ALL POSTS, storytelling

Wide open.

There are two types of people in the world: the ones who see and the ones who are seen. This is not always by choice, it’s simply how the structure works and no matter how much the ones who are not seen work to be noticed, their reward is never going to be as sweet. Please don’t think that who is not seen doesn’t wish to or doesn’t have what it takes to make a difference, because they do and they are deserving of grace and kindness.

In what category do I fit you may ask? I am not seen, almost invisible and often do I  wish to have that superpower, but then again I often wish to be seen, splendid, in all my glorious fragility. But I was made to live like a background noise, just there. No one was ever really sure whether they wanted me there or not, but sometimes they needed my energy and sometimes I could offer comfort, but I was never inspiring or worthy of recognition. 

I believe that during my journey of life I was cursed, to see it all and feel it too, sensitive to every smell or energy that surrounds me. Then I would feel grateful for this, able to see and feel and to truly appreciate, taking every single inch of one’s essence to then place it somewhere in my heart, set it aside in a little place.

So beautifully yet so painfully, it pushed me. I became a crystal glass, like the ones that you only use for important occasions, accompanied by great enjoyment of your guest, I was stood there filled with gentleness on the edge of the table. A bad move and I fell breaking in a thousand pieces, becoming unrecognizable, to myself and to you. Now, these thousand shattered pieces that once made me whole, mix in a never ending jigsaw puzzle which beauty can only be appreciated when assembled. So now that I am scatterly laid here, the twinkle sound of the glass, when touched, becomes ugly, a soul eating voice of insecurities, of feelings able to fold the strongest into two, in heartache victim of gut-eating unloving voices. All so far , but close, merge together into a mirror, where I see what I have become. Will they ever see me? Feel like I feel? have they too experienced being whole and broken with the same quickness of a snap of fingers? the same ones that have brought me here. Right now. 

Feeble, unable to sing or speak, wondering how many more times, will I be hurt by the same mistakes. I get up to pick up the broken pieces on the floor, ‘I’ll be back in one second’ my beautiful family is looking at me, my daughters almost didn’t notice that the glass was now scattered around our dining room. ‘ aw am sorry mum, I hope it is fixable’ my daughter looks at me with a little sense of guilt. ‘It’s okay, we never use it anyways’ she gets up to help, but I’d rather do it to make sure that nothing is left and no one will get hurt. 

They grow up so fast, almost indistinguishably, they don’t tell me secrets anymore, sometimes I overhear them talking about  parties, always whispering something that I know shouldn’t be listening to. 

‘I know what you did. If you don’t tell them I will’ Grace was always so assertive, rolling her eyes back at anything and anyone, I like to think that she got that from me. ‘What a bitch! what should I text back?’

‘Who Dara? just leave it on read. No one will believe her anyways’. Imela the youngest, was a hard labour, but her  beauty cancelled everything and how annoying her laziness was.

I remember when I saw them the first time, very vividly. My heart stopped for a split second and then it started racing, so fast, my blood was rushing through my body just as fast as my tears that I didn’t notice were framing my face. I was so happy. 

Their dad, my beautiful husband, seduced me with his way of dancing, making it look so effortless, one casqué and I fell for him. I knew he truly saw me, splendid, in all my fragility, but so strong when dancing, he used to call me ‘the star of the dancefloor’, spinning around and radiating with happiness. Nothing mattered then, I was free and I felt great.

Over the years I had to learn to come second in his agenda, busy with work and fatherhood, taking time for us wasn’t a priority. It was hard not to feel jealous, my friends said I should be grateful to have such a devoted father for my kids, making me feel disgusted for my jealousy. I struggled to understand when being a father cancelled being my husband.

And now that the two little girls left the nest, starting to build their new life away from home, I wondered if I did enough, if I educated them to be decent human beings, during the long drive back I felt as if a little piece of me was gone, everything was changing, so I prayed that my husband could take his duty back and if he could still be good at it, after so long. 

It didn’t take long before I saw them too. My heart stopped again, for the third time and last I thought. Uncontrollable tears, I couldn’t see anything. I was angry, furious. My husband, my friend, my love and confidant. So that night I danced with my blue shoes kissing the dancefloor, then I could see me, I didn’t need a mirror. The sourness and pain was cured, at least for another dance.

image taken from Pintrest

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