The Outsider

Writer: Menna Kalboush

Editor: Ahmed Ashry


It happens that all my truths are untold.

Silence has always been a friend of mine with whom I shared my secrets and all of my concerns.

People have found their fortune in each other, in the midst of the chaos, hustle and crowds, while my only perfect atmosphere was created between the walls of a place that always embraces my heart with all the emotions and aspirations it holds, and in other times disappointments and successive mental breakdowns.

In fact, I found myself creating a very unique world between the walls of my small room; lights off, doors closed, and calmness overwhelming the place.

I never felt strange or lonely when I chose to stay isolated from the crowd, even though I could be lost through it, but I somehow felt powerful doing so.

I understand what it looks like for the rest of the people: dark, pathetic, and perhaps even depressing. However, I find it special and distinct, and sometimes contradictory; I seem very calm despite the fact that the inside of me is thunderous. I don’t hate people’s company but I prefer if they could move away from my space because I somehow learn from the distance. I’m looking forward but I often withdraw from new places.

However, I mostly feel blessed. I treasure my reality. Sometimes when I take a look at the world and try to blend in, I feel like an outsider. Or maybe the world itself is not just welcoming. I mean it’s already bustling with millions of peoplealways running in circles. They fade away when they are needed the most.

The truth of most of them uncovers once they shed off the masks. I did not lie when I said that this world is a perilous trap, you will definitely not know what’s hidden underneath.

The reason why I kept myself hidden is because whenever I show up to people, I have a feeling that all eyes are on me. Everything I do or say will be judged.

I never stop analyzing their acts, and that’s a huge misleading; it not only kept me away from understanding people, but also kept me locked up inside some made-up lies and delusions that I’m hated and rejected.

That was a bit of a tiny example of how a person with social anxiety feels. I guess I’m trying to figure out how to deal with the miserable aspect of being shy and lonely and unable to reach out to people and tell them how I feel.

But ultimately, and against all odds, I keep on walking in the same lane as long as I find myself in it, unconcerned with what people say, because I cannot afford to lose my soul, and probably in the end I will feel left out.

I choose happiness after all, and if that means spending all my time with no one else but myself and doing things on my own, so be it!