307 - The safety of permanent cowardice

7 Fibir 4975 | Tinga-e

Dear Mamin:

I cannot send this one yet but I will write it and send it eventually, as there is nothing confidential here. What Boralaer is doing is hardly secret.

I sometimes lie awake at night thinking about him. I know I have to accept that a Haian is doing this, because it is reality, so I try. It is so much more horrible than, say, Chevenga doing it.

I guess it is all about expectations, isn’t it? I remember my Emotional Healing professor saying that. Chevenga might as well have been born a warrior, so much a warrior he is, so I expect it. It’s natural. Boralaer was born a Haian!

I remember my professor saying also that we only suffer when we hold onto an objection to some aspect of reality. I am suffering because I object to Boralaer intending to become a warrior, and Chevenga letting him. Because I cannot stop them. But I can’t stop suffering, because it is so wrong to me! I don’t know how to stop objecting to this aspect of reality, any more than someone badly wounded knows how to stop screaming in pain.

He haunts me. It’s as if his existence itself haunts me. But of course that cannot be because it’s essentially wishing him non-existent, i.e. dead. His choice, then. I think about it far too often. His name scrapes across my mind sometimes when I’m not expecting it, like fingernails on a slate. Mamin, I’m more content with Chevenga.

So I lay there this morning thinking, “What do strong people, brave people, do with things that haunt them... if there are any?” I realize that you don’t need to be a warrior to be brave, there are many different ways. I am a coward, but I don’t have to be, forever. I haven’t told you this, but it’s true, I’ve made a decision and I will work to fulfill it. I’m determined not to stay a coward. Though I wanted to flee right back into the safety of permanent cowardice when I realized what strong, brave people do do with things that haunt them.

Face them.

I had to go into the lion’s den, I saw. I had to quit pretending Boralaer didn’t exist. I had to go to him. I had to—Spirit of Life…!—talk to him.

It took me some time to persuade myself, to prepare myself. About three aer. I wrote him a note and sent it with one of the hospital couriers to his (I can’t believe I’m writing this) unit’s barracks. The note said, “I will not judge you; I just want to ask you questions. I am... interested in—oh Mamin! Interruption! Chevenga, ambulatory but with glazed eyes, dull affect, being led by the arms by Krero and Sachara, he looks drugged, I’ll continue this later.

[AN: Short post due to surgical time expenditure and technical difficulties.]