To those of us who cry easily...

Maybe all our tears come from a place of love.

I have cried in many places.

At the dusty playground in school, at a family’s dinner table, inside a teacher’s office, in a number of cafes and restaurants, in the director’s undergraduate office, on the side of the road when I was going home, on one of the famous bridges in my country, on the yellow leather sofa upstairs, on a toilet seat, in the bus, in the room that I shared with my four sisters, in Baba’s room both the old and the new, under my pillow on the double-decker bed in boarding school, over my grandma’s varnished coffin, in the chapel, and all the other places I can’t seem to remember.

My system might have a reserve of tears for almost every occasion.

It’s like “wait, they actually said you are boring?, hold up, *salty with a pinch of self-pity* tears coming up…”

“OMG, another AI generated soft-rock playlist just for you, you might like tears with a taste of *happy it’s a playlist, sad it’s not made by a person* kind of tears. Great! rolling in 1, 2, 3.”

For the longest time I was at war with myself for having this tendency. Because of it, some people said they simply couldn’t be very honest with me, having to be careful not to hurt me. Because of it, I wasn’t included in some games at school since they were considered games for those who were a little tougher at heart, and crying easily wasn’t a sign of that.

But things are changing, and if you are a person like me, I can tell you it’s a lot more peaceful when you accept that part of you. I have learned that crying easily has a lot to do with feeling things deeply, and this includes both the good and the bad. My sense of readily available tears right now inform me more about how my heart doesn’t just skim over the lake like a skipping stone, but dives into the depths of it at the first throw.

I have started thinking, maybe all tears come from a place of love. That I have loved so much, that I cannot let myself look untouched. Like a candle touched by fire, I will let myself melt.

If I could talk to my tears, I would love to make a little apology for all the times I have hated them. I will tell them I think they are beautiful in their own way, and they are clear as water but they make my life colorful. Like how they fall at the sight of the moon, at the sight of a genuine warm text and even when they flood at the sight of people losing their lives. That I will love them even if they change the mood of the room, and make me feel so embarrassed in public, and make me use more and more tissues that I find on the restaurant table (I’m glad they don’t include the number of tissues used on the bill).

I have told my tears that sometimes people will look at them with frowns, and other times with warmth, and sometimes with complete indifference. And I hope that they never forget, to me, they will find a home, and even some poetry.

Closing with this sweet powerful piece by Cole Arthur Riley.

aren’t your eyelids tired

of keeping prisoners?

those tears

are precious minerals.

lap them up

like a medicine;

it’s called healing.

*****