who don’t belong to any one generation. They are few but everywhere. They are timeless and don’t need petty categorization for self-identity. They don’t change countries. They don’t play the blame game. They just stay and make a difference, big or small, it does not matter. They put on their blinders, and just keep moving forward. They don’t care what people say or do or don’t do. They don’t care what happened in the past or how hopeless the future is ahead.
They bring their own colours. And they bring their own light. They enter those dark tunnels and paint. And paint.