Category: emotion

Silent Eyes…

There are moments in life when pain becomes more than just a feeling—it becomes an entity, something that breathes alongside you, shadows you, and whispers in the spaces where laughter once lived. You carry it, not because you want to, but because some wounds refuse to close. They linger, demanding recognition even in silence.

Pain has a way of distorting time. One moment, you are whole, and the next, you are left gathering fragments of yourself, trying to piece together a version of you that no longer exists. It’s in these moments that we learn the weight of unspoken grief, the power of silence, and the resilience required to move forward.

The silent eyes—those that have seen too much yet choose to say nothing—become a testimony of endurance. They have learned that words sometimes fail, that explanations often do not bring solace, and that some emotions are too heavy to share. So they remain dumb, not out of weakness, but out of an understanding that not everything needs to be voiced.

But silence does not mean surrender. It is not an acceptance of defeat. Sometimes, silence is a form of healing—a pause to gather strength, a moment to breathe, a space to process. It is in these quiet moments that resilience is forged, where wounds start their slow, invisible mending.

If you have ever felt this way, know that you are not alone. Pain may feel isolating, but in reality, it connects us. Every silent eye carries a story, a battle fought in the heart, a promise made in the depths of sorrow. And perhaps, just perhaps, in our shared silence, we find the comfort of understanding.

So to those whose pain now exceeds what was there—to those who have promised themselves silence—I see you. And even in the quiet, you are heard.

Smile at the Surface, But Inside??

There is something strange about sadness—how it tucks itself away, hidden behind a well-rehearsed smile, a nod of understanding, a laugh at the right moment. It is an art we perfect, not out of dishonesty but out of necessity. The world, after all, moves at an unforgiving pace, and sadness does not fit neatly into the rhythm of daily life.

I have often found myself caught in this paradox, standing in a room full of people, exchanging pleasantries, making jokes, and giving every impression of ease—yet feeling like a stranger in my own skin. It’s not that I lack joy altogether, but rather that my sorrow is an undercurrent, always flowing beneath the surface, unseen but never absent.

We are taught from an early age to be strong, to suppress vulnerability, to put on a brave face. Perhaps it’s because sadness makes others uncomfortable, or maybe it’s because we fear being seen as weak. So we learn to wear the mask, to act as if everything is fine, until sometimes even we start believing it.

But the truth is, emotions do not disappear just because they go unspoken. They settle in the quiet spaces of our hearts, in the moments between conversations, in the loneliness that lingers even after the laughter fades. They manifest in subtle ways—sleepless nights, the heaviness in our chests, the exhaustion that no amount of rest seems to cure.

And yet, we continue to smile.

Perhaps it is because we hold onto hope, however fragile it may be. Maybe it is because we do not want to burden others with our struggles. Or it could be that smiling is our way of reminding ourselves that, despite the sorrow, we are still here, still fighting, still holding onto the possibility of lighter days.

If there is one thing I have learned, it is that we are not alone in this quiet sadness. Behind many smiles are stories untold, battles unseen. And if we look closely, if we truly listen, we will find that connection is possible even in our sorrow.

So, yes, I too smile at the surface. But inside—alas—I carry the weight of things unspoken. And maybe, just maybe, that is okay. Because to feel deeply is not a weakness, but a sign that we are alive.