Hatred. An emotion whose flames threatened to consume me for years on end. The heat of its flame distorts my personality. I have already burnt parts of myself to sate these harsh flames. In the end, I must snuff out these embers thoroughly– for a single ember is enough to reignite forgotten wrath. —
My hatred is one without purpose– it is one with my experience and injustices I have seen. A profound disgust of humanity for the actions that I have been privy to. A sense of revulsion echoes throughout my being, witnessing such hypocrisy– not having the power to question such ignominy.
A hatred whose flames flitter on my fingers as I distill its essence into this piece. Time has only served to raise the standards in which my hatred is invoked– my maturity acting to dampen and soften this hatred of mine.
I wish to discard this hatred, for I regret having to see such base instincts and actions exhibited by humanity. I wish to forget this hideous knowledge, for I have begun to realize how ignorance is a blessing– wishing to revert to my infantile times. Alas, I am human and I do not intend to disavow the humanity ingrained in my soul.
I cannot praise our virtues if I am to not recognize our sins. I will not let the light blind me to the horrors that we have done to one another. I can no longer let go of this hatred– for it has already soldered itself into my now-burning heart.
Let this hatred of mines be tempered with the ever-heavy hammer of maturity– to soften the edges. Let its mold be that of redemption and justice– to mould its convictions into an ideal nobler than I. Let the still waters of time quench it– to weaken its intensity, ensuring that stability remains.
For I refuse to condone injustice for a single breath longer– let this hatred of mine awaken on the behalf of my brethren and for myself.
If I cannot discard this burdensome hatred, then I will ensure that I am the one wielding that hatred. I will not succumb to the biased derivations of my thoughts. I will not repeat past mistakes. I have already felt the brunt of its weight, a terriblesome weight that seeks to corrupt. That period of time has mellowed these flames of mine– most trouble accrue dislike, for these flames have jaded my life.
Hatred and Love are two sides of the coin. Yet I find the shadow of that coin as a stronger poison. It is a fire whose fumes perverts your very being, changing it over time. By the time you have noticed your affliction, you can no longer stop due to the very real principle of inertia. It is a flame of oblivion, burning your remembrance, leaving you as a husk full of hate.
In the end, even that hate will flicker out of existence, for the memories that once sustained it have been burnt– reduced to ashes. There is no compromise with the hatred in your heart. You must be the one to control it, lest it ensnares you and uses you as a sacrifice to itself.
This seed of hatred that has been sown in my heart was nurtured for five years. For me to deny it now is to deny a part of myself, by extension my actions as well. I refuse to let the fruits of my suffering wither, so I will use it to reforge my being– gaining control over it in the process.
How ironic, I began to write this in an attempt to disavow my hatred. Only for me to realize the futility of such a feat. In its place, I have written about the nature of hatred and the proper way it should be used. To feel is to be human; It is impossible for us to not feel negative emotions in this life, so we should instead strive to conquer these emotions before they conquer us in turn.
However, I harbor no hatred for no person. My hatred is not one that targets a person, but an act. There is no point in hating a person, for I have no need of a flame threatening to engulf them with myself as its sacrifice.
The deeds I’ve borne witness to have already desensitized my heart, increasing the threshold of my hatred. It made it harder for me to hate people since they can’t reach that threshold in the first place, the flame fizzling out in the sea of experience. An appropriate example would be the taste of cold water being muted after chewing on some dry ice.
Those amongst us who preach of rejecting hate and other such emotions are either those who are truly blessed– figures that embody their ideals or those whose tongues are lathered in deceit– a sinner who wove around themselves a veil of false virtues.
Their words are ideals insurmountable to the common man whose blood oozes the scent of humanity. To give up an emotion is a task that we could never fulfill.For these emotions that we seek to cut away shall surely make its way back with a bloody vengeance. These emotions are a part of our being, parts that we may suppress but will never ultimately never let go. To deny an emotion is to deny your mortality.
Remember that you are human. It is natural to hate, to grieve, to envy, to harbour such negative emotions. For you to delude yourself into thinking that you do not carry such emotions is an inherently mortal thought, a thought conjured by arrogance. We are flawed beings, never meant to be perfect. However, that fact does not diminish the story of our lives. In fact, it exemplifies our story– showing that our flaws cannot stop us.
We may not hold any direct control over these flaws hidden within ourselves, however the very fact that we know of them grants us the ability to use these flaws for our benefit. We can use our own flaws for our betterments. Just as I have turned my overthinking into ink and my hatred into a weapon, I can forge my flaws into strengths that I can control.
Our flaws themselves are also subjective, what we perceive as our flaws may not necessarily constitute as actual flaws. We are the ones who categorize our thoughts and traits into flaws.
We have a ludicrous amount of control over the definitions of ourselves, by extension our being. However, it is up to you to wield this power. Power itself is a pure concept, a concept foreign to morality. We are the ones who impose our will, thus adding the layers of morality to its ebb and flow.
If I cannot stop myself from feeling negative emotions, then I will bend these emotions to my will, using them to embolden my flames and to serve my goals. I will not accept such insubordination when I’m already in a war with my life.
In a war, the most hated person is not the enemy but a traitor. I will not keep such treasonous emotions by my side in this war of mine. Their loss may hollow my heart, for their presence created much space inside. Yet their demise would be poetic, with frigid winds of will weakening them, the constant pounding of my heart hammering them into shape, my ocean of experience slowly submerging them whole.
For any flame to dwell in the hearth of my being shall only serve to be an instrument of my will. An instrument for a tired will– a spark threatening to go out, yet still remains alit. A spark that may become a firestorm with a single act. Ignited by the sights I have seen– the means justifying the end.
Let its impurities be removed with the gravel of ethics– to purify it of taint. Let my memories become its governing laws– for there be space for amendments. Let time mellow it– enriching its presence. Let the winds of my conviction anchor it– giving it the dimension of weight. Let the still water of experience quench it– to grant it innate knowledge.
Let the walls of my heart serve as the hearth– walls that could withstand such flames. Let my maturity act as chains– to restrict and bind it. Let the ideals of justice serve to be its outer shell— justice that envelops the past, present and future forms of it.
Let my understanding serve to be its inner shell– one that contains my insights. Let hatred be the foundation of this flame– removing the self-destructive aspect of this flame. I will no longer feed parts of myself to sate this wretched flame. I will become its smith– to smelt these rabious chains into my subordinates.
Afterthoughts:
I originally named it as “Peace” in order to write this in peace without any questions being flagged.
This is inspired from a reflection that I had about the piece that I can’t release. I originally began to write this to reframe that reflection into a piece. However, as you can see mid-writing, I realized something that was quite simple. That my ideal is one that denies my humanity. So then it eventually turned into a full character arc after I started thinking deeper about it. I could’ve stuck with my original idea but it sounds generic and would be a lie since I would’ve no longer believed in my own words by the time I finished writing it.
Here’s a part that I cut out since I didn’t think it was suitable as a conclusion even though I liked it:
“Let its impurities be removed with the gravel of ethics– to purify it of taint. Let my memories become its governing laws– for there be space for amendments. Let time mellow it– enriching its presence. Let the winds of my conviction anchor it– giving it the dimension of weight. Let the still water of experience quench it– to grant it innate knowledge.
Let the walls of my heart serve as the hearth– walls that could withstand such flames. Let my maturity act as chains– to restrict and bind it. Let the ideals of justice serve to be its outer shell— justice that envelops the past, present and future forms of it.
Let my understanding serve to be its inner shell– one that contains my insights. Let hatred be the foundation of this flame– removing the self-destructive aspect of this flame. I will no longer feed parts of myself to sate this wretched flame. I will become its smith– to smelt these rabious chains into my subordinates.”
Out of all of this, the one thought that I relate to the most is “ for I have begun to realize how ignorance is a blessing– wishing to revert to my infantile times”. Others may take refuge in their ignorance, but not me. I wonder what’s more responsible for my mental age and physical age differing from each other? Is it my experience or my knowledge? Hmm, I would say experience since experience is knowledge derived from personal events.
Again, I would like to reaffirm that I don’t hate anyone. If anything, you guys remind me of kids with the way that y’all act. While I may not like it, it’s still entertaining for me to watch and adds colour to my dull day. I’m just that bored with a monochrome life. My favourite part about my writing is how it provokes my thoughts, giving it food to think which in turn grinds the ink that I write with.
Congratulations for reaching the end of this piece.
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