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Forgive me. I am
not the type of writer that uses highly emotive titles for the psychological
blackmailing of anyone. Do not misinterpret me, there is absolutely nothing wrong
with this style of writing-I appreciate it; I am just not a scholar to it. I am more of a personal writer, one that prefers to search into self and soul
through writing. I am an abstract writer- I study literature and so
through how I write, I try at most to replicate the sort I find
resonance with.
So dear Reader, I
hope you understand when I ask for your forgiveness today for I could not
resist the urge to emotionally cave you in. I blinked once and it turns out in
that swift blink of an eye, Life has happened, bits of faeces have exploded, hit the
ceiling and my thought fan cannot stop blowing the stench my way.
I have lived, I
have loved and laughed and at some intervals, I have conquered, but never have
I been this scared. Never has the reality of life’s uncertainties dawned on me
the way it has today and not in this lifetime has this daunting feeling of
helplessness reigned so supreme over me. I feel I have reached my port of exit
where looking back only brings back memories, happy memories that find my tear
sack over flowing.
It is not that I
feel I have done enough, no. It is that I fear I will never do enough. A new
peak of inadequacy has withered away all the strength I once had gathered and
every last bit of the hope that I assembled throughout the years of my convenient life struggle. You see reader, I like to bite more than I
do chewing, I am infatuated with the idea of struggle. Pain. I am fascinated by
stories of heroes and heroines who conquered through the harsh flames of
torture and abuse- the reality- not so much.
As I have asked of
you and will continue to do so, be patient with me reader. I have only just
discovered this journey into self- the strengths, and weaknesses that ultimately mold my resistance into being are now more evident than ever. So I have come
back to this place as a final resort, I have come back here as an attempt to clear my head, I have come back to this temple to find solace. I ask for all the help available to help spring me out of
this well of depression that seems to be looming by.
Reader… my
juncture of misery has awakened the empathy in me. It has forced me to
question why I am not the girl that got raped the other night? It's kept me awake all night wondering why the victim bullet missed me in the line of orphans who fill up our societies. I can't embrace my blessings this morning for guilt has found its way back to my heart and asked why I was spared when hiv swept away the parents of these street kids we are so quick to condemn and label as pariahs. I am scared because this lap of luxury has gotten me too comfortable with knowing that choice comes in abundance for me. I am confronted by a flood of shame, my nerves bundle up at the thought of this silver spoon that I still suckle on.
This silver spoon that now begins to rust has stirred up a panic attack at the thought of the consequences I inevitably face. I am left with an attitude of gratitude as I hop down memory lane and realize the blessings that I've been clothed with in all the years of my life.
It is this reality of life that is now staring me in the face- the nature of its unpredictability- that cause hard tears to flow from a heart that has not wept in ages. It is this hand of God that touches me once more to remind me that nothing should ever be taken for granted and that, that happiness is never guaranteed.
Fear. Like its counterparts- struggle, pain, misery, agony.... act as catalysts of understanding. Understanding of gratefulness, a world that is bigger than you and the trails and tribulations that you encounter along your path to make you all the more appreciative of all the blessings poured unto us.
