At the break of dawn, the smiles fade. The irony of the morning and the understatement of the sweet befall that awaits my detaching. I’m left wondering whether I am sinking or I just don’t know what I am feeling really is. So I placate my soul deep within my worries and begin my day. Maybe today somebody will be happy to see me. It never happens anyway.
The universe has shown no empathy for me: a still drop of water in a sea of waves. One fact is that this drop, me, never asked to be present. I happened to realise that I never really asked for anything that happens. I am just an audience in my own fate, a reader in my own story. I know you will find this sad but the story is unhappy. My shadow is like that of a tiny mango leaf in the midst of macadamia leaves: different yet unidentifiable.
The world has this crazy notion of Hope and Faith. The notion that one day things will take a turn for good. The same world drills these sentiments of patience. It says things get better, do they? It says everything happens for a reason, does it? Does that reason justify the nights you lay in bed sleepless with a splitting headache and endless worries? Does that reason erase the sour memories, the sad and lonely days you had to go through?
Everything seems good enough. You have lots of friends, dreams that are way too far for you to reach yet have a supportive family; one that believes in your hard work. But what about the darkness that engulfs the very soul you posses? What bout the emptiness that takes the place of your heart? What about the bitter pill you swallow to bury what you really desire? What about your thoughts? Maybe your opinion doesn’t matter. After all, that’s just life.
What about the confusion? Yes. The questions you have about what life really is. The questions about your purpose. You try to justify reality, but looking at that guy next door: the one who owns a motorbike, whose house is so small he barely has room for rats, has a wife and six children, and works day and night in bid to feed his family, yet he’s gripped by loans and taxes. Think of the term purpose in his life. What does it represent? Is he supposed to feed and educate his children so that they become better people? Or does he really have a purpose at all. Does he know what he will have accomplished at the end? I don’t know.
Where does all this really fall? We’re all under this dome called life except, none of us chose to be here. Indeed. In the end, some of us wish we’d end up as stingy, egotistical, chauvinistic and stubborn as the character Rikkard Ambrose or better yet as Lillian Linton in Robert Thier’s book, Storm and Silence.
At the end of it, we’re all different. Some of us know what life really expects of us,while others don’t. No one is wrong; we just don’t see things from each other’s perspective.
by Yvonne Njoki