In October, I had the desire to write for others. That manifested in the form of ‘Stained Glass’, an idea raised inThoughts-2– formally buried in Discontinue.
I snuffed it out with my own hands on February 16th, the day I began my letter-writing– my final project for this year. It’s also the date when I went on hiatus– with the occasional essay escaping.
Some of us have no mouths but must scream, yet here I am with my own being sealed– an experience that I don’t want to relive. While my body may ail and my spirit may wean, I have completed this project.
These passing days have made people’s eyes red, with the joy of their farewells coupled with the loss that comes with it. While my eyes are red as yours, it is from an exhaustion that has penetrated my marrow.
It is the joy of writing that kept me going, even as I stayed up to write some more. It didn’t help that I became sick with only a moment to be prideful of a letter I just finished.
So listen closely. Most of my writing is serious with some jokes to lighten the mood, but it’s already hard enough to not write some knives into this essay. I may like you, but my flame bears the embers of my past self– so don’t reignite it lest we all burn.
You have no idea what it took for this man to mellow out– my patience is as tall as my anger. I can’t tell if I’d regain my calm or lose it entirely with these dry eyes– but that’s a question for my past self to deal with. This one has their dignity.
When I wrote these letters, there was no template. Some words are constant, but the rest are different. Even the same phrase was written twice with different intents, so don’t think that I wrote lightly.
You may overlook your moments, but they’ve already made an abode in my memory. In the past, I noticed that others tend to forget stuff easily, but it seems that it’s my memory that exists as an outlier.
I wrote a decent amount in your letters, but I didn’t write everything. You’ll have to ask me about that yourself, and believe me– I’d be glad to talk about it. There’s so much to share, but there’s no outlet for me.
In the course of writing these letters, I’ve written over 5,000 words. It doesn’t sound much when you consider the amount of time I’ve taken, but that count is only for the final versions.
I’ve rewritten these letters to the point that I’ve run out of time. Even this essay that you read now, has already been written three times and is now going for a fourth. So in truth, this has gone beyond 5,000 if I kept track.
I wrote a concept in a person’s letter, and it’s time to honor the words I wrote in it– to expand it. When you read my letters, my emotions are in the letter itself. You won’t find me writing my emotions directly. I cherish and love you all, but I am too proud to let my blood drown these letters.
My heart may be cold, but I am not cold-hearted. I write my words with this blood, so while I may bleed– it won’t blot these words. People pick their poisons while I choose where I lean over to let this ink drip.
I write here, to alleviate my concerns about my letters being misunderstood. A personalized letter written with my standard and sentiments, it’s enough for me to see possibilities– paths that I’ll be severing now.
I already wrote in Growth that I work within the two lines that I’ve come to understand, my own boundary and my estimate of your line. If my bond with a person changes, then these lines are redrawn– but that estimate remains conservative.
I don’t mind crossing my own lines occasionally, since they’re my lines. But, crossing those estimates repulses me– to the point that I loathe the notion of it. Even if I am biased, it is within those lines. Pace yourselves lest you get hurt by your own thoughts
Some of us reading this aren’t getting letters. For you guys, it’s a possibility– but I already know. When I first set out on this project, I decided on writing for thirteen people. People that I’ve known for more than a semester and have enjoyed their company.
Some of you would’ve been fun to write, but that time requirement hasn’t been met. I’m not concerned about the company one, since you wouldn’t be reading this otherwise.
If I had the time and strength, I would’ve written more letters– an “if” left unrealized. Out of those fourteen letters, I could only write eleven. I’ve finished the letters for my peers, at the cost of those below me.
I’ll be making another trip next year to remedy this, but that left a mark on my record. Perhaps I’ll bring more letters with me this time around, but I leave this obligation to my future self to keep.
Now, I don’t know what’ll happen to my letters after you guys read them– so I’ll set a ground rule. Some of us like the public eye and I’m no different– but I prefer that you guys leave my name out of their eyes. Being niche is what lets me do this without being overwhelmed.
When people look into me, I look back at them. It’s more manageable for me to deal with a few people than an entire crowd. Ofcourse, I’m human– I have my masks for convenience’s sake. But now isn’t the time for me to be wearing one. I don’t need to amplify nor conceal any part of myself when it comes to writing.
There’s no threat for me to give, since threats are a self-executing oath. I’m not going to trap myself, nor shall I maintain a bond that necessitates threats. I may make them as jokes, but if I have to sincerely make one– then it’s time for the scissors to snip. Nothing good comes from such bonds.
It’s not important enough for me to care, but I can’t ignore it. So, I’ll remember this. Apart from this, do whatever pleases you. The worth of my letter lies in the message, not its form.
Depending on how this goes, I’ll either give you these letters myself or I’ll have someone else do it. Regardless of who actually gives it, give them your thanks– on my behalf if someone else delivered them.
I’ve written about choice many times now, so I’ll call on Life for this. It is my choice to write these letters, one borne of my own sovereignty. It is this choice that I am obligated to, not to you nor any other save for the Divine.
I’ve already graduated once, so it’s not my first time saying goodbye and starting anew. August marked the third time, and now the eve of the fourth is at hand. I haven’t spent the most amount of time with you guys, you’re my favorite batch to date.
The first time was 2019, it took me 2-3 years to adapt to India. By the time I finally felt at home, time was up and I let those threads drift– a mistake. It took me four years to sever those threads binding my heart, one of the first things I’ve done after returning last year.
The second time was when I started my polytechnics two years ago. I saw filth and refused to compromise myself– so you’ll find no threads there. For those I could, I didn’t let them latch onto me– I burnt off the others. That experience was a ticket to the vileness of man, a necessary crime for these eyes of mine.
This year was more of a blank slate, a year that went well for me. For once, I don’t find people irritating– and it’s been a pleasant breeze. I had enough time to write, to the point where I feel like I’ve been living my six years ignorantly. It’d be an understatement to write that my mind and thoughts were struck by inspiration and growth.
As such, I believe it’s time for me to organize this mess. I may be bound to these threads, but I won’t let them entangle me once more– nor will I let them fray. I’ll straighten the threads I want to keep and resolve the rest of them. If I’m going to write about bonds, I might as well create precedent for my future self to follow.
These words are enough for me to act, so I won’t be barking. A truth that my writing affirmed is of people, that people are confusing. Some of us forget, for a bond to be kept– two people’s choices must be aligned.
I may have misgivings with my path, but I’m not one to renege my words. I’ve made my choice, and so I leave the rest in your hands. Don’t forget, inaction is a choice in itself– time doesn’t pause for anyone.
I may like you, but that doesn’t mean that I’ll slow my hand– I’m just waiting. I hereby retract the words I wrote in Judgement, my claim that my definition of petty was misconstrued. It’s time to accept reality, as this weary soul remembers those slights and acts of kindness alike.
I wrote these letters with good intentions, so let me finish this essay in the same manner. I also wrote them with graduation in mind, but it’s inevitable that they become a form of farewell. Those two words go hand in hand and I’ve kept them estranged for long enough.
I won’t be meeting some of us again, as life has its own sway. Some threads are meant to end, and I believe that I’ve repaid the grace that was given to me. Let these debts be annulled, and may your future be one that feeds your pride.
Ofcourse, we’ll see if my greed can keep ahold of them. Some lines aren’t easily let go of, and I can see them in my future– so I think I’ll keep them wrapped around my fingers for a bit longer.
Spring comes with flourishing leaves and autumn goes with withering trees, yet do our hearts not remain unmoved? I can’t be that cold, but I also can’t blind myself with sentiments. When I look at my future, I see a drifter– I’ll always be moving.
As of today, I have fulfilled this mandate. I have lived this year in accordance with words I wrote, a feat that I shall renew for years to come. I may have stumbled, but I’ve kept my covenant with my Lord. So whether I see you or not, I’ll keep watch until time washes you off of my hands. For now, let me wear these threads as a blindfold and recuperate– I’m tired.
This is Zakaria, signing off.
05-23-2026 Update: Unfortunately I wasn’t able to take photos with others because of the rain, but who doesn’t love the rain. it felt fitting for this occasion. I wanted to take photos with everyone I gave letters to, but my words about life have been proven true.
Originally, I was going to schedule all of this to be uploaded while the ceremony was going on. I thought we’d be off the grid so I could make a cool surprise. But, my sleep deprivation and pending migraine have thwarted my efforts. That and the fact that we were still on the grid.
Anyways, let me know about your reactions to your letters since it’s fun to watch. I should’ve written that into your actual letters, but it’s fine.
Whether I see your
Author’s note:
I wasn’t ambiguous when I wrote about debts being annulled and resolving threads. There’s only so much string that can tie people together– it’s a part of life so there’s no blame to cast. So let this end be as dignified as yourself. As such, I cannot accept anything borne from these letters– words that serve as an extension and a knot.
Of course, I’m the judge of that– since there’s a distinction between me and those letters.
As with the rest of my words, I write in anticipation– saves my future self from explaining when I can point to this. I may be used to repeating myself, but Heaven knows of my distaste for it. But, why scorn others when it is my voice that lacks clarity. It isn’t a part of my path to unduly blame others.
Next time when I write for the people, my standards will be in lockstep with my writing. I’ve only been here for a year after all, so I let my pen roam free by excusing it as a writing project– an exception.
Speaking of which, I expect people to actually read my essay for once– but I also don’t expect them to read it at all. A friend of mine spoke about their own overthinking, but it seems that my thoughts have taken full effect here.
When I say break, I have yet to realize what I’ll be pausing– but my pen won’t stop. If anything, I’ve been pent up for so long– I’m eager to return to my normal schedule.
As for the last matter, let the record indicate that I’ve made two mistake in the process of writing these letters. One of names and one of intent. When it comes this little project of mine, my expectations are paradoxical.
Regardless, I am proud of my craft. As always, congratulations on reaching the end of this essay. I’d relieve you of this task, but I’ve already done it in Fives