Tazmert n takit - The Strength of Feeling

Lebda ira qqaren-ay qa tazmert, n tidet, xmi tesnuffured. A tawid abrid isegged, iri d azegrar, aɣesmir icedd, ul iqqen. Slemden-ay ila imeṭṭawen, d aweṭṭi. D wawal x igezzimen, ila d awali ɣar lḥecmet. Ḥawleɣ ad iriɣ jehdeɣ. Ḥawleɣ ad sesseɣdeɣ leḥriq. A t-serguggḍeɣ. A t-mesḥeɣ. Ssuɛriɣ ijen lḥiḍ n useɣdi alendad n tignaw-inu.

Wḍeɣ ad remseɣ, s uweṭṭi d useɣdi : tazmert taḥqayqit ɛemmars teḍuqquẓ. Tzemzim, trezzem, teqqar-as wah i tudert mux ma tegga.

Rid s tarewla x takit miz ntedwil nejhed, maca s usnewju-ines. Ixess kada n uɛurrem ḥma a naka rid tarewla zi min itmunistyaren. Wen iɣeṭṭsen deg ixef-ines, itwajah tidet-ines d iweṭṭa bla lḥecmet ɣares ijjen targazt tebrez i yellan hejjren-tt. Min ur nessiɣ, tenn ur nteɛyar. Targazt tuzzift, tessezraf, tekrucceḍ.

Tumumt, rid d tɣuyyit. Tarxut, rid d ahruri. A tesniɛmiled kulci mliḥ. Ad tyarḍeḍ abaccix ar ɣa dages tefssid. Ar ɣa tessared jar ahezzeḍ d targazt.

Deg imeṭṭawen ijjt tidet wer das- ssinen iwalen. Ijj uɣuyyi ḥed ur das-itesli, wul weḥḥdes. Da mani, deg useɣdi-nni ig ileɣlɣen, i dd-tban lebɛaḍ n twalatin tlalit. Tenn n wefgan n tidet.

Wer qebbleɣ tarewla d leḥjab. Xseɣ ad ddreɣ kemleɣ, xelli s leḥriq. Xseɣ ad ay-ilqef maca ur dayi-terr d tnifest. Xseɣ ad ẓreɣ ifayyuten-inu ad iniɣ : «Teẓrid, wa d nnec. Aqqa-y beddeɣ».

Umi neqqar tumumt dag-i, d jjehd-inu yennufren gi tidet. D azzway n wul-inu wer iqqeblen askuṭṭef.

Izemmer cin wass, a nermes illa yenn yesḥissan, s tidet, d yenn ig itexsen. I yen ig itexsen d yenn i yesbedden amaḍal.

Text in english:

 I was often told that true strength is to show nothing. To walk straight, head held high, jaw clenched, heart in a cage. I was taught that to cry was to falter. That speaking of one’s wounds was exposing oneself to humiliation. So I tried to be strong. I tried to silence the pain. To swallow it. To erase it. I raised a wall of silence against my storms.

 I ended up understanding, through falls and silence: real strength does not explode. It trembles, it opens, and it says yes to life as it is.

 It is not by fleeing emotion that one becomes strong, but by welcoming it. It takes far more courage to feel fully than to dodge what disturbs. He who dives into himself, faces his truth, and falls without shame possesses a luminous strength the world often ignores. A strength that cannot be bought, that cannot be played. A bare, burning, uncompromising strength.

 Weakness is not to cry. Cowardice is not to collapse. It is to pretend that everything is fine. It is to wear a mask until one becomes it. It is to mistake pride for courage.

 In tears there is a truth that words cannot say. A cry that no one hears, except the heart. And it is there, in this screaming silence, that sometimes a birth springs forth. That of a being finally true. I now refuse flight and armor. I want to live fully, even in pain. I want it to brush me without reducing me to ashes. I want to look at my flaws and say: “Here, this is me. And I am standing.”

 What people call fragility in me is in reality my quiet power. It is the beating of my heart refusing numbness. And perhaps one day, it will finally be understood that those who feel, truly, are those who love. And that those who love are the ones who hold the world upright.

Iwalen-a n Ayoub EL FELYANI. Yerra-ten ɣer tmaziɣt Badr BOUSKOUCHI.

Text written by Ayoub EL FELYANI, translated in Riffian by Badr BOUSKOUCHI.