I love Sundays. They are conclusive. A summative of how your week started; who you cursed at; how you felt and what you owe to people and God. It’s time for reverence and humility.
You sin on Sunday and suddenly you feel dirty, like a wretch and a rat combined, like you’ve betrayed something, something bigger than you. Sunday will have you thinking about things that would never have crossed your mind during the week. Its reflective, it’s spiritual and it’s the mother of all atonement.
My neighbor’s tree is swaying violently. The push and pull with the wind is fascinating. It’s the same war we fight with ourselves and at time with others.
It’s the energy we tackle each day and we stand our ground even though we might be wrong. Is there such a thing as wrong or right? Isn’t right what was fundamentally agreed by the majority and approved as the right way to be.
What if there is no such thing as wrong to begin with, what if in your own dysfunction we are just as right as the next person. Is wrong or right even the point? Shouldn’t be the point be becoming the best, a better and more refined version of who you are…….
The clouds are hanging lower than the norm; they are a deep shade of grey. It will soon pour. The sky will cry and we will feed. We are somehow feeding off the pain of other beings. By cutting trees, the remaining ones struggle to bring us rain and yet we still wait on the rain to gain crop.
The irony of killing Jane to get jeniffer. I can touch the clouds today if I was over 6 feet. The rattling of the leaves is swallowed up by the screeching of brakes. The main road is nearby so is a school and a hospital.
I can see the neighbor’s cat pouncing on the narrow wall and heading towards our balcony. It never goes away as much as my mom detests it and puts up a front of it not being around home. I secretly give it meat and milk. If I ever get discovered I will be the one facing the front- of the gate.
She is travelling again. Second week in a row now. She works so hard, its admirable. I don’t want to be employed I thought to myself. I can’t imagine being under someone else’s rules, having a code of conduct, observing protocol.
She leaves and I’m left in the same silence as before. The calm buzzing of the fridge, the rattling of leaves and the birds chirping. Karimi would be home soon; hopefully she remembered to carry my perfume.
I resigned to flipping channels on the TV. It’s a slow day today. I have missed my tribe dearly. All of them are in the Rift for the weekend. We haven’t had wine for the past few weeks; it gets hard to meet when all of us have all these dreams and ambitions but I take comfort knowing I have people. People with the same ideologies. People who focus on inner beauty and are flawless on the outer.
‘I’m traveling right now’ the text I read on my screen got me all giddy. I was absolutely thrilled to have at least one person on this side of town. Having people who know you at such an intimate level is special; so divine; it’s like having cake and still eating it. People, who love you and your wild-free ways, lose mouth and deflated arrogance that comes out as confidence.
It’s crucial to have people who will listen to your entire BS and tell you its BS then tell you they have similar BSs. In a world that is so fake; people turning against each other; friends who are not really friends sharing clothes and a boyfriend on the low and living life knowing you are utterly alone, it’s pretty nice to have a tribe. My inner circle gives me life.
‘I swear I need time out. I need to know who I am. I thought I did
Then another side of me came out.
Back to the lies. Back to the manipulation. Back to the fragility. Back to square zero’.
I knew exactly what she meant. I felt what she meant. It’s funny how we as humans go through the exact same thing at the same time. She was mirroring my life at that very moment in time and she didn’t even know. I hadn’t said anything to her or to anyone because I was still trying to say it to myself. Figure things out. Understand the making of myself before I swallow someone into my own abyss.
The minute she typed those words and sent it, I knew we were meant to be friends; no, sisters. We had a similar upbringing with a few variations here and there. Fatherless generations can be a tool to deal with. We are configured different; our view is slightly tainted.
We know what reality is, we know what it means to be strong for ourselves but what happens when we longer siphon that strength that keeps us together. When we go through something traumatic and lose all our marbles and remain with rocks. When the ship gets hit hard with the waves and it starts to capsize. What happens when a titanic interlude begins?
I couldn’t put into words what she had so effortlessly said and that’s why I love her. She knows the words I need to hear and the ones I can’t speak, telepathically. It’s a cosmic experience. I wondered how many of us were drowning in the traumas of our youth; how many realize that they are actually drowning.
Do they know they need saving or are they aloof continuing in their dysfunctional ways? Is there a right way or wrong way to be. To be or not to be is not a question of compromise. Its either you be or not be.
‘What are we fighting from or what’s going on?’ she asked me the same question I asked myself earlier on that morning.
What makes me so dysfunctional? Why do I do this to myself? Why do I lie so comfortably? How comes it’s so easy for me to pick up and leave and only be back when I want something or when I don’t want to be alone? How is it that in the deepest part of my soul I can say one thing and believe it only for me to go ahead and switch the whole script and forget? Do I have multiple personalities?
If you bring on different people from school and ask them who I am, you’d be shocked what people know me for. But that’s not the point, people only say what feeds into their insecurity or plays on to their strength. That’s why you would find someone talking absolute sh*t about you yet you have never had altercation with them. It’s human. We are human.
Being able to switch mentalities, values and perception so easily has caused losses but somewhere inside me doesn’t really care. I haven’t lost really until I lose myself. Until I can’t do things for myself, that would be my onset of loss but what happens when it’s not always about me.
‘Mamie I don’t know what’s wrong with us, we are f@%*’
‘We are too f%@* she replied
How can we be so amazing and so brilliant that we cannot decipher what makes us who we are? All this intelligence and we still fail at knowing what it is that fuels us, what makes us tick, what makes us go back to the default setting, how can we put up measures to sustain our sobriety? Is it always going to be like this?
Infidelity, lies, manipulation, selfishness, multitudes of other people’s children dragged into our strange abyss, addicted to our dark side that even when they leave, they scar permanently?
‘So if you ever feel shitty, just look to the right… I’m right beside you’
‘Thank you love’