Every year , God willing , I will have a birthday post . This will be based on life experiences .On 25th May . I turned 25. 25 on 25th ! It was a good birthday . I had fun and I am looking and praying that this will be a blessed year full of achievements .
Below is a post i was to do on 24th May , trust me that i wrote it without tears . For the music lovers , what song did I quote ? It was on repeat mode as i wrote this because it made everything vivid . Enjoy
Nothing beats starting a day with chirping birds, the smell of the countryside and fresh earth. Slowly everything comes to life. A stretch as legs slowly slide from the comfy silk sheets to the wooden floor. Off to the window, the curtains are drawn and voila! The sight of dew droplets on the grass and leaves is breathtaking. Everything is so perfect. Nothing on the mind, just the moment .Each moment savored with such intensity. The flimsy night gown clinging to the skin as if it’s the only refuge it has. All the surrounding feels so sexy and flawless.
The sound of the neighbors blue Subaru coming to life then speeding off doesn’t bother the mind. All I want is the sound of tapping feet, to get a cup of lemon tea, at least my kind of morning cup. Back to the window, music, so soft hits the background. Slopping back to the chair, I admire how the body looks so fine in the morning. Without blemish, so fresh, voluptuous and full of life. Looks like candy that makes my own mouth water. A few minutes in and the mind starts being conscious to the lyrics. The kind of music that sucks in and takes the whole body into the zone. Not the kind where you feel like a bird, which by now, its chirping has been compromised by the cruel heat of the sun. The kind of lyrics that makes the mind wish it could shut down, and let the dark eclipse pass. Burry the head in the sand literally because the ostrich has seduced us into thinking it’s the best, so why not confirm it?
The speakers softly whisper,,
It’s lonely at the top
Blackouts and airplanes
I still pour you a glass of champagne
I’m a tough girl
The words come in, fast and real, but hey it’s the morning. I stare outside, the beautiful dew droplets are gone, and I stare, but nothing. I strain hard and stare more, huddle my cup of tea closer, buy hey, nothing changes. I press the cup harder, wishing the glass would crumble in my hands, and give a relief get away. That of power, conquering, win and ability. The more I try, the more frustrating if gets . I wake up and shuffle through the handbag, for a pill of sedatives that is left of the 15 I bought a few days ago. The only thing that has become my escape, sleep .
I pop it, wash it down with the now cold lemon tea, still favored with ginger. It washes down the hard knot in my throat and the tears flow freely.
I sit on the floor, helpless, defeated and confused. I wish all this would be a dream. I do the most bizarre thing. I pinch myself but it isn’t painful enough. I retry and fail .This isn’t my place where I know where every sharp tool is kept.
I pull my hair into a very tight knot, one that I almost feel all the strands coming out . It’s hurting, it’s refreshing, its intoxicating, it’s refreshing; just what I needed.
For the first time, I find the strength to dance alone. Dance to my sorrows. The pain on the head, the tears so warm on my cheeks, the soft music. A reminder that I am not immortal.
The door slowly open and the footsteps halt at the door. I stop and turn around. The tears in his eyes make me weak. I stare blankly. He stares back. We look like two wreaks, the only difference being that he is all cleaned up . I know time is up. Head to shower and let the cold water hit my skin hard , then very hot to scald me . He stares, but when he can’t take it anymore, he turns, his back to the shower but his feet planted firm, can’t move. I stop crying, I promise myself that strong girls don’t cry .
I dress up, whip us pancakes, talk of the world ahead of him, and a little of that ahead of me because we don’t have OUR world anymore.
His bags are packed and placed on the bed. The house manager arrives so that we can check out .Unlike his neatly made bed, mine looks like a thrift shop. My pillows have this big patches of wetness, a reminder of the only thing my eyes could manage the previous night .
15 minutes and his company chauffeur is ready. Him to the airport, me home. We get in, I take the front seat, him the back. Only a few niceties to Heddy , the driver . The air is thick . The Piriton saves the day, and am a sleep for the next two hours. At the airport, he alights, wakes me up, says goodbye. In my seat I wave back, unable to croak a sound. I look away and close my eyes . I am bad at good byes , especially for the only good thing that happened to me when I was breaking . Now, in less than three months gone for good.
We violated the doctor – patient code of ethics, and build memories.
Back home, Heddy gives me a hug . I cling on and let loose .. He tells me it will be alright . I know he means it. I nod, let go and head to the house and straight to bed. Tomorrow will be okay. Blocked email, social media , phone number . Only had the memories preserved. Do I call it love , I think not . Maybe a reminder that there will be better days