My Confession

The Darkness Within

The darkness within the soul is like a bottomless abyss that swallows every ray of light. It is an endless labyrinth of prejudice, hatred, and blind fear of the unknown. This labyrinth becomes home to those who refuse to look beyond the walls of their own minds.

I lived there for years.

It was a dark, seemingly safe place where I believed everything made sense. Yet my story is one of finding a way out of that abyss—of falling, and of the slow, painful climb back to the surface. It is the confession of a man who lost himself, only to discover something far deeper than he had ever imagined.

I was born in a town that considered itself decent and righteous, but beneath that image lay a hidden darkness. As a child, it didn't take much for me to learn who belonged to "us" and who belonged to "them." The lines were clearly drawn, even if no one ever spoke them aloud. In our home, Roma people were spoken of with contempt. Later it was Black people, and as the years passed—driven by toxic politics—Muslims became the next target. The conversations were filled with disgust, crude insults, and mockery.

At school, prejudice became law. If you weren't like us, you were nobody. We were a group of boys with no purpose, yet full of the poison that our surroundings—and to some extent society itself—had poured into us. Our identity was built on hatred toward everything unfamiliar, everything different. We mistook hatred for strength. To hate meant never showing weakness.

As a teenager, I joined a radical group. We were like a pack of wolves, always ready to attack whenever the opportunity arose. Our faces hidden beneath hoodies, our fists eager to inflict pain. At night, we covered walls with hateful slogans, searched for fights, and wore our injuries like badges of honor. It was a life consumed by hatred and violence, feeding us the illusion of strength and superiority.

Then, one day, she appeared.

She had beautiful brown eyes full of life and a smile that seemed as though it had never known pain. She was everything I had been taught to reject, yet in her presence every belief I had ever accepted began to lose its meaning. Her name changed my world.

At first, I resisted.

We talked for hours—again and again. With every question she asked, she quietly dismantled the convictions I had carried for years. She was never aggressive. She never tried to convince me that I was wrong. She simply existed. She was simply herself. Every conversation, every glance she gave me forced me to question everything I had ever believed.

Eventually, our paths parted.

But she left something inside me that could never be erased. She shattered the massive wall I had built around myself. For the first time in my life, I felt ashamed of the person I had become.

That was the first step toward change.

Years later, after wandering through life without direction, I found myself abroad, a stranger in foreign countries. Working as an international delivery driver was demanding and unforgiving. Many of the people I worked alongside were Black men from different African countries. In the past, I would have avoided them. I might even have looked down on them.

But there, far from home, we were all the same.

Just workers. Just people trying to earn a living, one day at a time.

Sam, a tall man from Ghana, was the first to reach out his hand when I found myself completely lost in France. His kindness wasn't exaggerated or calculated—it was simply human. He helped me find a company I had been searching for almost half a day. Experiences like that became more and more common, and little by little I realized how deeply mistaken I had been.

My final barrier was Muslims.

Everything I had ever heard about them was negative. I believed they were dangerous, alien, impossible to understand.

Until I started a new job in Türkiye.

They were everywhere.

And when I say everywhere, I mean everywhere—because that is their home.

They were people with stories.

They spoke to me about their families, their homes, and their faith. Even though I was a complete stranger they had never met before, they welcomed me with kindness and openness. What frightened me most had always been their religion. Yet I discovered that their faith was quiet and peaceful—not the terrifying force so often portrayed by those who seek to spread fear.

I began to respect them.

More importantly, I learned how to listen.

My journey is far from over.

Hatred does not disappear overnight. Somewhere deep inside, it still lingers like the shadow of my past. But I no longer allow it to control my life. I have become someone who knows that change is possible.

Today, I understand that the differences between us exist only on the surface. If we truly want to understand another human being, we must first learn how to listen.

The world is not black and white.

It is filled with colors. Filled with stories capable of changing us.

All it takes is the courage to look beyond the boundaries of our own prejudice.

– JK –