To be Conscious: A punishment - By Taif Ayman Aljaberi

Written By: Taif Ayman Aljaberi

Category: Literary fiction

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

Taif Ayman Aljaberi presents "To be Conscious: A punishment" in the esteemed category of Literary Fiction for the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. This introspective piece delves into the intricacies of consciousness and the existential burden it carries. Through a narrative laced with philosophical musings, Aljaberi invites readers to contemplate the profound impact of awareness and connection in a seemingly disconnected world.

About the Work

The work navigates the complex interplay between self-awareness and the perceived isolation it can engender. Aljaberi's literary style is marked by deep introspection and a philosophical tone, posing questions about the nature of understanding and genuine human connection. The narrative is rich with imagery and thought-provoking scenarios that explore the barriers and bridges of consciousness, leaving readers to ponder their own experiences of connection and understanding.

To be Conscious: A punishment

Original Submission by Taif Ayman Aljaberi

To be Conscious: A punishment

Taif Aljaberi

September 29th, 2026

“To be conscious is an illness—a real thorough-going illness” -Fyodor Dostoevsky

One was always seen as the golden flame. A flame that can withstand any storm. A flame that disintegrates any melancholy in a room. A flame that would light up caves of despair others were stuck in. The so-called happy-go-lucky kind of flame. In fact,

One made sure they are seen that way.

A quiet night approached, and one was with two of their best friends taking a walk down the familiar streets of their neighborhood. Looking up at the sky, it was a new moon night; the streets were darker than usual. Streetlights being the only source illuminating the way and smell car exhaust surrounding them while they simply enjoyed each others presence. One stopped in their tracks.

One began to admire their friends that continued walking. One was content… no, content isn’t the word for it, one was feeling something deeper. One was feeling so grateful to have crossed paths with such souls. Then something in them stirred, a melancholic thought struck through one’s psyche.

One would never be able to truly express how much they value these two

souls.

Conveyance was never one of one’s strongholds. No matter how much one tries to express, it is never the full, raw, complete portrayal of feelings. One quickly tried to brush off that pesky thought because the last time it consumed them, one almost got sent to psychosis.

With the night approaching an end, a smile splatters across one’s face recapping the serene time one spent with their best friends. One then finds themselves looking up at the almost-invisible new moon, then at the stars surrounding it, then straight up through the sky, closing their eyes and silently thanking God for the gift that was given to them.

One had been standing in front of the door of their home withoutrealizing it.

Home.

One always dreaded home.

Not exactly from the environment itself, but due to the fact that one must face their thoughts again, one must feel lost and disconnected again.

The general idea of feeling lost tends to always relate to a bad childhood, loneliness, or lack of skill. Mortals love to use these as an excuse for their adult struggle.

One strongly disagrees.

To be blunt, one lived a normal childhood, was popular, had real friendships, never got a taste of loneliness and was considered a brainiac.

To the naked eye, one was the picture-perfect child with a picture-perfect life.

Then why is it when one returns from a long joyful day they get engulfed in emptiness, hollowness even. One would feel lost, disconnected and confusion would swallow them all at once.

Typical night.

One would drift to sleep questioning those feelings without ever getting an absolute answer.

It’s safe to say that no one should blame their present struggle with their past experiences, one is starting to believe struggle comes from within. But is nowhere near uncovering the question of why that is the case.

One entered their bedroom as they contemplated.

There’s an invisible barrier between one and other mortals, a barrier that one was aware of since as long as they remember. One knew not a single mortal could take it down and as a matter of fact, one never even tried to work their way around it. One laid down in bed staring at the ceiling feeling agitated.

The more friends one has, the more connected they would feel… right?

One knew the answer to that question but didn’t want to accept it.

“Why?” One whispered to themselves. Why does everyone get to feel connection yet one feels like a stranger under their own skin?

One was sitting in deep thought, so deep that their ears started ringing, trying to piece scattered thoughts together. One shut their eyes as the thoughts started becoming louder. It almost felt like there is a blurry picture in front

of them, they just needed to polish it. Their mind going haywire and that familiar feeling of spiraling started to creep in, but one wanted to, no- needed to figure it out. One’s thoughts suddenly got quiet.

What if connection wasn’t a matter of friendships?

What if it’s a matter of understanding?

But no one understands one.

What if it’s the way to express things?

But one cannot express very well.

What if it’s the way of thinking?

But no one thinks like one.

What if it’s because of their… consciousness?

“…consciousness” one whispered to themselves in deep thought, head pounding from overthinking.

Suddenly one opened their eyes, the picture is clear now.

Real connection comes from real understanding, real understanding comes from real expression, real expression comes from real thinking, and real thinking only comes from real consciousness.

One believes that consciousness is the awareness. The ability to think beyond standard human capability and understand beyond surface level thinking.

There’s a limit to how much a human brain can think critically and whatever lies beyond that feels like a blur, the kind of blur that leaves one feeling outcasted from humanity. That was

the barrier one was facing. Like no one understood or thought the way one did. It’s all coming together now.

Then a question hit something in one’s head:

Has one ever met someone whoshares this level of consciousness?

...

One sat up from their bed,

reality struck.

Reader, you can guess the answer to that question.

And so one began to see the world as a stage, mortals as its puppets. Puppets being manipulated into acting a certain way, to blindly follow the status quo. But by whom? In fact, why?

“Why.”

The question one never had a clear answer for, the question that will haunt one for a lifetime.

One day one decided that they will show this side of them in hopes of being understood and getting closer to their friends. One was at their friend’s house laying on their bed looking at the ceiling, a habit that one can not quite get rid of and was idly conversing with said friend.

“I have a problem I think I need your help,” the friend stated, distressed.

One quickly sits up. “Sure, what is it?”

The friend looks down at their physics textbook, frowning. “I’ve been staring at this

problem for so long I can’t solve it.”

One looks at the empty piece of paper next to the textbook and the pen that was thrown

across the room on the floor.

“Did you try at least?” one asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know I can’t solve it.”

“How do you know that if you didn’t even try?”

“I justknow.”

“No you don’t, you just assume.”

“I didn’t assume, I just know myself I can’t.”

“And who told you that?”

“Myself.”

“Well, you can tell yourself the opposite too.”

“No I can’t.”

…

One goes silent, comes down from the bed, grabs the pen and sits next to their friend.

“Okay, I’ll help, so you should take these equations—”

“I don’t think this is going to work,” the friend interrupts.

“But you just asked me to help?”

“You just don’t understand.”

One looks at the textbook, then at the empty piece of paper, then back at their friend.

“Or maybe you don’t want to help yourself?”

One looks at their friend in the eye, not a hint of consciousness behind them.

“Now you sound like my bullies in middle school,” the friend said emotionally.

There it is, blaming past struggle on the present one again, one despises this habit of mortals.

One understands now, the barrier between them becoming thicker. A made-up word popped in one’s head:

“Inconscious.”

To one, it is the opposite of a conscious being.

These words don’t exist in the English dictionary but made perfect sense in one’s psyche.

That day didn’t end well. However, one isn’t the type to let go of friendships easily, so from that day onwards, one tried to work their way around mortals. One would always know the motive behind mortals’ words, so one gave them what they wanted.

If mortals wanted to drown in their suffering, one would let them.

If mortals wanted to be funny but were not, one would laugh.

If mortals wanted praise, one would praise them endlessly.

If mortals loved their problems, one would give them more problems.

It is a circus-like performance to appeal to the masses. In the most intellectually twisted way possible.

It had gotten to a point where when a mortal asked one a question, one would answer in the most stupid way possible and said mortals wouldn’t even question it. One watched them as they took the lowly answer and went on by their day in disbelief. How can they not question it? What

one tells them makes no sense, yet they don’t bat an eye.

Might sound exhausting, but one was doing amazing for years, has accepted it and learned that no one would discover that side of them. Years would fly by, and one would conversate with other mortals with so-called meaningful discussions, but said discussions would never get deep. Although when mortals would try to get to know one on a deep level, the discussion would pivot into the topic of either emotion or trauma. One always dismissed these two topics not because one is “sensitive” about them, but because one believes that conversating about these topics won’t reach the level of deep, real connection or understanding. From past experiences, one learned that deep conversations with mortals were meaningless.

One was always heard but never listened to.

There was a certain afternoon where one was driving with their friends and listening to music, enjoying their time as usual. One of them paused the music and asked a question that shook one to theircore.

“Are you yourself with us?”

The car swerved slightly, praying that no one noticed, one wanted to answer but nothing came out of their mouth for a couple of seconds. One doesn’t even remember their answer to that question but remembers the torment they went through as soon as one reached their bedroom alone. The spiral happened again.

Why would they ask that? Is one their self with their friends?

Yes, one would like to believe so. What about the performing one does?

One is not fake, and not fully real either.

But one is doing it for them. Well,they noticed.

One avoided their friends for quite some time after that, praying that when they meet, they forget about everything that had happened. One knows they can’t explain it in a way that won’t get them misunderstood; therefore, silence is sometimes the answer.

Ever since one was a child, they had this feeling that no one else is real and they are the only being that exists. Connecting that to the present, one always felt like they’re the only conscious being and the rest are inconscious, and indeed no one countered that fact.

Up until that day.

“You’ve been picked as a star student to represent your class in a competition.”

One always hated competitions. One isn’t sure why, but they tried their best to avoid them. However, they tend to always end up in one against their will. And so, one was making their way to the stadium for a competition they didn’t sign up for. One reached a massive stadium of hand-picked students; there weren’t many, around 7 or 8. The stadium was huge with professional lights blinding one as they walked to a seat that has their name on it. One looks around, they had always seen these students around campus but never talked to any of them. They looked nothing out of the ordinary. One’s mind was wandering off up until one overheard a random conversation between two other star students sitting next to them.

“It’s funny how everyone here tries to be successful, but do we even know what real success means?”

“I’m not sure, I think everyone just mirrors each other and hope they will stand out.”

“Like in making everything a competition, it’s meaningless.”

“Agreed.”

…

One blinked. Those few sentences made one’s world halt.

Now, this conversation to a bystander would sound like a normal conversation, but one was struck by the way those students were speaking. It’s hard to describe, it’s not the topic but the tone, the flow of words, the building of the sentences, one could tell that they possessed something others didn’t. One looked at them in amazement and confusion. They had that specific glint in their eyes, one would never forget, it was the last puzzle piece falling into place. One takes a deep breath as they realize for the first time in one’s life one is faced with conscious beings.

They were the non blurry picture type of conscious beings, beings that cracked a portion of the barrier. One was in shock as one looked around the room, even though they all might be top

students, one could tell not all of them are conscious, but these two were.

One was itching to start a conversation with them, so one casually started the conversation with a compliment, earning gratitude from the two students, then natural conversation started. It lasted around 2 minutes. Within those two minutes one was struck again to the core, the chat was easy, like those students knew exactly what one was talking about. One didn’t need to over-explain, one felt refreshed even if it was just a short amount of time.

“Alright, students, get to your designated spots on the stage,” the principal suddenly announced, voice echoing throughout the stadium.

One sighed, remembering why they’re here. Just because one qualifies doesn’t mean one wants to participate, one didn’t have a choice at the time.

Part of the reason why one despises competitions is because one is forced to achieve something for the sake of others’ satisfaction. One is sensitive about being controlled and values their freedom more than anything. This always resulted in one performing badly and not caring less about disappointment.

All of a sudden, one had a flashback of themselves at 9 years old, elementary school, on stage, in the same exact position.

What one thought was a fun little game between their classmates turned into something one didn’t want.

Again, One was the top winner in that little “game,” which resulted in the teacher deciding, “Congratulations! You’re qualified to be in the competition next week.” One never signed up for that, so why can’t they just say no? One couldn’t care less about representing the class.

The entire following week the teacher was pressing one and asking, “Have you been practicing?” and one’sanswer would always be yes; in reality, one never even tried to practice, not

even once.

Then the competition day came.

One remembers the stressed look on the teachers’ face as 9-year-old one stood on stage with other students, all of them too Inconscious to one’s liking, and one got eliminated from the first

round, left the stage and went back to class; one didn’t feel an ounce of remorse; in fact, one didn’t feel at all.

Now, standing on stage is one at 19 years of age, and nothing changed quite yet. One felt disturbed that the world is just a cycle of events. The competition started and one made it to the

final round, then got eliminated. Looking back, one knew that they could answer correctly but something in them didn’t let them; one is yet to discover why. So, they left the stage again, getting handed a certificate that doesn’t mean a thing and didn’t spare anyone a glance.

One took a walk back to class, gaining nothing from that experience, but at least one discovered that conscious beings exist, they’re just rare and maybe, just maybe…

one is not alone after all.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar is a prestigious platform celebrating diverse voices in literature. It seeks to amplify unique perspectives through poetry and creative writing, providing a global stage for both emerging and established writers to showcase their talents and share their stories with the world.

We extend our gratitude to Taif Ayman Aljaberi for sharing "To be Conscious: A punishment" with us in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. This thought-provoking piece offers a profound exploration of consciousness and connection, enriching our understanding of the human experience. Thank you for contributing your voice and perspective to this international literary gathering.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.