Silent Agony

You have a heart of stone, they said. I've always been told that I never express my emotions about how I feel. Growing up, I felt sad about not being able to open up to others. I always try my best to express my emotions, but it feels like I'm trapped in a cage of words. I have thousands of emotions, but I struggle to put them into words. As a human, I try to use words to express my emotions, but again, I am not able to fit the standard of expression. My generation, Gen Z, is broader compared to others. We are opinionated about everything we observe or hear. Gen Z is labelled as overexpression, but when it comes to expressing how we feel, I've always felt like the odd one out—that piece of the puzzle that never fits anywhere, the loose thread on a shirt, the strand of hair that refuses to stay in place. Yet still, how do I express my sadness about that cloud separated from the group, that ant left behind, that bird isolated from its flock, the dry petal on a blooming flower, or the branch of a tree cut apart? My perspective may not align with everyone, but as a teen girl, I see, hear, sense, and feel every single nuance around me.

When I was five, my family moved to a new house, leaving behind the friends I had made. In this unfamiliar neighbourhood, surrounded by strangers, everything felt fresh and different. While my brother embraced digital entertainment, I found solace in more traditional activities. I immersed myself in fairy tales, played with mud, and explored arts and crafts. With no children of my age nearby, I often found myself alone. But instead of feeling lonely, I 

formed connections with animals. I chatted with cats, played with butterflies and ants, and shared moments with birds. My sensitivity extended beyond animals; I would empathise deeply with ill people at the hospital, and losing a favourite pencil could bring me to tears. Recognising my sensitivity, my parents ensured I had plenty of distractions, like new stationery and books, to keep me engaged and content. One rainy evening, we found a stray cat seeking shelter under our dining table. 

The cat had teary eyes, cuts on its mouth, and emitted a foul odour. Its injuries were so severe that it struggled to walk properly. While my parents were not overly fond of having pets, they couldn’t turn a blind eye to the suffering of this poor creature. We provided it with a bowl of milk, an old sweater to keep warm, and a makeshift bed. We nursed the cat back to health for over a week, and soon it became a cherished member of our family. My parents even grew fond of having it around. After a few months, the cat surprised us by giving birth to two kittens, one male and one female. 

While the male kitten received plenty of attention for being cute and healthy, there was something different about the female. She had the same teary eyes as her mother, evoking sympathy from us. Despite our efforts to treat them equally, our neighbours seemed more drawn to the male kitten. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the female cat, as I saw a part of myself in her. She was clever and responsive to my commands, and I lavished her with attention and care. We developed a special bond, as I used to share everything with her. 

One morning, while being ready for school, my neighbour approached me with a grave concern: "Is that your cat out there, breathing its last?" Alarmed, I hurried outside to find my beloved companion, my closest friend, lying in distress. With no one around to turn to for guidance and no means of communication, I felt a surge of panic. "What happened, oh Lord?" I cried out, feeling utterly alone. With tears streaming down my face, I cradled her head in my arms, kneeling in the middle of the road. A compassionate neighbour suggested I try giving her yoghurt, 

so I dashed back to the kitchen, frantically searching for any remedy. Despite my efforts, nothing seemed to alleviate her suffering. Dead or alive, we were both helpless. An elderly member of the community passed by and callously remarked, "Let her die; she’s just a burden to the earth." Clutching my cat tightly, I felt her life slip away. Despite the weight of my grief, I had to compose myself for school. When my friends arrived, I was too silent, but the grief on my face was too loud for them to notice. They asked me about the reason behind my sorrow, but I didn’t respond. “She has a heart of stone; she will heal soon," they said. They dismissed my sorrow, unaware of the depth of my bond with my dear friend. 

How could I convey the depth of my despair to those who couldn't possibly understand? How could I articulate the rage that consumed me when my cat was reduced to nothing more than a burden? If only I possessed supernatural abilities, I would have sacrificed half of my heart and lifespan to save her. But now, I grapple with the silent agony of losing my closest companion, unable to share my pain with those who remain oblivious to my anguish.

Grade 12, UN College and Navodaya +2, Dharan