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Quote by Shahid Hussain Raja

“Not every person you see walking down the street is truly alive; some of them have already died in their own stories”

Quote by Shahid Hussain Raja

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Shahid Hussain Raja

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“It's crystal clear to me that no one wants to hear about it, but I will never finish needing to tell how much it hurts, how bad it is. I'm always looking for a scale to measure it by, some way to pierce the thick skin that separates me from other people, to make them understand.”

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“They encouraged each other now in the violence of their affliction. The agony of grief which overpowered them at first, was voluntarily renewed, was sought for, was created again and again. They gave themselves up wholly to their sorrow, seeking increase of wretchedness in every reflection that could afford it, and resolved against ever admitting consolation in future.”

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“I think Americans of my generation can recognise that the horrible old white people of the silent and boomer generations where victims themselves, and that’s why they continue to perpetuate harm on to other people, however, the disgusting nature of white supremacy is to take the original pain of abuse and amplifie it to terrifying degrees onto other people. The entire world is full of people of all backgrounds were victims of abuse but we didn’t run off and join the Nazi party like my grandpa’s siblings because of it. We didn’t cause more destruction from this initial destruction. Or did we? When I see a video of some old white boomer going absolutely apeshit racist on an innocent bystander at the gas station or on the subway, I see this look in their eyes that is familiar to me. It’s the look I’ve seen in the early moments my mother had while beating me, during the rage of it before she broke out with laughter or crying. People who are not white didn’t have the option of joining a political party formed around their supremacy to inflict their pain on to someone else who didn’t look like them, so they took that harm and inflicted it on themselves and their own people. The victim is the perpetrator in a sense that the energy needs to go somewhere, and sometimes it goes inside rather than outside.”

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“I could never be a husband to Maria," he whispered, gazing up at the stars. "There'd always be that memory. It could never be the same as it was with Marybeth." He closed his eyes briefly when the painful recollections became stronger. Billy Marsh would have been about the same age as little Carlos now if he had lived... if those goddamn Yankees hadn't burned Galveston to the ground. Later, he uncorked the whiskey again and drank deeply. As the roan crossed a starlit ridge, he heard a coyote howl on a slope high above the trail. The sound made him think about how much he had become like the coyote, living out a solitary existence away from everyone else, seeking a mate who could not answer his lonesome call. He drank until the bottle was empty, climbing the silent Sangres with a similarly empty heart.”

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