Once she asked me if I have written anything about her. I told her that I refrain from writing about her because as far as my world is concern she does not exist. That was not the whole truth. But that is for another day. The truth of the matter is that we have come to share a great friendship, one which I treasure and hold dear to my heart, which is why the tears that stream down her face pools at the base of my heart like a cauldron of acid.
I do not know when she will read this, will she ever read this, or whether we will ever talk about this. But it is inconsequential to me, I write to the void not to her.
Sometimes, communication with this particular girl is vexing. The pain of her past has rendered her ability to be frank and direct anaemic. Her immaculate vocabulary reflects surgical precision concerning syntax and context, which she uses to express herself in the written form, via blog entries, essays and smses. Her words are are mirror, sword and shield all that the same time. Hence my motivation for penning his entry, I literally cannot speak to her face to face. When provoked, her essence will retract back into an armour she needs not don in my presence, but she dons it out of habit nonetheless, pain showing on her face, fear in her eyes. My heart weakens at such a display of vulnerability, and I reflexively back off.
It is my personal belief that souls are made of tears, cry too much and soon we will become lost to emotions and our souls would have been vaporized. I hope that this entry will squelch her reasons to shed tears, ambitious I know, considering she might never read this.
This evening we exchanged a few messages. Embedded within the rants and complains, she subliminally expresses the state of affairs of her family, how the piercing words of her brother wounded her, amongst other issues. In and by itself, the message is innocent. For no family is perfect, and no home unshakable. However, in one of her responses she mentioned how a new day would revitalize her. I never believe we should let the sun set on an argument nor should any one go to bed in tears. This is the second time she mentioned some sort of euphemism for renewal with nothing by the passage of time as the cocoon, and the new sun to break the chrysalis . Time heals all wounds, but they leave terrible scars, scars so disfiguring that they impede the mobility of those wounded. Do not believe that time change people, that is poppycock , people change people.
With this small itch at the back of my mind, I went to read her blog, and as I expected there was a short entry regurgitating an even more ambiguous version of her state of being then what was mentioned during our sms correspondence. She shared how her heart was broken and how she cried. How could those around her not see her pain I wonder? The home is the last place we should be putting up an act, one does not wear armour in one’s castle.
I bit my bottom lip as I read of her sorrow, for the tears of those whom I hold dear pains me.
No one can make you feel lousy, meek or small without your permission. But anyone can make you feel strong and powerful without even you knowing it. Select your memories, select what you want to be notable in your life, words only have impact on you if the person speaking them have a hold over you. Their opinion only matters if they matter.
The person you will be in the years to come are affected by 3 things, the books you read, the people you meet and the memories you choose to keep. Calibrate these elements and you will realize your fullest potential, and become a woman as women should be.
You bear a solitary burden only because you choose to bear it alone, not because you have to.
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