I don’t know what kind of world we live in because I am constantly left feeling perplexed as to why I continuously receive severe punishments for telling the truth. Maybe everyone lives in a make-believe fantasy world and the truth is a harsh pin to their bubble. I’ve gotten into more trouble by telling the truth than if I had told big fat lies. I am one of those people who cannot tell a single lie, and trust me, I have paid the price of being true to myself.
There is an urge inside of me to always tell the truth, to call it out as I see it, perhaps it wouldn’t be so urgent if I didn’t notice the deception and lies that surrounded me in society everywhere that I went. My “sharp tongue” as my family in Iraq called it began to reveal itself from my earliest childhood days. Any trouble I got into at school was for calling out the principal’s daughter who sat on her high horse and thought she could get away with murder. She bullied people and told lies and I was always there to put her in her place, but sadly my teacher punished me for doing the right thing by slapping my hand with a ruler. I remember distinctly one cold morning when I fought back hard not to show my tears at the betrayal I felt.
Luckily, my family always allowed me to be myself because I was a good kid, albeit with a hint of craziness. After leaving Iraq, I spent my later childhood and early teenage years between Libya and the United Kingdom. I spent my days at school playing with the boys, voicing my opinions to anyone willing to listen, and fighting anyone and everyone who dared to disrespect me. Moving to the UK just at the brink of the US-UK led illegal invasion and occupation of my country was no easy task. I had the responsibility now of not only defending myself but also defending the honor of my country, my roots, and my heritage which were being maliciously attacked for reasons beyond my comprehension. I couldn’t quite understand why it was so bad to be Iraqi but I was ready to fight for my honor at all costs.
I experimented with the world by getting my own job at 12 years old which gave me the freedom to make my own choices and depend on myself. My hunger for freedom continued when I arrived in Canada at the age of 14 and got my first job at 15. My tongue only got longer and sharper. Now I was forming my own personality away from the values and teachings of my parents and no one had the power to stop me from doing what I wanted. The Canadian society allowed me to question authority without being punished. I was able to be myself without being judged or ridiculed. I was revered for being different and strong, it allowed me to flourish.
My rebellion against the system of my family turned into a vicious war meant to destruct my body and my spirit. I was the soldier who refused to stand in line so I got punched, kicked, whipped, smacked, and had my body abused in ways too horrific to describe but I pressed on, I remained committed to the truth. I refused to submit. No amount of terror or bride was going to turn me into a hypocrite. I had no idea I was doing anything wrong, I thought telling the truth was the right thing to do. My worldview got shattered. For the first time in my life, I started to understand that it was all about kissing a*s. I thought doing the right thing was what good people were supposed to do. Then finally I found a way out to what turned out to be another house of abuse. The abuse was subtle, consistent, and malevolent and I had no clue what was happening. My trust was abused yet again. I was manipulated, put down, tricked, and finally beat at the exit of what I consider to be a war on my mind. My psyche was destructed, my reality altered, and my innocence robbed but I pressed on, I remained committed to the truth. No amount of shaming was going to hold me back from my path. Both my body and my mind were tested against corruption, but none were able to bring me down. Perhaps my life would have been easier had I been a male or a white female but an Iraqi girl breaking the rules was out of the question.
I was not too surprised then when I was hated on, ganged up on, and conspired against during my MBA. Something about a human being who respects themselves arouses the feelings of inadequacy in others. I knew by now that people hated the truth teller, but did that stop me from being myself? No! And why should it? As far as I am concerned, I live a life true to myself and do not hurt anyone. I live by my truth and do not allow anyone to poison my mind with their hatred, nor do I allow anyone to project their shortcomings onto me. In essence, I am a woman in full ownership of myself. I own all my accomplishments and all my mistakes.
I will continue on my path committed to being always true to myself. I will not tell any lies and I will not allow any form of power to make me cower to what I believe to be the right thing. If that means standing alone, then so be it. There is no sweeter in victory in this life than the victory of staying true to myself and holding myself to the highest standards of transparency and ethics. I am a humanist. I follow the codes of mutual respect and morality. Telling the truth is so easy that I don’t have to remember anything, and I don’t have to work so hard to say anything. I say what I feel. I say what I see. I say what I think. I respect myself and others. Truth is my religion.
#truthteller #manifesto #writer
