Life sometimes makes me burst into a
long mirthless laugh. I might look like a replica of a weirdo but am too real,
though I have won a fair share of accolades that only a sane man can proudly
lay claim to. All along my life I have cultivated a penchant for criticizing
almost everything that has been conceived under the able hands of the Lord.
Plenty of times I have thought I was too good to live for everything seemed
wrong; everything my eyes fell on had that unpleasant look embedded unto it,
everything I heard sounded like an alien language to me. I trudged on with
life, with the burden wearing me heavily.
The challenge bestowed to me, as my
innocence slowly waned, owing to schooling, was one to be of use to the
society. Nothing alluded to my own, and there was never even an attempt by
anyone to explain why it was the way it was. I would rise daily to the beckon
of the birds morning merry, oblivious of the destination education would take
me. At times I would grudgingly oblige, often after a few strokes of cane from
my mother. Sulking and throwing useless tantrums I would go to school,
perceiving it as a punishment. I remember the day I was bought the uniform−a
pair sky blue shorts, a blue shirt and a maroon pullover. I sighed, not for
anything better but one that spoke of an ending journey that was about to
commence I remember thinking I was done. I remember my little sister crying
also wanting to join me in the process but calmed down when she heard that
people were being beaten by teachers.
Going to school never at any single
moment made sense to me. It was a way of robbing me a chance to play all day
while herding the family’s sheep. The only option lay in sitting still as a
teacher drove away my ignorance (including my classmates’). We shouted ourselves
hoarse, our voices never exceeding the walls of our classrooms, a mud walled
structure. At noon I would make our way home and tell with bovine innocence of
my day, making an off key rendition of the songs of alphabet much to the
delight of my mother. It made me happy and longed for another day to display
what I had learned. And the cycle was the same each day.
Years went by. It was too quick for
me to notice. Several Christmases passed calmly like water under a bridge. Sooner than I thought I had cleared primary
school, albeit after changing schools. Discarding an old uniform for a new one
is what I dread the most to date. Its smell nauseates me. It kills the purpose
of reason. The branding, often with an acronym of my name, because it can be
stolen. I never understood why someone would forcefully lay claim to a clothe
that doesn't belong to him, worse still when everybody has two pairs as was
declared in the admission form. Nevertheless life went on, weeks seamlessly
fitting into months, months paved way for years and my knowledge paved way for
a cynic and nihilistic attitude.
The purpose of life crumbled upon
the feet of examination. I bore the brunt of a father’s anger and dejection
that spoke of a hidden frustration, often twined in motivational talk. I would
pretend to pay attention and quickly discard the advice. Reading for exams
really made life a hell−and it still does−and it was even more stressful on the day it
was to be released. For all the stages of learning I emerged on top of my
fears, passing well enough to be regarded as a having fruitfully went to
school. Passing is an humbling experience, just ask one who failed.
All the knowledge failed to instill
the courage to confront life like everybody did. I was overcome by my own
conscience, intertwined with pride and a philosophical mind. The bible was
eroded of its reverence, I questioned its authenticity. The sacred pages were
nothing more than antique poems. Nihilism started here. And to this day little
has changed though I long it would. Those Sundays were horrible. Being forced
to go to church wasn't a thing to smile about. It was akin to being caged in a
stingy cell without the consent of will. They said it was a rule to be in
church but it was an harsh one to me.
After high school, life assumed a
nonchalant mode, though in the dark it was marked by anxiety. I never wanted to
imagine how did my exams and just waited for that moment when I would be
proclaimed an intelligent idiot or vice versa−I wouldn't any where far from this
two. All the idling bore boredom. I had no friends. I was my own friend and I
let myself down so many times. Writing something in the stillness of the night,
only to tear the paper a few days later. I hated myself like no one would. I
was my own virtual enemy.
During the moments of hating, that
then I formed the perception that life was worth a pence. My father and mother
had made the greatest mistake
falling
in love. My angst was visible in the posts that graced my social media account.
Reduced to nothingness I found little that tickled my amusement. Everything assumed
an invisible pose or I had gone blind. Either way I was withdrawn and kept everything
to myself.
