All these Broken Vessels…
I am the perfect life of the party. So mellow, so cheery, a laughter even I wonders where it comes from and a three year old’s energy. I remember my late teen years and early twenties. God, how I would kill to have just a quarter of the strength I had back then…partying everyday, traveling from town to town and remembering everything in just a haze. Not too clearly because really, I never wanted to remember much. And yet, not too hazy to not remember a thing or two. A few memories to keep, something to hang onto.
You see, I went through some things, we all went through some things, but I had to be strong for everyone. So as everyone was busy healing, I pushed everything at the back to be there for everyone else. There was no man in my family to be there for everyone else, and somehow, the carefree me looked like a suitable fix to fill the gap. So the tomboy in me graduated to a full grown ass man, always listening to everyone’s grievances and keeping mine to myself. Stuff I could talk to my mum about was crying about a friend that did me wrong, because really, I never understood how I would be there for my friends and they ended up hurting me. But never about the very things that killed me inside.
And so it began. Every time I wanted to really talk about what I was feeling, I would drink it away, turn up at a party, live the night (or day, who said we can only live the night) and forget my woes. So I pushed everything at the back, behind the tequila and whisky, under the rum and endless cosmos, I lived each day. Every new one different than the previous one. Do you know just how much fun it is to forget all your worries in just a couple of shots, salt and lemon? I never knew I was so light till bouncers had to lift me off the tables and the counters, dancing the night away, me who proudly wears two left feet. There is something amazing about not caring what happens next, just letting it all go.
Oh, not a lot of people like going out on Mondays, so I discovered a lot of hidden places that made everything alive on Mondays…from Jazz music to rock. Karaokes to reggae, really, there were endless choices. And should it be so boring in the Metropolis, Lord there were so many other towns that would be bursting with life! Why limit yourself when the whole world is out to be seen. Well, not world per se, because I had a job to get to in the morning, so let’s go with a limited choice of towns. Did you know how fast you can drive on the Nairobi-Nakuru highway at midnight? You can always test your limits at 240 kph with a wild girl cheering you on and not even worried that you are both drunk and exhausted.
And you think you have heard enough times about how misery loves company. There could never be enough times on that one. My misery drew all kind of company and boy did I drown my sorrows. Never afraid of trying anything, almost caught fire one day trying to drink flaming Sambuca. That is a whole story on its own, for another day. But, have you ever wished for death to come for you? Too scared to initiate it but every day, you put yourself just in the perfect situations to have the snares of death so close yet so far away. And you get a little disappointed and feel a little more cheated when you survive it all. People around you have died and you keep asking God if there is a way for you to take their place.
I was so tired of life every morning, but then I always remembered my mother who was so broken and I just had to wear my mask, step out there and put on the perfect show. It worked, carried on with my dear life and forgot what pain felt like. When you’re numb, nothing hurts. And every time the numbness wears off, you are forced to get more of your poison to get numb again. But you can only fool yourself for so long.
You see, we ride on the high for so long. You depend on it to get by. Until it gets to a point when whatever it is that was getting us high stops feeling good. And we cannot depend on it anymore. That is when it hits you just how damaged you are. When I couldn’t ride on my high anymore, I buried myself in work, then work stopped feeling so good and I hid in my house for a while. Alone and scared all the time. The pain set home, pain so bad and it didn’t let up. And now that everybody had dealt with their own share of the pain, how do I begin relieving it all over again, I mean, I should have moved on, years later and I am in the exact same spot where everyone else was long time ago. I couldn’t sleep, the nightmares were killing me, I did not have the slightest need to feed. I couldn’t leave my house because everything hurt. Well that plus the fact that I did not want people to see my swollen face and total self neglect. I had no strength to even groom myself. And how do you even start explaining to people why you are looking so neglected and like a total mess. I cried myself to sleep sometimes, just enough sleep to get the nightmares up and running in my head. I hated myself, I hated my life. And honestly, I did not want to live anymore. So a few times I contemplated suicide, a few times I gathered a few things I needed to finally do it and a few times I failed.
I have seen how people react to suicides. “She was so happy, how could she have taken her own life away?” “He was so strong, he should have hang on a little longer.” “But she had people to talk to, why did she not?” We always have something to say about suicide. Celebrities are deemed to be happy with perfect lives, career people have a life going, and for the rest of us, we have no reason to do it, because, what could go wrong with life? I will tell you for certain, everything.
If you asked all my friends and family, save my best friend and three more people that are my lifelines, they would all tell you how much zest for life I have and how I am the happiest person they all know of. If anyone needed someone to be there for them, they would not think twice about running to me for support. Because I am everyone’s pillar of support. And that keeps me going, for a moment I feel helpful. And not for a minute do I feel the need to bug them with my own stuff. So when they are all gone, I am left with my own baggage because no one expects the strongest of them all to end up so messed up and to have. But those that know me to the core know just how much messed up I have been lately. How I got to my rock bottom years after the due date. And how this year has been one hell of a roller coaster.
There is a reason I keep saying that I am better off on my own. Finally, this is the reason. I cannot let anyone else in when all I have is myself. I am used to handling my own mess and having my own back. I comfort myself when I need to, I pick myself up when I fall and I have always figured out how to make everything work and when I can’t, then I let it be. And I finally can admit that I am broken and that I am tired of being strong for everyone else save myself. And I am so broken, I have been broken for a while now, still picking up pieces of everything that I am meant to be.
But you know how it is, you will always be too much for someone. Too loud, too lively, too open, too held back, too broken. I think it was my mistake in the first place to let my guard down and think that I could let anyone in and walk with me as I figured out the pieces of my life. Status Quo is a thing.
Why did I write this piece today? To finally relieve my pain, well partly. I have always been much of a writer in comparison to talking it out. And you might be reading this and wondering why I never talked any sooner, because now no one gets it, how after so many years, I could be this broken. But this is not for you to figure out. And if you are going through stuff and you have no idea how to get past it, please break in every way you deem possible? Cry if you need to, vent, talk to someone but please do not feel the need to be strong when every piece of you is crying out to release the pain. It’s okay to be called weak. Or a cry baby, but when you get past this, I promise you will feel better that you did not mask everything out. And when everyone needs you to be strong when you feel that you cannot be strong, well, you know at the end of the day you only have yourself. There are those who will want to fix you and when you do not conform to their idea of perfect, they will drop you and you will be broken again. That is not for you to feel bad about. Because you should only allow someone to love you while you fix yourself. No one else, I promise no one else can get you out of the pain you would be feeling at that exact moment. And however minute it looks to anyone else, you are your own warrior. Battles only make sense to you, big or small, it is not up to someone else to decide how long your battle wages on or when you should be fixed. There is no time limit for hurting. There is no enough time to piece yourself together. Take all the time in the world, and let no one make you feel like a mess. The face that you present to the whole world is your shield, because not everyone deserves to know what you are going through. But be careful as to who you lay off your mask to. There are those who will walk around the broken pieces of you, lest they cut themselves with the pieces of you. Then there are those who will love every piece of you, like beautiful art and they will watch you rediscover a new you. Let all your cracks let the light in. And do you know how beautiful that is? It is so so so beautiful, the world will stand in awe of the beauty you brought in. And you will be okay. Eventually.
God is your only true friend. Not your family, not even your friends. God is the only one who promises to stay and He stays. So, lean on Him the most, hide all your worries in Him, and when you feel like you are all alone, remember even Jesus felt that exact way in the Garden of Gethsemane, where our cup feels even heavier than it’s meant to be, He will lighten it.
My Kind of Christmas Carols
That is how you always liked to write your name. I remember calling you Christmas Carol and you always made sure that I would pay for that small mean joke. Hi Christmas Carol…
I wrote a letter to you yesterday. It was not your birthday, nor was it an anniversary that you were celebrating. It was not an invite to an event that I finally decided to throw, nor was it asking you to be my plus one to those lush events that always leave me feeling a little off the place. I miss you. A lot. And a lot of times I wish I wrote this letter earlier. But then again I did not want to write it and get stuck halfway, choking through tears and memories.
So I sat down and thought about all the things I would have wanted to say to you right now. But I still don’t know what to say. I could start from the beginning, where it all began, but then again I keep wondering if I should walk down that road.
I don’t remember meeting you. Ever. It’s one of those small things I try remembering but it’s all too scanty and dim I can barely tell if it’s an illusion or the truth. I do have a few tiny memories, like of you and Merab playing in the backyard and the house keeper sitting with me at a safe distance. I remember all the tiny exciting stories that you kept telling me over and over again about how exciting both your childhoods were, and I always felt like I was missing out on something great that happened, which I did… Perhaps everything. I remember Christmases, how they used to light up our home and our hearts. I remember you playing the Christmas Carol tape, over and over again on repeat, stereo blasted till our ears rang and daddy walking around recording everyone, asking us how we felt about that day. I remember how careful Merab was not to let me too close to the tapes because I would ruin them. Do you remember cutting down those eucalyptus trees, well the branches were sufficient, but how much we loved getting the perfect branch for our Christmas tree, decorated just a little with the pink ribbons that you adored so much. Oh how Christmases brought joy and so much love. Remember the loquat story you told me and how Merab got you busted. Well, I would like to bring to your attention just how bad of a watcher she was.
You were beautiful, I remember that. How can I forget a face I carry with me every day? I am your doppelgänger. Remember the tiny mark you had just above your right eye and slightly pushed to centre? Oh I have it. I got your nails, I got your amazing radiant eyes, I got your smile and a lot of times I meet with people from the past and they all blurt out “Carol! You look exactly like her!” You were a beautiful soul, both inside and outside. I wish I could look at the world with the kind of optimism that you had. You taught me how to pose for the camera because I was always ruining the family portraits. Always bubbly and so full of life, I watched you take on things that you always wanted to do. For as long as I can remember, you were always there for everyone else when we were all going through the same stuff. And no one was there for you when you really needed us. I want to say this is the reason I did not write to you earlier, it took me a whooping nine years to write to you. But I am just making excuses, for being a little selfish.
I am tired. All the time. I remember a time you were tired all the time. And kept to yourself, because oh well, who will get it. I get it now. A little too late but I do. Was I too young to get it or was I just ignorant to let you suffer alone. One day you were standing next to the pantry, crying. I saw you and it broke my heart. I was scared if I stayed there too long, mom would start a war with me. I left you there, crying and when I came back, you asked me if I loved you. I love you, I will always love you. And it breaks my heart that when I had the chance to say it to you, I did not say it as often as I should have. And I am not sure that saying it now would even make any difference. But I want you to know that I loved you. So so so much my Christmas Carol.
I miss your smile. I have not forgotten your laughter. How warm it was. How your eyes would wrinkle just a tad at the corners. How your superficial dimple curled the moment a smile formed on your face. The way you’d lean forward to support yourself from succumbing to air-deprived ribs. How I would kill to watch you try to get the words to tell a funny story because you were already tear deep into laughter. Your sincere laughter that matched fully with your sincere soul. It’s one of the things that made it so easy to talk to you. Well, you were a mean sister sometimes, but I really felt warm around you, even when we said nothing at all.
I have trouble trying to understand how quickly the last two years went south. How did I miss it? Again, was I to young or too ignorant? But in the midst of the mess that has been the past nine years, I know that there is something special on the other side of this moment. That in my tear-stained face looking down on the floor moment, is your arm comforting me. That you are happy somewhere else that is not here. That you finally found your place, your voice and the amazing power of happiness. That, above everything, is what matters the most. And in a world filled with so much cruelty, I really hope that you truly found a place to call home.
I am broken. So broken I have no idea where I would start picking up my pieces from. I smile, I hang out with my friends, I make merry, but when I get to my safe place, I take off my mask and break down. I keep wondering if this never-ending feeling of worthlessness was something you had to deal with every day. Is it wrong to play out the idea of the life I would have had if you were still around? I can’t tell you for certain what it is that weighs me down, probably the never ending losses and the lack of balance I would wish to have in my life? You were scared, I really would like to know what it is that scared you that much. Anxiety is just one of the things I am battling with right now, how was it for you? Will I get better with time? Or should I just leave as well?
Everything’s changed my Christmas Carol. Even the tiniest shreds of memories I would like to hold onto are slowly fading away. I don’t want to forget you and I know I cannot bring myself to forget you entirely, but every now and then, a little piece of my memories, of how things used to be keeps disappearing and suddenly it feels like something I only dreamt of. I am all alone and much as I would like to keep every tiny memory of everything, I am slowly forgetting things. Everything is now a memory, everyone seems to have moved on and somehow I am stuck in a past that is slowly getting dark and cold. And in the murk of this life, I always want to start off my journey, everyday. Something always holds me back. Mainly, I’m mostly wondering if it would break the hearts of the people who I love if I decided to leave. Then again I feel so lost and alone and I keep wondering what is really holding me back.
I want your courage sister. To battle through life, to push on just a little further even when you are feeling so beat. I want the courage to start over, but I am always so scared. All the time. Not just about starting over, basically about everything. And I keep wondering if I will be okay eventually. If anything will ever be okay. Is it okay to want to let go of it all, walk away and forget that you were even here. I am not okay, I want to be okay above everything, but as at now I will be okay being un-okay. Perhaps over the years I will see how much courage and strength I will have mastered to finally start my journey.
I miss you. More than anything, I would like to see you again. But I know that is a dream not even the best of dreamers can ever achieve. I hope you are well, there where you are. I hope you finally found a place to call home. There are so many things I would love to write in this letter, but I am afraid it is so much more than it can hold. I carry you in my heart, I always will. Someday, I hope to find my place in this world as well. I hope to finally have a sense of belonging. Anywhere. It doesn’t matter much where it would be, well as long as I would have found my place. You are my favourite Christmas Carol, and for that I will always love Christmas.
With all my love,
♥♥♥♥
Little sister, Enid.
Right where I belong…
I have several homes, one of them being my mom’s work place. The thing is, she’s lived here for like seven years, but I really have a problem calling it home, I think mainly because it is the complete opposite of where I grew up. Anyway, that’s besides the point. I’ve been home for the past couple of days because Mama would not believe that I’d get better without her seeing me. Ironic because ever since I came home, I’ve been nursing myself back to health, like I would have normally. So today she decided to come home.
I am busy watching something when Mama calls. Usual chit chat then she asks me to meet up with her in town. It’s three p.m. The sun scorches so damn hard on this side of sub Sahara. And I literally never come out for anything unless it’s before nine in the morning or just after the sun is down which is six p.m. I mean, past six, just to be sure. Mama knows this, so why is she putting me through this turmoil. So I apologize to Mama and ask her not to ‘catch.’ “Mummy, my legs even hurt, Jana I was pretending to work out.” Then she laughs lightly and sweetly tells me ” Bah! Isokay. I just sat here and saw other parents walking around with their kids and well, I just wanted to walk around with mine. But I’ll get you home in a bit.” Well played Mom, well played. So, with a guilty conscious, I ask for only ten minutes, which is a lie because I have to change from my pajamas and get ready.
It’s during this time that I go through a series of events, from downing a few shots of milk to eating two cupcakes as I picked an outfit, to realizing I’ve gained serious weight when I was skipping into my jeans. I couldn’t zip up the first one, which a couple of weeks ago was fitting perfectly. Hmmm! So I wiggle into the next option, it’s a tad tight but dammit! I need to work out. Seriously! Anyway, as you’d figure it out, that’s all in my head.
Get to town and Mama has this ‘tonne’ of work she needs done, so I help her. We’re done in a couple of minutes because it really wasn’t much. But she’s growing old, and wiser. (If she asked me directly to come and help her clear some work, I would have had her carry it home). It has to be mailed and my oh my! I forgot how much I missed going to the post office to collect the mail with Mama. She’d always let me open the mail box and rummage through the mail as if I was expecting any. Unlike my dad who always made sure I kept a safe distance (as if I’d break anything in a post office.) So today we bought stamps, (I stole a couple to add to my collection. Uhm, yes. I used to collect stamps. I have an entire album.) and spent quite some time doing the whole thing. And as usual, Mama took joy in letting me throw the mail into that giant pipe with a kaslot there up. God! It’s really the small things in life…
Next errand, shopping for grocery, where I’m Mama’s personal trolley. And I remember I need a movie since I’m almost exhausting my collection. So mom promises to bring me back as soon as I accompany her somewhere for something she needed. She did take me back to my movie guy, but when she noticed how he kept smiling and asking why I haven’t been home in forever, she suddenly lost interest in waiting for me from the comfort of her vehicle. And there we were, chilling with Mama at the movie shop. With like 27 other kids. Or young adults. It’s a gaming joint as well, sooooo yeah. Basically, Mama was protecting me from the hunters haha!
We were done at some point anyway and we headed back home, not that I got any ice cream I had been promised. And any attempts of follow up were quickly dismissed. Just as Mama was parking, her favorite song came on the radio and believe me or not, Mama jumped, literally!! She jumped from the vehicle and danced to her favorite tune right there. With only the car’s head lights and the stereo, she was high on life. At some point she grabbed me and we daaaaaanced and laughed like two teenage girls. I haven’t seen Mama so excited in so long I almost forgot how alike our zest for life is.
I guess hanging out with Mama today made me realize just how little things in life make our hearts throb. And how we do not need to wait on something big to take photos and prove that ‘we have a life’. No one even remembers the things that we considered fun anymore, in our own unique ways, a lot of times because we fear that it will be judged as not cool. It’s these things that sometimes brand me as weird or special. However you choose to see it, I don’t care. All I know is that today, I felt the epitome of happiness. In a spur of three hours, I was at my most happiest. And nothing can take that away. Oh! Except Mama’s face when I told her I’m not giving her my special yarn to knit me a sweater. Other than that, nothing makes me happier than being Mama’s little girl. 🙂
Pick you, Choose you, Love you.
I always thought there was something beautiful about waiting for the person you love, waiting for them to be ready to let you in. It didn’t matter how long I’d have to wait because you keep your eyes fixed to the prize. Isn’t that the point of it all? Let’s face it, whenever you’re in a situation where it’s a choice between you and someone else, you always want to come first, no? Interviews, family, life situations, relationships. Isn’t that why we are a tad jealous when our best friend gets a new close person? Because it’s in our human nature to get jealous or possessive. We all want someone to pick us over someone else, no matter what.
So, when did my beautiful dream turn sour? I won’t lie, it was today. Today being Sunday, 23rd April 2017. For the first time in a while it actually hit me that I can’t just sit around waiting for someone’s time or current situation to be right so that they can pick me. While I won’t get to the gory details, mom picked something else over me. It didn’t matter how long I had waited on the queue for my turn, point is, she picked whatever she wanted. And I crawled in my bed and shed a few tears before it occurred to me that mom did nothing wrong, she merely chose herself, her happiness. So why has it always been so hard for me to pick myself instead of sitting around waiting to be picked?
So I sat up and started over thinking. When did I get to the point where it was okay for me to wait in turn? Well, I actually have a few reasons. No, two reasons: sisters and life. Growing up, there was an unwritten rule at home about snoozing and losing. Y’all know how that goes. Often, I’d be the looser, a few times I’d probably get to be the winner, but my place was always last. So I learned to wait for my turn. Which, even when I managed to get the first position, had to be supervised by an adult. The adult here being one of my sisters, who’d often be in charge of whatever it was. Say the TV remote control. Dammit! Fighting didn’t make it any better. I would be punished and end up not watching TV all together. So you get why I had to wait my turn.
Life, it’s just how it is. It teaches you to be patient. If you didn’t get it once, wait until you get it, yes? That’s it.
It comes a time when you learn to be heartless, only to protect yourself from the heartaches that come with expectations. At that point, you learn to pick yourself first. You pick what makes you happy, what works for you. Because eventually, all that matters is yourself. When it’s three in the morning and your heart is breaking, lying on a cold hard floor, you only have yourself to lean on. And a happy you is a strong you. And in those moments when you are not sure if the pain is going to suffocate you to death, you will remember all the things that make you happy, and you’ll have a reason to smile. If you’re waiting on a loved one to come back to you, love them from a distance. If they truly meant to stay with you, nothing would keep them away. If you’re waiting for a break through at work, it might be time to start looking outside. Bigger and better things await. Our lives are not meant to be pegged on particular events or happenings. We are diverse individuals, it will never get to a time when we are out of options. Well, except when we are dead… Point is, choose yourself. Always. And let nothing hold you back from being happy. Nothing at all.
The Ashes of Us
We wear our scars, some of us proudly, some of with a bit of bad memories. That isn’t what defines us though. We are not conformed to lead our lives by our scars. And well, while that might be true, we certainly carry those very scars with us, praying and hoping that this time, the scars will heal differently.
See, the thing is, we all are a jagged edge. Nobody has it smooth. And we all have scars in all sorts of unexpected places. Scars that are like secret road maps of our personal histories, diagrams of our old wounds. We tend to associate our scars with mainly pain and loss, but is that the only way to look at it? I have a problem trying to decipher the end. End of things. End of everything. I don’t understand how everything just ends at some point in life. The romance in a relationship, one day you’d wake up and realize the spark was long gone, leaving you subjected to a whole agonizing period of trying to get things back to where they initially were. The death of a beloved, how do you get past the quagmire that becomes of your heart, the pain and suffering that comes with the end of that life?
Is it when we have several endings that we begin to get used to it? Is it finally okay to say that it will get easier over time? Is it when we get tainted with all the scars of our past that we finally learn how to deal with life. While scars acquired physically heal with a tinge of pain here and then, psychological and emotional scars are the real nightmares. The pain lingers on and there is no possibility that the end is coming. Rather that’s what we think of it.
Being all different individuals, we result to different ways of dealing with our pain. Is this when we get something that helps us get through the night, day? Could be anything, who knows? But the thing about addiction is, it never ends well. Because eventually, whatever it is that was getting us high stops feeling good and it begins to hurt. Still, you don’t kick the habit until you have hit rock bottom. But how do you even know you’ve reach there? Then again, some of us choose to ride out the pain, hoping it goes away on its own, hopefully the wound causing the pain heals. And with no solutions or easy answers, you just breath deep and wait for it to subside.
A lot of times, our old wounds heal, leaving behind nothing but a scar. And that is a great thing. But some wounds don’t. Some wounds we carry with us everywhere and though the cut is long gone, the pain lingers. Pain that sometimes gets you to where you least expect it. Hits below the belt and doesn’t let up. Pain, you just have to fight through, because the truth is you can’t outrun, and life always makes more. And sometimes, no matter how hurting something is to us, letting it go even hurts worse.
Which brings me back to wondering how it all ends. When everything is looking bleak, how do we find the strength to get off that low moment and move forward, no matter how hard we have to stagger or crawl. How do we look back and get in touch with the fact that something is over? Sometimes it’s consoling. Other times…. Well, other times we just find a way to get us through the day. Because for some, it never quite ends. It’s like dancing with a limp from an injured leg. You just learn to make the best of it, because what you can’t put away, you learn to live with it.
Dear Broken Soul…
Well, maybe it’s the way I laugh that makes everything less hard on me or it’s just my nature to take things lightly.Not all times though. There are days when I beat myself down and the only feeling I have towards me is self hate. Now, on these days, I don’t even leave my cocoon. I just lie there until I can master enough strength to just bear with myself. Just. But this never lasts long. Somehow, I always spring back. No matter how long it takes, I always get back up. Well, not entirely up but somewhere higher than where I lay.
Losses. No one is too perfect or lucky to have not suffered a massive loss that leaves them wondering if really life is worth living. I remember when I received news of my cousin’s demise and for a moment, before it hit home, I kept reminding myself how many people I have lost over the years, this year. Some losses that I am yet to announce to the world because they are too painful to be out there and yet too painful to just keep them to myself. So I kept saying to myself that the pain would lessen, that this would hurt less or rather I would be able to deal with it easily. I was in for a bumpy ride. Its like having to watch an old scar ripped open yet again. No anaesthesia, no alarm. All you got is your disbelief and pain. Just another one to add to the pile? Lies!
It is everything. It is all new and when you can’t breathe from all the pain you feel, you wish death took you instead. But, death is such a relief. Why would I say that you ask? Because it’s hardest on the living. There is the part where you were not exactly ready for what was coming and there is the part where you have to accept that they are gone and it is you to find peace in that. The problem comes in when you just cannot bring yourself to see it for what it really is. The end of a journey. It’s like getting on a bus and meeting this really amazing seat mate. All along you know that you have different destinations and yet, when time comes for them to say goodbye to you, you want to hold on. We would then be taking them for a ride. A meaningless ride because they were already where they were intended to be. There is the part where you want them to experience all these new things that you will be seeing and experiencing, but the truth is, it only makes sense to you, not to them.
Grieving is different for each person. It is different for me too and I cannot assume to feel what exactly someone else would be feeling, even if we suffered the same loss. That is the reason why I don’t like being told, “I know how it feels” when someone offers me their condolences. No you do not. You might have an idea but what I feel at this exact moment is not comparable to anything I ever felt before, so how can you possibly liken it to what you have felt previously? I understand this is usually said with the best intentions and in a bid to lessen the pain that one is going through, but I feel people should be allowed to feel that pain. People should be let to deal with their losses anyhow it feels right to them. Because when you sleep at night and all the voices are quiet, you only have yourself, no one else with you. And the ghost of yourself will constantly mock you, make everything raw again. That is how we don’t sleep at night.
Contrary to common belief, grief is not only experienced when someone we love dies. What happens when we cut ties with someone or something we love? What happens when we lose our jobs? According to Wikipedia, Grief is a natural response to loss. It is the emotional suffering one feels when something or someone the individual loves is taken away. The grief associated with death is familiar to most people, but individuals grieve in connection with a variety of losses throughout their lives, such as unemployment, ill-health or the end of a relationship. Why is it so hard to let go?
I don’t know about everyone else, but I have problems letting go. I feel as if part of me is dying with the end of that tie. Pain so bad that not even a thousand gallons of tears could ever make it go away. It’s like losing a baby to a miscarriage or a still birth. All the hope and dreams you had for that bundle of joy, all the love you had put in them, the joy that comes with accepting motherhood. The comfort that comes with feeling your baby’s flattering kicks that are soon meant to get stronger and graduate to actual kicks. You don’t even remember the sleepless nights, tossing and turning like a demented walrus, for all you care, it is a small price to pay. Nothing, absolutely nothing, would make you want to give that up. Because, in all honesty, there is a part of you in your unborn child that you wish to bring into existence and make things right. It’s like being given a second chance to life. And then, in a split second, it’s all taken away. So, when you suddenly wake up and that small part of you is no longer there, gone indefinitely, you break. in more ways than one, you break and you wish death took you too.
I wouldn’t say that from all my losses I have learnt to let go. In fact, I think I have only learnt how to hold on tighter. Appreciate what life has given you at this moment, there will never be a second chance. Love people, not because it’s right for you, love them because that is the only chance you get. Tell the truth, hurting or not. Let it all out. Someone told me that a lie, whether big or small, is a lie. And it doesn’t even matter if you lied to protect them, the thing is, you lied. And you know what else comes with lies? Broken trust. And that is hard to get back. I have not learnt all that I need to. I am still growing, still learning. The world has so much to offer. But even when we miss it, I hope someone else will be there to remind you about how much more there is to life. I hope above everything else, you find the peace you need to get up and face yet another day, another challenge. Who knows what you might get out of it this time round? I hope you know love, I hope you know passion. I pray that you find only the good from everyone and forget the bad. Above all, I pray you remember the only reason you feel so sad is because you are a deeply feeling person and for you to feel this sad, darling, you must have been so happy. It isn’t over! You will be happy again. And when the sun comes up, you will find the grace that you need to get it through the day.
Perfect Messes
What’s the first thing that comes to your mind when you get up in the morning, or whatever time you get up. Is it a feeling of content and self love or is it fear of yet another day, more mistakes and self loathe? Do you have a power statement that gets you through the day or are you indifferent about the entire moment all together?
My mother happens to be a very pious woman. While she’d be getting ready for prayers after getting up, I’d be checking my phone for the time and then lay in bed, confused and probably late for something. See, the thing is, I get up confused. Scared and confused. Scared because I’m not entirely sure if I missed something important or if I’m in trouble for something. Confused because I was asleep for probably seven plus hours and I have no idea what time of the day it is. Do I even know what day it is?
This keeps me going. There are days I get up excited, even when I don’t know what day of the week we are at, I am excited that I’ll probably get to do something new or just something different. That’s just me, it’s how I’m built. Small things excite me while major things make me scared and anxious. And when I’m anxious, messes begin happening.
There are days when I need to remind myself why I have to get up and adult. On a normal day, I snooze my alarm up to about six times. Now, on these particular days, I switch off my phone (which serves as my alarm clock) all together. Why? Because, in as much as I want to be psyched about life and about new chances, there are those particular days when I give up and I simply cannot bring myself to be happy. These are the days I even hate my reflection on the and I don’t want to hear my own voice. Then again, I’m an adult, so whether I hate the idea of me breathing or not, my boss will be waiting for a valid reason as to why I did not get to work on time.
Well, today I happened to get up in those really good moods for whatever reason. I had made up my mind last night that I’d be attending church today (I rarely go to church. Please don’t ask why, it’s a bit difficult explaining how I need to get in touch with my faith) and for the first time, I kept a promise to myself. You need to understand why keeping a promise to myself is such a big deal to me. Earlier on this year, I had resolved to start working out, because according to my diagnosis which happens to be accurate, I am unfit. Unfit people work out to get fit. Also, there exists a group of people called Enid who get up on time for their work out, change into their working out gear and even set a Playlist to keep them going (who wants to get bored on a morning jog?). It’s a bit obvious that after doing all that, the subject would then start their work out, you know, get warmed up first and then go for jogging. Where else to do a good warm up other than taking the five flights of stairs down and then proceed to jog. Well, this particular group of people usually step out and assess the atmosphere. There are different reasons every time. There are days when it’s too early to go jogging around and who knows if you’re even safe? Other days, the sun is out early and it’s never a good idea to let strangers see you struggling to keep alive, panting for the much needed air and even worse, see you collapse all in an attempt to keep fit. Also, the terrain is not fit for my feet. I could step on a stone, trip and fall, a lousy driver could decide to splash dirty water on me, jeez! Do I need to list all those reasons here? So, this group of people called Enid, decide that the only safe place to work out is from the comfort of their bed. So, fully dressed for their work out, they crawl back to bed. What’s that they say about no pain no gain? It was painful getting up, so this is totally worth it.
Back to today, church! I can already hear mom making breakfast and calling upon everyone else to get up and go to church. Oh, she’s not going, pious as she is. She’ll follow the proceedings from the comfort of her living room. Now, while I was packing in readiness for my visit home, I forgot to pack an extra pair of shoes to go with my beautiful dress that I’m meant to wear to church. Thank God my big feet can fit in some of mom’s shoes. So I sneak into her closet and steal a pair of shoes and innocently shout across the hallway “I don’t want tea mama!”
As usual, I’m the last person to get ready and I have delayed everyone else. But those darling just can’t leave without me.” I’m going to a different church, so I have to look good,”I excuse myself as I run, in mom’s heels, as fast as I can. Well, the ground looked lonely so I decided to give it a big hug. Problem is, ground is not a very clean someone, so I have to go back to the house and change into something else. But my other dress isn’t half as pretty… . So again, I sneak into dear mom’s closet and look for whatever I can rock. Well, I was successful and eventually I got successful.
Very carefully, I make my way slooooooowly to the car and off we go to church. The ushers are really quick to usher me to the sear next to the woman who kept coughing and I started fearing for my health. I whispered a word of prayer for her though, I hope she does get better. The choir sings dramatically, with voices that sure don’t resemble those of the angels, and finally the preacher is welcomed for the preaching.
The church is small and not entirely full, but it’s very necessary that people on the road hear the word of God too. So, seizing the microphone and shouting as loudly as his lungs can possibly allow, the Bishop begins preaching to the congregation. He throws in a wrongly placed joke in his sermon once in a while and the crowd makes a point of stroking his ego by laughing and chanting ‘Amen!’ Now motivated, the Bishop gets louder and he’s breathing heavily. I keep wondering if he’s okay….. Eventually, the sermon is over and there’s a program master who keeps updating us on what’s happening there after. It’s offertory time. People are making there way to the front, with their fists tightly clenched, I fear for those notes’ and coins’ lives. Those poor things.
It’s my turn, so I straighten my borrowed dress and gathering as much confidence as I can, I make my way to the front. I made it! No accidents again. I’m so proud of myself I almost pat my shoulder in a congratulatory note. Well, I did pat someone’s shoulder, but that’s because I tripped on someone’s baby and there was only one way to go, DOWN! How could this happen? Did I speak or rather think too soon? And that baby, dammit! Where did he come from? All these questions, no answer. There was only action, and by action, read me fighting with air to keep me from falling. Thank God for that man with a pot belly the size of a barrel. His stomach kept me from falling. I quickly whisper sorry and rush back to my seat, only to find it taken by someone else. How?
So I step outside and walk to where the car is parked. It’s when I realize that I did not pick the keys on my way out, so I have to stand under the sun and wait for the service to be completely over. As I stood there, I tried to think about the one day I never had an awkward moment…and I realized that there was none I could think of. And again I’m thinking, how would my life be if I wasn’t half as clumsy? Boring I presume. The other day I fell at the office, in the presence of about three clients. Well, I lay there and had a good laugh. They were amused at my laughter too, Oh if you haven’t heard it, trust me you do not want to be subjected to it.
Life is never about those perfect moments that made time stop. I choose to mark time with those moments that made me realize just how perfectly imperfect I am. Every second I rose from that ground, laughing so hard and running short of breath makes me appreciate the beauty of these small messes…because some of us weren’t made of sugar, spice and everything nice. The ashes in me make my messes beautiful. I accept failure, I accept defeat, I accept when I’m wrong. I have learned that moving on is never easy, the first steps especially are as hard as it can ever get. But it’s always worth it in the end.
Beautiful Pains
She looked out the window and for a moment, she forgot that it was about time. That’s all she needed, a split second to get lost in her thoughts. Alone with her thoughts. Well, no one would let Jersey be alone for a long while. She longed for the day when she’d finally get rid of everyone around her. Everyone except a very tiny circle that actually took time to understand her. You see, when you’ve been subjected to a life of pain, the slightest feeling of relief is a thing unheard of, and you relish every second of that moment. You live it fully and every time you’re almost losing hope, you remember the few times everything was suddenly so calm.
She was well acquainted with the smell of death. Jersey always longed for that near-death experience because she longed to be relieved of her pain. All those times she was giving in to the cold snares of death, someone was always there to make sure that she didn’t cross over to the other side. She felt like she was being punished, and she kept cursing the nurses. “I know I don’t deserve death, it’s too merciful a punishment.” She kept telling them after coming around from yet another surgery.
Her mother held her in a warm, tight yet comforting embrace. She kissed her temple and in a bit of a rush, took her small back pack and pushed Jersey’s wheel chair out of the room. Jersey was leading a great life just a few years back. With a job that paid her bills, made savings and sustained her middle class lifestyle, she never lacked anything. Jersey learnt to be dependent at a very early age and as such, she never really felt the need to keep many friends.
Her days were quite simple. She’d go to work, probably go for a swim thereafter and head back home. Jersey never visited crowded areas, she did not like the different smells that came with crowds. She termed crowds as messy and called them walking disasters. She always did her shopping at the same mall, every fortnight, early in the morning when they had just opened or late at night when they were about to close. She didn’t have a boyfriend. Not that she ever had one, well, mainly because she kept stammering every time a boy talked to her and she’d sweat profusely. Jersey usually took about two to three business days to respond to any text from the opposite sex and declined every date. This habit especially annoyed her mother who for the longest time was praying that her daughter would finally go out with a man and eventually settle down. Isn’t it every mother’s prayer?
For starters, Jersey had just turned thirty six. She did not feel the need to share her life with someone else. She abhorred the idea of marriage and as a result, she kept avoiding getting close to any man. She’d watched her younger sister get married and while she said she was happy, Jersey didn’t quite fall for the idea. The only relationship that was working for her was the one she had with her fifteen year old dog, who was succumbing to old age.
Her mother was on a call, explaining that today’s therapy was yielding some results. She went on to tell the person on the other end that hopefully, Jersey would respond to treatment and that eventually, she’d kick Alzheimer in the butt. Hope… What else was there to hang on to other than hope?
….to be continued
Little Graces
Fear… It’s not just a feeling. It’s everything that sets us back. It’s what holds us back from danger and protects us. It’s that which also keeps us from reaching our full potential because we are scared of losing, or change or even getting hurt.
As humans, we learn to face these feelings from an early age. Rather, we are taught that it’s wrong to fear. I remember being scared of the dark when I was younger. Not that I’ve stopped, in fact my imagination has become more vivid. The only difference is, I am supposed to act like am adult and we all know adults who run around screaming because it’s dark, no? Me neither. I’m yet to meet one.
As an adult, I’ve learnt that my greatest fears are those that I wake up to daily and the monsters in my closet are alive. Fear keeps me alive and yet, keeps me even further from achieving true happiness. It’s not because I want to be afraid, I feel it’s the fact that I put myself out there and the universe rejected me. It’s not the most relieving feeling. And over time, I’ve learnt that fear also comes with feelings of despair, frustration, self doubt and more often than not, we second guess our capabilities. It’s human. Difference being, some of us take it a notch higher.
What happens when we cannot face our fears like the world wants us to? Even after reading every book there is about overcoming our fears and being great, what if we don’t have what it takes to be bold? Is that when we choose to hide from the world? With everyone discouraging fear, I think we tend to forget that to some people, it’s not just a feeling. It’s part of their life and in as much as we’d love to laugh it off, it’s not the best feeling in the world.
It’s when sadness hits you at three a.m and you realize that you are all alone, that everything begins to fall in place. We’re not afraid because we want to. We are afraid because we’ve lost previously. And the idea of losing again is your nightmare. It’s not losing that’s the biggest fear, it’s losing ourselves in the confusion of our loses that makes the difference.
The greatest of all loses is losing our hearts, our souls and everything that’s us, to love. There is a reason why I do well on my own. It’s not that I feel I’d be happier alone, no man is an island and I need to listen to other people’s jokes to appreciate life. It’s the idea that I could fall in love and then it all falls apart. It’s the part right after that’s scary and not being able to live with that pain that makes me want to hold back.
And yet, time and again, I find myself in that exact spot where I can’t tell whether the pain hurts physically or its just hurting emotionally . Perhaps it’s those tears that could be laced with a little blood from the heart, shuttered in the worst possible ways, that makes it even more painful. Is it the part where you realize you actually need them and everything that’s them? It’s waking up in the morning and it dawns on you that they are gone and they’re probably never coming back. What hurts most? And the pain… You simply cannot bring yourself to live with it. Because losing love is like an organ damage. It’s close to death, only that with death, everything suddenly comes to a halt and there’s relief. This, this heart wrenching pain… This could go on forever.
But the thing about fear is, it’s a part of us. We create our own demons and only us have the power to slay them. When everything feels like it’s falling apart, that’s when we rise. We’re allowed to have a meltdown, we’re allowed to hurt and break down. What we’re not allowed to do is unpack it and stay down. At the end of it all, it bottles down to what makes us happy. And even when we don’t see it, eventually our monsters in the closet turn out to be little bunnies that needed our protection.
No matter how big our fears are, someday we’ll be able to look back and appreciate them. It’s in losing that we gain, it’s in hurting that we appreciate peace and it’s only when we let go that we move on… Because at the end of the day, life goes on. And even when it feels like there was only one person to love, someone else comes along and you wonder why you were even worried to begin with. And that, is what I like to call Little Graces.
One Little Enid 