I grew up in a family that espoused the Victorian dictum that children should be seen not heard. This was and still is antithetical to my natural way of being, much to the dismay of my mother, but thankfully not my father. To be fair, years later my mother did seem to find some of the things I said as a child amusing. I once told my grade school teacher at the tender age of four, that the reason why I was persistently late to school was because of my father’s drinking habit. Not alcohol, although that did become an issue later on in life. It was his morning tea that was the problem. I told my teacher in complete exasperation, eyes rolling and everything, that my Dad drank not one but two cups of teas before he would finally get up to take me to school. I objected vehemently when I sensed the second cup of tea coming but what was I to do? Later on in life, I asked my Mom in plain view of my cousin who had married a rich business man, without a college degree, what he studied in college, eyes gaping in full wonder. Their house was so big and nice I thought for sure he had the ultimate university degree. I mean, my Dad had a PhD from America, of all places, but we didn’t own such a nice place. I think we were living in Sudan at the time. Maybe Jeddah; I can’t be sure. My worldview was that the more schooling, the more money you make in life. I can be forgiven for thinking that way, I was probably seven at the time. Robert Kiyosaki would probably beg to differ, having read his excellent book, Rich Dad Poor Dad about this very misunderstanding; that more degrees leads to more and more worldly gains. Since then I did grow up and I did enroll in the “hard knocks of life” school, as the expression goes. I did have to face difficult obstacles. Through it all, I maintained my knack for speaking my mind or at least what I thought was the truth. I did not hold back my tongue, like my mother wanted, and I relished it when I discovered I was wrong about something, after comforting my bruised ego, of course. How else are we supposed to find out what’s what if we don’t speak up, right? Which is funny because I noticed that once I started to move up in my career, I held back a lot. For some reason, it seemed to hurt my chances if I said something that everyone else was missing but was somehow obvious to me. Or perhaps they were skirting around the issue, but all I wanted to do was attack it head on. Another weird occurrence was when I started to experience what could best be described as “mind meld.” At first I ignored it and told myself it was just a case of “great minds think alike.” But then it started to be disturbing. People would say what I was thinking verbatim as if they could “read my mind.” That is sheer terror. How is that possible? How are people able to do that? Are they aware of what’s happening? Are they doing this to me, on purpose, at a conscious level? Or are they none the wiser? I could not tell. I ran a few tests to judge their reactions. I tried to beat them to the punch with my inner dialogue. It was as if I was invisible and they did not see me. I was a ghost in my own life, hidden in plain sight. I could not say anything. I tried a few times but quickly realized how it sounded. I would be belittled, demonized, attacked. Maybe even institutionalized, if I am not careful. My then-husband dismissed my concerns when I tried to voice them. My mom turned around my questions when I asked her for an explanation given her years of wisdom. It was all for naught. No answers were forthcoming. I would not wish this treatment on my worst enemy. It is a form of human torture the likes of which the world has never known. Silent, hidden and subversive. An undercurrent of dark waters lapping gently beneath the surface of makeshift ground. Censorship is the stuff of nightmares. It drives the spirit under water, drowning all thoughts and emotions in deep oceans. How can anyone heal the infection in such wet conditions? How can the truth find the light of day and dry out in the hot sun when souls are buried alive? There is a reason why civilization rests on the ability to speak freely. The first amendment of the American constitution is not a nice-to-have, it is a panacea for the ills of society. It ensures our most darkest ideas, our authentic beings find outlets for reconciliation with that which is beyond ourself, whether in words, images, science or pure art. Freedom of expression is not to be feared or suppressed. It is the true magic in life. If you let it be, it will always find its way through. It will take us home. And home is where the heart is. Happy St. Valentine’s Day.