Before It Shatters by Yumna Ahmad (17, Canada)

There is a glass between you and all of your dreams. And up in the sky, somewhere along the stars, a smoky white trail of hubris sits. I am telling you now so you don’t forget. When you wish upon a star, it does not listen. Stars don’t grant wishes. This is the way the world works, between inklings of draught and the suffocation that comes when you lose your chest. This is the way the world forces your falter. ​

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So, the stars are deaf to your calls, but sometimes, something else hears you. Yourself, your confidence, you. Down the night sends, this trail, this smoke. I am telling you this is not such a terrible trail to wish upon. 
    
What are you going to do when the thickness settles. I see you in your bed now, and you are not fighting. There, you are chained to the legs. You are gagged and bound and sick. You wonder who has done this to you and you think you are wasting away. You cannot remember how long you’ve been here. You are stuck but you’ve stopped trying. You are just wishing, now. Don’t you know, wishes cannot come true without a little power? 
    
And a little is nothing to ask of you. But look at you now. 

You hate the sunlight when it blears against your curtains, calling for you to rise. You hate the soft wind blowing through the grail, a reminder of the consummate, the faultless day awaiting that you know you will ignore. You hate how beautiful the world is when it’s day because that’s when it can see you, too. You’re right. I see you. But I don’t think you are as hideous as you imagine. And you are not wasting away, forget this falsified notion, this vision, that you are anything decimating. Simply, you are readying yourself for greatness. When do you think your greatness will be ready to face the day. 
    
So, here is the thing about hubris. You need it to survive. The Greeks call it something vile and prideful, something green and dirty. But a little bit of everything belongs. 

Perhaps you can live without it, somehow, but it is no way to exist, not within me. I wish I could say I won’t allow it. Anyway. I don’t send it down upon you. I am not selfish, or careful, or malicious. I am only here to watch, and be, and you, you are here to be great. So, gather your courage. Dig into your ribs and find your bones. I promise they are still there. Sit there, lay there, if you must. Even wish upon the stars. But do not allow the dustiness of your home to collapse you. Do not allow your sweat-soaked sheets to entangle around your limbs. And do not let them suffocate you and steal you of your lungs and steal you of your dreams. One day you will rise, I promise. I have seen it all. One day you will rise and realize the sunken-ness inside your bones was merely charging for greatness.

Remember the glass now. There it is, blocking you from everything you want. There is a glass between you and everything you want. Don’t be afraid. It will shatter. 
    
So, here is a wish from me. And I do not make wishes often. I am wishing you would know what I know, even though there is some soulful sanctification for your mingling reverie. You would know that this feeling right now is a trick. It is a façade. There is a glass between you and everything you could be. But you needn’t hate yourself for being nothing yet. And don’t hate yourself for all the things you couldn’t be. Because this glass is not some kind of window, withholding you from all your greatness, didn’t I tell you? 
    
Instead it is a reflection of everything you can be. Look at it. Look at yourself. Quick, remember what you are before it shatters. 

Now? You are a warrior. All of you are, but especially the ones that have fallen. You are not weak for your depression. You are stronger if you can get up. You are stronger if you let go of the manacles, didn’t I tell you, this is a trick. Those weights dug into your wrists? The ones that keep you tired for this bed? You have willed them yourself. Look at you. You are holding onto them. 
    
So, see this macabre song hummed into your ears, this tasteless ruse of grey and black crept into your eyes, and then look, look back into the moorings, to the stars, and see that if you pull against these windswept chains, just a little, one more time, you will fall free. This, this subterfuge, this dragging placebo, it is not a sickness, don’t you know? Sickness does not fall like water to the stars. If you need more time to find yourself, if you need one more second in the ruse, pushed into your comforters to bid them adieu, perhaps even to thank them for being there while you fell, I will not judge you for it. I promise, this striking spot of sun that you despise for watching you as you meander is not judging you or perceiving. It is only watching.
    
There is nothing vile or disgusting about you. Even if you can’t bring yourself to bathe. Even if you lay in those sheets all through morning. I know because you are going to be incredible. Do you want to see it for yourself? 

Call upon the stars. Grant yourself your hubris. Remember you are a warrior. And you are not destined for greatness. You will create this all on your own. 

Sincerely, the world. 

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