Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Of lessons learnt

 I have been walking the earth on my toes, in a feline fashion. Evading with sheer stealth lessons that were hang out not to dry, but were simply there for reference like the way one looks through the dictionary to find new vocabulary. Lessons that were written on a stranger’s face and in a friend’s smile. Lessons that I knew were truths but had to go through a five step program to finally come to terms with. Let me share with you the lessons that I have plastered on the walls of my mind.

I have learnt that every hospital corridor has that one security guard tapping his rungu on the wall as if a ritual to chase his ennui away. While traversing the same hospital corridors I have learnt that fighting isn’t necessary violent. Fighting doesn’t always draw bold or result in broken bones. Fighting is about victory that despite the fact that her hair falls out in chunks and the bills are obscenely huge getting just one more day to see the sun shine is the victory. That is what makes the fight worthwhile.

I have learnt how to be close to my heart because I only have one heart but also how to be estranged from it because it will one day betray me and stop beating; for reasons purely natural or  scientific or perhaps even  sexual . 

 I have learnt that randomness is omnipresent. It cannot be contained. It is free and it never picks an individual. An individual picks randomness. It is an adventure or misadventure risk. An adventure in the times when you become the lucky few who is excluded from watching the paint dry. Misadventure, when the consequences of randomness play dodgy games with your conscious and vital body organs, consequences that draw the line between this breath and the next one.

I have learnt that; I am a fraction with the common denominator being love, numerators coming in thirds of decency, ugly and creativity. I have learnt that decency transcends overexposed cleavages and visible panty lines. That creativity was bestowed upon me so that I would to wear my ugly as an accessory not to treat it as an accessory to my loneliness.

I have learnt that hand holding is not necessarily a manifestation of love; often it mimics love. It pretends to be the cure after that spoon filled with misery quickly dilutes a bucketful of love. That hand holding could be an ending sign, not one of continuity or longevity.

I have learnt that everything is numerical. That in the end everything boils down to numbers. How many lovers you have had, how much fuel your car consumes, how far you have to climb before you reach the top of the ladder. That the exception to this lesson is God’s love, which is measured in the vastness of the sea and the ocean’s tide, and its uncanny ability to reach the heavens.

I have learnt that observation is bogus way to pretend to be living. Waiting in restaurants and on city council benches or on sidewalks watching the world go on as you wait is not living, it’s occupying space and not squarely so. I cannot say what living is but I know its more that this mundane act that  I have learned to call my life.

I have learnt that I have been in an abusive relationship my passion and dreams. We haven’t treated each other right in a long time. We haven’t given each other the best.  They attempted to walk out on me but I held on to them adhesively. I too, tried to leave in pursuit of simpler passions and but they haunted me, in my waking and in my dreaming. We have decided to give it another go rekindling the embers of what once was, one day at a time.

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