A Mirthless Life

      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.