Bare my Soul

Temptation is just that, a clawing hand that draws you with images of perfection.. or rather what we perceive to be perfection, whilst in actuality it is all but a dream. All but a collage of the life we wished was bestowed upon us. Only, that clawing hand promises more then it is willing to deliver. So where is the glitch, is it in attaining this life we dream of, or in the road one needs to travel to attain it.. 

See perfection is too in the eyes of the beholder, as what may satisfy you may not satisfy the next person. 

"She claws onto the toilet seat, gasping for air. What she thought was a nightmare she could wake up from was her new reality. It hurt, hurt more then any fathomed pain she thought herself able to endure. See, right there is the glitch, she doesn't think she can live though it. The pain is too unbearable. Too deep. Her only thought is, "How could she?". She was mad at her life long best friend, who took the only thing she held dear. The love of her life. "Fcuk her", is her second thought. "They can both go screw themselves". Ironically that is exactly what they did. 

She grew up with a little more then a sack cloth to cover herself from the wrath of a cold night. Trusted little and vowed to never be vulnerable. On the dusty streets of Katutura, you learn to be hard as stone. You learn to fight the biggest of the bullies, in attempt to stay relevant, and more yet to not be looked down upon. Only, with this hard soul to the world, was a vision that no one could steal from her even in the cold of the night. She had a dream to fulfill, she wanted success. By all means possible she scrambled pennies, sold bottles at super markets who would award you with little more then was fair. With that she saved, and went to school. Her luck came one fateful day, when her teacher took notice of her. For all the wrong reasons of course. She looked rowdy, and was months behind on school fees payments. Yet, she continued coming to school regardless how they probed her to stay away. Until, she was sent to the principals office, in teachers in vane attempt at getting her thrown out.

 The principal saw something in her, a light and a burning desire she could not turn a blind eye too. After all, her professional vision was trained to spot talent and ambition a  mile away. She took her in and molded her to all that she is today. From a dead rose bush, she sprung into a beautiful Lilly. She shone, and came top in all her classes. This was to ensure that life didn't grab from her the opportunity some can only dream of whilst others take it for granted. And so success was hers.

 To the day 24 September 2006, she had not let a soul in. aaand then she met him. He was a picturesque view, looked as though he was cut straight out a catalog. Her heart melted at the sight of him, and she stared till he noticed her. It must have been love at first sight as it seemed every puzzle piece found its mate piece. Right behind him, was a tall dark haired model, she mistakenly presumed. She too was gorgeous, she looked up and waved her over. Awkwardly, she stumbled toward the pair, unaware of what she was doing or where she was going. She was drawn, to him, to her. That day, she spoke to these two strangers. She spoke and told them her story, from the very raw detail of gang fights, to the sleepless nights of med school. He instantly became her significant other and she instantly became her best friend. They were the trio! 

"How stupid was she to not detect their clear attraction to one another?", she thought. They were friends for 16 years, and she theirs for 8! That fateful day,she opened her heart up, bare! She wore her heart on her sleeve from that day onward, and everything changed. This rock heard hearted girl, changed! She smiled more often and embodied the Lilly she was likened to. 

Now everything went dark. Her soul gave out, and everything seemed to lack the light it needed. 

She packed her bags and moved. She never looked back. She left and made a start for new beginnings. After all, the only mother she knew was long dead. 

See, she was in love with the idea of the significant other and her heart. She believed that they could be trusted, but even in her perfect picture and its fantasy, she saw cracks. She saw those very cracks and turned a blind eye. They lived the life many could only dream of and had the physique to match this life. She beautiful, him handsome. They took me under their wings and molded me into the African queen I thought I was destined to be. Years went by, and I wanted what they had, but I was never brought up to drown in envy, so I locked it up, only it stayed. Although, they had character traits that came with having more then you could ask for, insecurity was high on the list. I remember one drunken night she said, "You know babe, I envy you". That was the end of that.

Now, I see. Although they had the life one could call perfect, they lacked the one thing any human is to embody, authenticity!

"What we are all striving for is authenticity, a spirit-to-spirit connection" - Oprah Winfrey 

Broken

They all see past me, ignore my very core existence. Make no effort to acknowledge my presence at any given occasion. They all laugh and smother her with love, cuddling and hugging her. It is by no means jealousy as it is envy. I am not jealous of what affection they give her, as I don’t want it. I am envious of her persona, who she is and what she stands for. I crave to embody her traits, so much so that I have fantasies where I am her and her ability to not be a prig. The whole debacle had become a truism to me.

I shrivel at the thought of what is about to happen, as I am fully aware. He strips me of my clothing, without a hint of gentleness. First, he tears at my pants, yanking them off me, and still I don’t make a sound. He wears a look of belligerence in his eyes, coupled by a hint of anger. The resentment is evident in his smirk, alongside it vanity. He looks me in the eye, daring me to fight, daring me to move, and daring me to make an escape from his filthy, blood reeking hands. I make no move to leave, nor fight his rough hands. He continues to cut my shirt open, revealing my bare braless chest. To his satisfaction, I wince. I look away, and count the minutes away, that feel like years. He rapes me.

Even as a I play this thought out, it does not come close to the reality I wish upon myself. Years of hatred towards men, has grown heart deep and has poisoned me like un-oxygenated air, beginning to fill the spaces that linger. It runs in my veins, jumping synapses and not missing a beat. It’s engulf is consolation for what I have done, the lies I have told. Buried so deep in my hate for men, I have forgotten its origin. What was supposed to be a mere day dream, turned into a reality when one fateful day I was unable to stop the words from tumbling out my broken heart and saying the words, “He raped me.”

It was the perfect lie, as it justified my inability to get along with men, it justified my lack of respect but most of all it provided room for pity. I saw it in their eyes, the want to hold me and wish the pain away. Only, the pain was not of a man forcefully taking my one priced possession. No, it was pain that ran to the day of my birth. The man who helped in my creation walked out on his creation. It made me feel as though I was not enough, as though the bundle of joy a child is to be, was not bundled enough. That his heart could not skip a beat at the sight of me, that his heart could not fill with love for me such that it is all he knew. See this is where it all began, but no one knows.

Instead, they feed off my negative energy which gives them reason enough to stay away, to keep their distance, to treat me like glass. Glass, has the properties with which I have lived all my life. It shields the wind threatening to disperse anything that may lay in its wake, yet one looks right through it. I am that glass, I am that reflection that only shows face in the sight of darkness. Only then can one see the reflection that is a girl begging to be seen.

I envy her ability to forget that our father walked out on us. She is able to smile regardless of the neglect that is an absent father. Her ability to smile, shine and be all that she is destined to be without being crippled by things that cannot be changed. Why then am I unable to take back the lie, that I was not raped. Instead, I should tell the truth, “I was robbed of a father”.

This is purely fiction. It’s something I am trying out. Post your comment and let me know what you think.

Simple

I never fully grasped the idea of, “If you do what you love, you will never have to work a day in your life’, the wisest words to ever grace the world of phrases. If one is to dissect this saying and magnify its meaning as though under a microscope. It tells the story of the most successful figures to date. The love one has for your choice of expertise is what defines your level of success. If one is to look at the story of the man who build America, and date it back to the 1800’s, John D. Rockefeller,

took his love to make deals and built an empire from what was nothing to something.. Most success stories are sugar coated and give you a brief look into what is the actual story. No one breaks it down to the rainy days when defeat was all that they could fathom and tear so frustration loomed behind their eyes. No one tells you of the days when their cheeks were as familiar with tears down their given path as the path that is taken by oxygenated air. See motivational speaking is just that, it is designed to lead you to this path of green pastures, to guarantee you the sunny day at the end of the grey tunnel. However banal this may be, it is exactly that which boils down to how passionate and motivated you are to see out your dream.

The world has three categories, the ones who build empires and are on Forbes Most powerful list, those that work for the empire builders, and lastly those that refuse to see out the power manifested in them. You can choose your category pretty easy, because they are miles apart. Now, what makes all this all the more interesting is neither of these classes have more traits given to the one then the other. Not one has got better functioning synapses, neither has chromosomes with special enhancements, no. It all boils down to being human and not limiting your imagination. The one thing that can limit you is your medulla, if you are to tell yourself you will not take the risk to see out your dreams, then sweetheart, go build another persons dream it is that simple.

I cannot begin to Can

See remorse is something that can not be taught to another being. It is not something that thy parent can teach you, nor is it something that can be staged, because ultimately one will be able to see through the fabricated emotion. Although this may sound banal, it actually does boil down to a point. In the papers following the killing of a young struggle child, I saw many things but remorse.  I saw that the politicians were to ensure that a full investigation was seen through, I saw that some wanted to justify the killing with questions that if answered would leave a blue faced parliament. What bothered me most, has to be the fact that in the instance that one asked where remorse was, justifications were given, but even after all this, not a hint of remorse. 

Now pardon me if I am wrong, but is this not the very government we voted into power and were granted the power to ensure our rights are protected. Does this or does it not require remorse in the instance of a loss of life, especially to the hands of the very people assigned to protect lives. The whole scenario sounds like a huge paradox that refuses to end. Yes, ultimately there may have been some provocations form both parties and matters were mishandled, but remorse cannot be bought nor implemented nor assigned to a certain resolution. It is in born, I do not speak up against a political party, nor a certain individual, I speak up for those voted into power to not forget their humanity.

Power changes people it has been said, no! Power changes those who let themselves drown in an artificially created life that doesn’t last forever. Has it not been proven that politics is a dirty game?  The very people you eat with today can scorn you tomorrow. So do not lose your humanity in the midst of trying to protect and keep what has become your norm. I have to congratulate Mr. Ngurare who in the midst of havoc, did not lash out at anyone nor try point fingers at a guilty party, but ensured that the sent his condolences first and fore most. Is this not what we speak of, that if you are to be in charge of making my laws, never mind protecting them, that you be able to relate to me.

There are many things wrong with the parliament and I can spend endless days pointing out just what these things are, varying from the fact that there are too many middle men in the carrying out of tasks assigned to government. How are you placed in the seat of a ministry by people, this is the 1^st person of the cycle, you employ people to carry out tasks, this is 2^nd person of the cycle, after which you then employ people to award tenders, this is the 3^rd person, this person awards the tenders, 4^th person, this person assigns sub-contractors, this the 5^th person. Now bare in mind I am under no circumstances against the notion of employment opportunities, but can these employment opportunities be maximized and not be petty jobs put in an endless line of irrational job creation. If one were to maximize on the two people, in the success of this project, trust and believe more will come. Ever notice how consulting firms maximize on  the employees they have hence the fast rate at which they grow. Learn something.

Same goes with compensation, the moment one takes responsibility and sees something for what it is, it reduces the chances of losing yourself. If you can maintain and sustain your true self, matters such as remorse will not have to be written about so that realization can set in. These are lessons taught at home, they shouldn’t b taught in newspapers, but such is Namibia.