Sometimes, the urge to stay all gloomy and grey can be enticing just as a warm smile would be. I grapple just to balance the weight of my darkness with that of my light.
A battle no other soul has witnessed and a war that has never left a bruise on my skin.
At this moment, I am alive.
There is air busy oxygenating my physical body thanks to the majestic trees helping purify it. The oceans roaring far from here have a claim on my life one way or the other. And so does the soil beneath my soles.
I belong to the wind and the stories she has kept alive through my ancestors.
How can I then rebel against what nature reveals to me?
Pain has been passed on like a baton in this marathon called life and my share moved in with my ailing parts. I have tried to hide the fact that I bleed but my wounds have found ways of embedding themselves in my reflective pieces in form of prose.
And still, I feel like it is allowed to leave emotional discomfort at the door sometimes and watch yourself free fall into making peace with everything as it is.
This is such an attempt. An act of trying to sanctify my usual disheartening rant. What if I acknowledge that at least I have a form of an outlet for when the sea floods?
At this moment my primal persona is exercising her duties and as she drags her pot of ink across your screen, gratitude for being here at this particular second stalking her inner man.
I am safe.
War-torn spaces have always sparked an intense appreciativeness here. I can't imagine existing in a chaotic field whilst mothering. Raising a brood is a task on its own and I am sure it shouldn't be done by a mind that is also worrying about flying grenades and stray bullets.
While they wait for us to cultivate global peace, I have always sent love and light to the parents that are forced to endure such brutal manmade environments every time I reflect on it.
I have food.
I am well aware of what it means not to have food. At some point in my life, I have struggled to sustain my stomach and its needs. I believe it is the lowest of lows for any conscious man. Have you ever looked into the eyes of a hungry man? It's not a riveting sight.
How can I then not be thrilled that my stomach is full?
At this moment, I have a roof over my head. I may be late with this month's rent but for now, it is still my house. Homelessness is real and dehumanising as hell. It is a state of constant fear and feeling out of place.
I have Hive.
The community that always welcomes back with open arms whatever may be. My journey here has withstood turbulent seasons followed by months of withdrawal tendencies. And still, the support is unquestionable. Strangers have so tolerably offered me, a misfit, a place to be myself as much as possible.
I have never been gifted with such creative freedom. Never been trusted with such responsibilities before and the results are undeniable. This space has seen my growth as a writer and a poet flourishing madly. It has filtered my doubts to a point of my enjoying what I do.
To seal the deal, Hive has helped me settle a few financial hurdles and thus empowering me while boosting my confidence as a scribe. For instance, I am about to liquidate some hive to pay overdue rent. Is that enough to be thankful for? That at the very least I have a chance and the much-needed functionality.
Those being the most basic needs and this moment being the present, I can say that let a genuine smile stretch the edges of my sad thresholds. Sad thoughts are taking a break from the limelight and I am manifesting a grip on times like these.
wambuku w.
