Wasu lokutan, gara mu da kanmu, mu hana ma ranmu son wani, a maimakon a yi mana shigo-shigo ba zurfi, sannan a harbo mu. Dole ne mu ladabtar da zuciyarmu, tare da lura da nazarin inda matsalar take. Yayin da bakin cikin ya gushe, hankalinmu ya kwanta, sai mu rarrashi zuciyarmu, mu ba ta hakuri, muna masu tausasa ta.
Amma kuma idan mun so, muna iya mika zuciyarmu zuwa ga wanda zai sa mata bom, har ta tarwatse, ta inda ba mu zata ba, mu kuma kasa tattara zuciyarmu wuri daya. Ko kuma wanda zai gurgunta zuciyar, yana mai illata ta, ta yadda ba za mu gane kan mu ba. Ko da mun yi sa’a mun farfado, sai su sabbaba mana wani gibi, katafaren gibi, wanda ba za mu kara sha’awar mu so wani ba. Kun san shi so, tsuntsu ne, tashi yake yi.
Yawancin lokuta, mun san irin wadannan masoyan, amma sai mu yi kundumbala, mu shiga kai tsaye muna masu mika wuya. Sun san inda lagonmu yake, kuma muna sane, amma sai mu yi mukus kamar ruwa ya ci mu. Duk sanda suka aikata mummuna a gare mu, sai mu yi ta ba su uzuri, alhali muna sane matsalar nan za ta tambaye mu nan gaba, amma duk da haka ba ma kokarin kwatar ‘yancinmu.
Suna yi mana rikon sakainar kashi, sai su yi watsi da mu, tarin kayan daudarsu da ke cure a kan gado, da bolarsu ta bayan kofa, da shirginsu na karkashin gado mai tarin kura, sun fi mu daraja.
Sun la’anta mana kwarjininmu ta yadda ba za mu iya yunkurawa ba mu dawo da martabarmu.
Abin da ya fiye mana alheri shi ne, ‘maganin kar a yi, to kar a fara’. Sai kuma mu yi nazarin wa ya cancanta a gaba.
Sometimes, sometimes you have to deliberately break your heart to prevent it from being broken by someone else, irreparably. You have to let it fall, while looking carefully to see where the pieces fall. So when the pain subsides, you gather every piece and keep them safe. And eventually, when you are ready, you lovingly put them together again.
The alternative is allowing the person you gave your heart to to break it, perhaps in a location unknown to you, where you may not ever see the pieces to put back together. Or they may break it in front of you and there are no pieces, just pulverized particles that cannot be mended. Perhaps you may even find some pieces to put back, but there would be gaping holes, great big fat holes that will not allow you to keep any feeling in. And feelings are like smoke, they are lighter than air and will always look for where to escape from.
Most times, most times we know those that will break our hearts, but we still give it to them anyway. We see where they keep our fragile centers and we remain silent, when they do the things that almost break it, we explain it away, all the time aware that it would not matter later. It would matter a lot. But still, we do not ask for it back.
Our hearts are tossed carelessly on their beds, buried under dirty clothes on that unused side that doubles as a laundry bin, or behind the door, stopping its swing so it does not slam against on the wall, or under the bed, that graveyard of once important things, covered in dust and cushioned in fluff. We refuse look at it anymore even though we know where it is, it has since lost its shine.
The best thing, the very best thing is to take charge and break it ourselves, so there is something left to mend and give to someone else.