There is a wire of belonging, there but somehow invisible. Every time I close my eyes, it is still there, like a pinch, as if etched onto me throughout all those years. It was never severed in actuality, although the ceremony happened. Still, a piece of flesh remains. There seems a warping as a result of mutilation, a suggestion perhaps that some parts are a burden and must be preserved in a bin. Did that work?
Photo by Markus Gjengaar on Unsplash
The way he carries affection is a key feature desired by his parents and teachers, the one who listens and complies as long as they are the conductors. But as soon as the kid sees the world through his own eyes rather than others', he realizes something huge: he cannot put faith in others. The reliance on others becomes dangerous. He learns not to trust anyone, afraid of hurting them or climbing the social ladder at their expense. This desire to upset nothing, to maintain harmony, becomes another cord, another knife. But this time it is you, the kid, the decision maker. A connection to sever again and again until the thing left is not you.
We cut parts of ourselves for others, and they do the same for us. Do not mask the burden of those in need, do not call them unambitious. The culpability lies with the hierarchy itself.
20 May 2026, Freewriters Community Daily Writing Prompt Day 3109: cut the cord
