What if...? by Laiba Karim Khan (18, Pakistan)

I used to wonder--I always have, about how people lose again and again and still don't stop trying. On my own path, I'd never attempt the struggle again. I was used to being held back by dejection and thus, eventually became a weakling.

"What if I fail again;" "What if my efforts become useless in the end;" "What if someone else gets the chance and I don't." These were the thoughts that fed on my courage and birthed cowardice. 

The mere idea of losing wouldn't let me try and that is what made me a loser.

Upon opening my eyes and shedding the darkness away I witnessed myself getting lost in the azure.

---

Prolonged, morose and deep blue, almost a long-drawn bleak and perished valley. I felt myself thinking about the barrenness of the blue sea. Quiet and stiff, water stands as if it is an alluring sculpted figure of a Greek philosopher.

I saw myself sailing away inchmeal, leaving behind the steadiest of marines. The surface beneath my feet was quivering, a boat carrying me. It stirred softly while my heart, within itself, was sinking by each maneuvering moment. 

There was apparently no life or sound to be acknowledged from where I found myself standing. Having said that, the bone-breaking silence was screaming for a never-ending storm.

As the time passed by a serene, viridescent and very much alive, a land not too far unraveled before my eyes. There was hope, hope after the never-ending sea of terror. Maybe a miracle or just a serendipitous occurrence, nonetheless my heart leaped in delight before it sank again. The boat rumbled belligerently along with my heart, inviting the sea to imitate. The end of silence before the storm's rule. Although there was no thunder or rain, the sea started to tremble aggressively as though it was in pain. The movement of as mere object as a boat fueled the anger of the great ocean. The accelerating boat jittered as if it was terrified and the ocean felt its vehemence. As much as I despised the silence, I loathed the screams of the ocean. Falling upon my knees I locked my gaze upon my hope, a land which was not too far. The lively piece of a land in the middle of the ocean now distancing itself as though I was scaring it away. I cried, not in desperation but in surprise. The boat I latched onto had dismounted me and threw me off itself as if I was a plague. In spite of the shock I held on to it. 

Raging waves of the blue sea whipped me furiously and the meagre hope of that breathing land was fading.

I was drowning.

This incident may seem fanciful as it is just an example or an elaboration of how I end up following my heart and the rules that reside in it. I find myself on that vulnerable boat whenever there is a land of opportunities near me. Suffocating under that sea of contemplations. The boat is my heart and the ocean is an abode to "what ifs"... the possibilities of every misfortune.

Whenever the odds seem to be reachable, my heart ignites the same fire and trembles until I give into the "what ifs".

I held on to my heart each time, not realizing that it was holding me back from opportunities and from a chance to become a better person. My heart, or that boat, were blameworthy for my misery.

In spite of this, there must be a reason why I am not washed away by the sea. My hand always grasps the boat without losing it; why? Maybe for me to hop back in for another inevitable journey.

For once, I have to realize that as a human I'm not born to aimlessly follow the rules, the rules that are caged inside my heart. I'm a creature of thoughts, one who is to be curious and courageous, one who has to break those cages and let its heart free. And I will remember to break those restraints.

I was drowning, but not anymore.