PERSPECTIVE (short story)

...

I love sitting on this bench next to the highway, especially during this season. There’s something special about autumn leaves, you know. The sound they make as the screeching wheels of cars run over them is not like the sound of being crashed,  it’s actually quite pleasant to the ear.
See, I have grown a deep appreciation for the nature surrounding me because of my condition.
Nine years ago, during this very season, I was  a married woman. I still scoff when I say that. Jonah was his name. I was twenty then, and he was four years older. Jonah and I met at a coffin store.
“Who did you lose, ma’am?” he asked me after I ordered for a coffin.
“My grandmother,” I responded, downtrodden.
Many people are surprised when I say losing my grandmother was the lowest point of my life because I’ve been through a lot worse, but nothing compares to that moment. She was all I had. The tragic story of what happened to my parents is for another day. All I can say for now is my granny is the only relative I ever knew.
“You ordered the cheapest coffin, wouldn’t you want a special send-off for your granny?” asked Jonah.
“I can’t even afford this one. I just don’t want to bury her without a coffin.”
Jonah stared at me for a while. He then took a small book from a drawer and wrote something down.
“You can have the best coffin in the store for free,” he told me.
I cried and thanked him endlessly. He was a complete stranger and  yet he had shown great generosity. Before I left the store, he gave me his number and said I could call him if I needed anything. I went back home that day sad, but relieved I’d be able to give my beloved granny a dignified funeral. My grandparents had actually been considered a  little more wealthy than the rest of the villagers. They had more cattle and goats and their farm was larger. Grandpa used to be a headmaster in his prime years. He passed on due to kidney failure. Things turned bleak from then, the workers left and life became hard. It was six months later that Grandma’s condition also deteriorated  and she also passed.
Home was a four-roomed house on the periphery of our small village. It had always had a warmth and a light to it that made it more comfortable than other better-looking houses I’ve been to. However, my granny’s absence made it feel dark and void, and I knew I could not live here alone. So, after the funeral (which literally had five people), I decided to leave the village for the city.
I slept on the streets for three days. On the fourth day,  as I was moving from store to store looking for a job,  I met Jonah again. He felt sorry for me when he saw my condition and offered to accommodate me at his place, and take care of all my needs. I was grateful to have a roof over my head so I agreed.
“So, you also moved to the city?” I asked him as we settled into the one-room he rented inside another family’s house.
“Yeah, I uhh..I was fired from work after I failed to pay for the coffin I gave you.”
“Oh no! I’m really  sorry to hear that.”
This was when I learned that Jonah was not the owner of that coffin store but just an employee, and now he had lost his job because he helped me.
He said I was beautiful and that he didn’t regret helping me. Beautiful is not a word I had ever used to describe myself. There are parts of my anatomy I’ve always wished I could alter. So, to hear this nice gentleman say he thought I was beautiful felt great.
Jonah came home one day with a box of nice chocolates. He said he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. That’s kinda how we got ‘married.’ I don’t know if it’s love I felt for Jonah, or if my heart was just too stony to feel anything at that moment. Or maybe love has nothing to do with feelings at all. What I do know for sure is that I made a decision to care for this man. See, I needed someone to fill in the care void in my heart.
The owner of the house we rented was a 43 year-old man nicknamed Rhino for how big he was, probably for his nose as well. He lived with his wife and three children. They had rented out their spare bedroom to Jonah and I in order to make some extra money. Rhino barely made enough to afford the family a decent dinner.
“How old are you Lucy?” Rhino randomly asked me one day as I was doing laundry behind the house. “You look quite young.”
“I’m twenty-four,” I lied, looking away. The way he was staring at me made me very uncomfortable.
“Listen, you are a very pretty girl, what are you doing with a poor man?”
I did not respond to him. Rhino took a step closer to me and I moved a distance away.
“I could make you very happy.”
I honestly don’t know why some men feel that statement alone is good enough to win over a woman’s interest.
I told Rhino I didn’t have time to listen to him, and then I wiped my wet hands against my skirt and got back into the house.
He made advances towards me many more times in the weeks that followed. I told Jonah about it but I think he did not believe me. He was too busy trying to get his business running so we could live a comfortable life. With the way money was out of his reach, Jonah said he was just grateful that Rhino made us pay half the rent other house-owners charged.
 One night, Jonah was out at work very late at night. I heard a gentle knock on our door. The moment I opened the door, Rhino forced himself inside and banged the door behind him, pushing me some steps back. I was terrified. He looked like a monster, his eyes raging with lust and anger.
“What are you doing?” I asked with a high pitched voice, hoping his wife and children would hear and come to my rescue. I realised Rhino was holding a small black bottle in his left hand. He drew near to me and as I tried to run away he held me tight and poured the contents of the bottle onto my face. I started burning so intensely that I hit Rhino and escaped his grip, knocking the bottle to the ground. It felt as if he had electrocuted me with a 1000volts and set my face ablaze at the same time.
The door banged open and I heard Jonah shouting, asking what was going on. He came and lifted me off the ground and placed me on the bed, panting and whispering that everything was going to be okay… but there was a fear in his voice that I’d never heard before. I kept screaming and wriggling in pain. I literally thought my flesh was being consumed off my facial bones. I don’t recall much of what happened after that, because the next time I got my consciousness I was surrounded by that peculiar hospital smell of medicine and I felt my face wrapped in bandages.
I couldn’t speak for about two months, and the doctors thought I’d actually never speak again. When I finally did, I asked why it was so dark. I got no response. I heard two women whispering to each other with voices full of sympathy. It took me a while to figure out I had gone blind. Completely blind.
“Where’s Jonah?” I asked.
“Who’s Jonah my dear?” a nurse asked.
“My husband. Jonah should be here right now.”
“Oh…uhmm, my dear, I’m very sorry, your husband is not here right now,” she responded, the tone of her voice sad.
I wanted to scream out and just cry away all that was happening to me but the last ounce of strength left in my body I had just used to speak the previous words.
I later learned that Jonah was in jail. He had impulsively murdered Rhino the night of my acid attack.
 The thought of spending the rest of my life trapped in this indescribable black void, alone, was too much to bear. I tried starving myself to death, but the nurses fed me intravenously.
“We were very happy when you made progress to be able to eat with your mouth my dear,” the nurse in charge of me said. I’d gotten used to her voice. It was motherly. “But now you’re refusing to eat anymore, it’s not good for your health.”
“I don’t have a reason to live anymore,” I told her, feeling frustrated.
“What was your reason before?” she asked.
It took me a while to think of an answer to that question.
“What am I going to do now? I can’t see anything! I have no one! I probably look too bad to be liked by anyone…tell me, what’s left to live for?”
“I see you had your entire self-worth wrapped around your physical appearance. You’re still here Lucy. That alone should tell you that it’s not over. You’re still here.” She said, and paused. “We were waiting for the right time to tell you this, but we recently found out that you’re pregnant.”
“What?” I exclaimed so hard it hurt my facial muscles.
I could not believe it. The first emotion I felt towards this was sadness. I would not be able to see my baby’s face. I started crying, wondering how I was going to take care of the baby.
However, it was the new life growing within me that gave me hope to keep living. The healing of my face and the bulging of my belly all happening gradually, strengthened me with each sunrise. My mind needed more healing than my face though. I learned to reach deep within my soul for a little amber of hope that had almost been extinguished. And I fanned it into flames until my soul was ablaze again, with life.
Seven months later,  I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy and named him Hope. I was adviced many times to give him up for adoption but I would not hear of it. He gave me strength to spend my pregnancy learning how to read and write braille, and appreciating the finer details of life. I can tell you about the scent of an autumn sunrise, and the feel of a summer sunset. My eyes are unable to see my surroundings, but my imagination is fertile. I make my world as colourful as I want it to be. I don’t know what my face looks like, or if there are still any eyes on it. All I know is that I’m still as alive as I’ve ever been, if not more. Also, my definition of beauty has massively changed.
I wasn’t always secure about my condition, but Hope loves me unconditionally. He is eight now. And extremely intelligent. It hurts that I can’t see his adorable face, but he gives me joy in every way possible. I’ve never felt more beautiful than when I just gave myself over to serve another human being, and chose love, joy and peace that transcends all understanding.
I heard that Jonah will be released from jail tomorrow, I’m not sure if it’s true. He’s never seen his son, and he’s never seen me the way I look today. I wonder if he’d still want us to be a family. But I’m really not fussing over that. Coz with or without him; I’m guaranteed to always be loved. God is my sufficiency.
I would like you to know that I embrace my story; with all of its gruesome details, it’s still MY story. I do wish I could change a lot of the lines; make better decisions…but what I can do, is appreciate today, the present.
 See, these leaves around me were once green, glistening with health as they were still attached to the tree. Then another season came, and they began drying off...dying of dehydration (i bet that wasn't fun). Weakly holding on to the tree with the last ounce of strength they had, the autumn winds blew them off the tree. And so here they lay, on the ground. On rock bottom. But look at them from where I'm sitting; they are what makes autumn magically beautiful. The blend of their colours, imprinted with all they've gone through, is breath-taking.

Maybe you look at me and see blind. I see blessed.
 Oh yeah, I do see.

'Common are the eyes that look, but rare are the eyes that see.'

Noel!

There's something different about tonight. I don't know what it is yet, but it feels...special. I'm King Herod's servant. He's  been agitated all day. I have filled his cup with more wine than I think he should be taking in a single day.
Well, there's a knock on the door. Other servants open. Three prestigious-looking men walk in, dressed elegantly. They have an unusual joy on their faces.
"We observed a star in the eastern skies. It signals the birth of the king of the Jews.Where can we find him? We're on our way to pay pilgrimage to him," the wise men tell king Herod.
His already pale face turns paler. He signals for me to refill his glass.
Apparently he is not happy to hear about this new king's birth. Within a short while, hoards of prophets and scholars of the land have been summoned and are searching to confirm if this birth is real. It is.
The king is now furious, but he tries to conceal this from the wise men.
"Go find this child, and when you do, send word. I want to worship him too," he says sarcastically, and takes a long sip of wine.
What kind of baby is this that has a full grown man, like my mighty master over here, feeling all intimidated?

As the wise men leave, I follow behind, as if to see them off. Then I stand outside. It's a different night- all is calm; all is bright.
A star, lights the way for the wise men, shining extraordinarily. Beautiful. Surreal.
It feels as if the heavens are open, and choirs of angels are singing;  peace on earth, good will to men.
"What's happening?" I ask a passer-by.
"Haven't you heard? Christ the Saviour is born," he says in the most excited voice I've ever heard.

"You mean the prophecies spoken by the prophets of old about the coming of a Saviour have been fulfilled today?"

"Yes! The baby in the manger right now..oh they couldn't find a hotel room for Him by the way...He is the Lord."

"God so loved this tinnie tiny earth of ours of all the planets in this vast universe, that He chose to come down to our level just to save us?" I asked, perplexed.

"Amazingly. He could've left us on our own, but He's here. It's called Amazing Grace bro," he said, patting my shoulder and going on his way.

I had to go back inside the palace to tend to the king's petty needs. I looked up, and saw that gloriously shining star up above.

Noel! The world will never be the same again.

...
 You and I are the way we are today because of His love. It's all LOVE.

Through the eyes of a baby

There's a whole lot of noise around me today. I think it's the day i finally get out out of here, to the world out there. The voices are getting louder and louder. The one screaming the loudest is very familiar. I've been hearing it for a pretty long time now. (*Gasp*) I'm moving outta here...
Phew, it took a while but i'm out now, and the familiar voice has stopped screaming. I think she's my mother. Oh, she's lovely. She looks all exhausted but she's lovely.
It's pretty chilly out here...can i get a blanket or something? Anybody? Why ya'll just staring at me though? Oh, I'm supposed to cry...okay, here goes...
They seem relieved now that they've heard me cry. One lady's face is still stern. She has taken me into her hands and she's examining me thoroughly.
"Is there anything wrong with the baby?" one asks.
"Let's go to the next room, let the mother rest," says the stern lady carrying me away. I'm still uncovered though ya'll, mind just throwing a blankie over my belly?
Silence. Time is passing. They are measuring my head, chest,legs...weighing me, examining me here, examining me there, bla bla bla...for goodness sake, what are they looking for?
"This baby has Down's Syndrome," says the doctor.
I'm sorry, what? I have what?
"Down's Syndrome?" asks the nurse, her eyes droopy.
"Yeah, trisomy twenty-o..."
"I know what Down's Syndrome is," she interrupts. She looks kinda sad.
"Oh, the mother's gonna be so disappointed. She was so excited about having this baby."
"Well, you're gonna have to break it to her."

Okay, hold up people, what on earth is this Down's thing you say i have? Is it supposed to be a bad thing coz I feel fine over here. I promise, I'm perfectly fine.

The nurse lifts me up and now she's taking me back to the labour room. I can almost feel the resentment in her touch, it's more careless than before. I wanna wink at her or give a side grin.
We've entered the labour room now.My mother is asking about me.
"Uhmm, ma'am..." begins the nurse," I'm so sorry I have some bad news..."
My mother's eyes are wide open.
"What?" she asks, impatiently, her breathing rising.
"Your baby has Down's Syndrome. If this had been detected in the earlier periods of pregnancy we'd have done something about it. You can..."
"Give me my baby," says my mum, calmly. I'm kinda scared. Will she accept me with this Down's whatever they say i have? Her tender hand just stroked my cheek. I'm looking into her lovely eyes. Tears are flowing down her cheeks...but behind the gleaming liquid veil deep into her soul, I see...i see love. Pure love.

"My baby's perfect." She says.

 My heart smiles in response to hers.

The definition of perfection is one you put on it. I look at myself from the inside out- and I find myself absolutely flawless.
Every cell in my body is intricately crafted- the phospholipids and proteins in my cell membranes all perfectly correlating in harmony with the cytoplasm and nuclei within. Oh, the detail is amazing.
It's funny how you people here on earth would consider someone almost less human just because of a single defect in their chromosomes, or the amount of melanin they have, or whatever else makes them different. It's the difference that makes us all so "perfect" for each other in this world. Appreciate your full set of chromosomes, and don't be weirded out by mine. I'm just as awesome.
Stop living from the outside in, for it is within that you find your crown and golden scepter, suggesting you are king, and you're meant to be reigning. (wrote that for the rhyme, but really, live from within)

Why can't we just be?

If anybody asked you if you thought greatness was in you, you'd probably say yes.You might mumble the answer a lil' if you're judging yourself based on your external success -'These don't really look like the shoes of a great person...'

I found myself thinking one day, what exactly stops us from being the best version of ourselves that we could ever be? I mean, besides money, lack of resources, laziness, excuses, money? What's holding you back from just being your best self?

You know what you want. You could describe at any moment in time how an ideal you would be...and i bet it's not who you are right now. Will there ever be a moment in time when we'll be able to say, "I'm at my best right now. This is the best me."

Or are our lives on earth going to be a continual pursuit of a distant perfection that keeps slipping away the closer we think we're getting to it? 

I think we might have got the whole definition of perfection wrong. Or maybe perfection was never the goal we were supposed to aim at. 

Every new year, nomatter how we scoff at all the jokes mocking new year resolutions and the whole 'new you' cliche, most of us actually do subconsciously decide to work on being 'new'. A lot of the time spent on social media, on watching stuff, on games... is time spent avoiding dealing with ourselves. 'You can't conquer what you won't confront' tho.

So, i think the reason why we can't 'just be' is because we choose not to be. Be brave, be bold, be hardworking. Be rich?

I've changed my definition of success to a state of inner affirmation you get after giving the best of your ability to any given task. If i gave my best, then i was successful;  in spite of the outcome. That way, I can truly just be whatever I want to be without fear of failing at it.

In my African Dream

"When I grow up, I want to be an air hostess," said the little 7-year old girl in her African accent, shyly pursing her lips together.

"Why?" asked the person behind the camera.

"Uhh..i don't know...i'm just interested in planes when I watch them fly over the village, high up in the sky. Maybe this will be my chance to be on a plane in real life."

 She sat behind her ailing grandmother's hut; wearing a torn blue dress. Her feet were rough and dusty, and bare. Rough from the long distances she has had to walk - to school, to fetch water, to the grocery store. And bare because the only pair of shoes she owns are worn-out sandals that a distant aunt got her 3 Christmases ago. Her eyes sparkle still, with a hope that says 'my dreams could come true too'; yet there's a gloom of despair on the corner of her eyes, scared of becoming like every other ordinary person around her whose dreams have slipped out of reach.

The person behind the camera asks, "Have you eaten today? Are you hungry?"

The light in her eyes that'd been sparked by talking about her dreams fades. She looks down, and playfully draws the ground with a stick.
"We had a little bit of food in the morning."

She continues drawing. Her lips are clearly dry. It's 2pm.
 "Today we will receive mealie meal and oil from CARE though," she says, almost jocundly.

'CARE' here refers to the many non-governmental organisations providing aid to Africa, mostly in the form of food.
This has been a very efficient relief from starvation for many rural families. However, when that bag of mealie meal runs out, the unfulfilled dreams of the African child still lay there, distant. I do not believe God's picture of Africa is that of lil' black hands stretched forth, ready to receive whatever the elites have to offer. It's more powerful than that.

Our education system is such that we learn whatever we're given (this is where the 'just take' mentality is forged) ,some of which we never actually get to apply in real life. Go to pre-school, primary school, high school, university...get a job, get money - pay for your kids to do the same. It's almost like the job range is outlined too - 'i want to be a doctor', 'a lawyer', 'engineer' bla bla...all great, but while we're at it, may we think out of the boxes made of our textbook pages. Manufacturers, inventors, scientists? What if innovation and creativity were instilled in us from young ages in school and we didn't have to just sit and accept what textbooks say (and wait until the textbook writers discover more and update the info), but actually questioned how that information was attained and joined the research to improve it? What if we were taught of people like Einstein and Newton as normal people who chose to explore their greatness and not as some superpowered superIQ'd superior beings in whose footsteps we just could never follow?

Many people today are sitting around competing to get the latest tech product to be on top of the social pyramid; instead of being curious to find out how it's made and maybe strive to make an improved version. Instead of bragging about buying the latest car, how about we channel more energy towards manufacturing one?

As long as our minds are still satisfied with just receiving, we might keep getting that annoying '3rd' before world.

 Greatness is in Africa too, unperturbed! Yes, colonisation happened. Exploitation of African resources happened. Slavery happened too. And we could keep teaching generation after generation about our bitter past in history classes, blaming it for our stagnation; or we could rewrite history for the future generations and say, ' inspite of it all, we rose still.' We still became one of the most powerful continents in the world.'

Children in school ought to be reminded repeatedly that they have the potential to change the world; that the next big thing is right within them. I believe the bigger portion of the limitless treasure God placed on this earth for us as people is yet to be discovered. He would not be inspiring us so deeply to dig it up if it wasn't there.

Africa can stop being the poor, diseased continent it's been named to be and start dominating and roaring like the lions it is home to. We, it's people have everything we need, right here, right now, to be the greatest we ever thought we could be.
And, my little friend up there, in the blue dress, may believe in the possibility of not just being an air hostess, but maybe operating her very own, original airline.
We are the goldened, diamoned and platinumed continent (not to mention super oiled), it's time we knew what it means to be as wealthy as we already are.

Love, still.

The door violently swung open.

"You. What are you doing here?" he asked, coldly.

"Are you kidding me, I'm the mother of your child Ronald."

"My family cannot see you here, you know my mother doesn't like you,"

Janet gasped deeply, her eyes beginning to gleam with tears. The rest of the venomous words Ronald said bumped against each other in her mind, she didn't bother trying to make sense out of them. 

Huge, dark clouds in the sky and a strong humid wind made a solid suggestion of approaching rain. It was sunset but it appeared darker than normal. A drop of rain fell on Janet's forehead.

She blinked some tears away, straightened up her head and looked straight into Ronald's eyes.

"Our daughter is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen...and I'm tired of trying to drag you to loving her. I really don't care anymore. It's your own loss." Said Janet, and then she turned and walked away.

 She heard the door bang behind her.  At that moment the swift showers of rain began falling down.The tears Janet had been trying to hold back streamed down her cheeks. She just let them fall, flowing along with the rain.She was alone in the streets of this high density suburb,and she felt as if she was alone in the world...shut out from people's warm shelters. 

Thoughts of giving up avalanched down Janet's spine. Twenty-year old, high school drop-out with nothing to her name, she thought life couldn't be any more cruel to her.

 She had attempted suicide once, the previous year. Janet took a bottle of rat poison and went to the bathroom, hands shaking, and fighting the disapproving voices in her head. Then suddenly a feeling of nausea overtook her and she immediately had to throw up. She realized this nauseating feeling had been with her for several days. It was then that it dawned upon her that she was pregnant, confirming it with a pregnancy test later that day. Suddenly, Janet felt as if she had a reason to live. Even though she had ran away from her rural home to come live in the city, cut all communication with her relatives and had just broken up with the one who used to be her everything, Ronald; this unborn baby was her new hope. Throughout the lonely pregnancy, Janet dreamt of building a family with Ronald. He was rude and unloving and cold but she thought she saw some love deep within his fierce eyes. However, it was after her beautiful little angel's birth that she got to accept that he really didn't care about her or the baby. And on this day, she had gone to his house to officially exhale his heavy influence out of her.

"I gotta be strong," she whispered to herself, "I gotta be strong for my baby."

The neighbour Janet had left with the  5-month old baby complained that she had been crying the whole time. This little cutie was so fond of her mother she would scream if she woke up without her by her side.

She didn't look like either of her parents. Janet was glad. Heaven forbid that her angel resemble the detestable Ronald in any way. She had big, friendly eyes and a cute little smile that lit up her world. Janet loved rubbing her baby's small chubby hands against her face; oh what a soothing feeling it was. Something then rang inside her... she thought of her own mother. Her humble, aged mother back in the village. She imagined how she'd feel if her baby ever decided to abandon her when she gets old, like she had done to her mother. Janet's heart broke. At that moment she decided she'd go visit her mother in the village.

The next morning, as Janet stood by the roadside, waving at passing cars to ask for a lift, a mercedes benz stopped in front of her. Cars of this caliber usually never stop. She remained standing, waiting for the driver to confirm that he had indeed stopped for her.

"Aren't you looking for a lift, ma'am?" asked a friendly stranger.

"Umm, yeah.." stammered Janet, picking up her bag. She stated where she was going and he happened to be going to the same place.

To her surprise, the man got out of the car and helped her put her bag into the car boot. He then opened the door for her, as she was holding the baby and could not open herself. Or let's say it was just chivalry.

"She's beautiful," he said, with a disarming smile.

"How did you know she's a she?" chuckled Janet.

"All that pink? And those eyes...definitely a girl,"

Janet settled in the passenger seat of the car, inhaling the sweet scent of a brand new interior. 

"So what brings you to the village?" she asked.

"I visit my grandmother from time to time. She practically raised me up," he said.

It stroke a cord on Janet's heart. She felt peaceful with her decision to go visit her mother after five years of not seeing or hearing from her. And what a great coincidence it was to meet this nice man on her way. He was very friendly and they had conversations that felt as if they had known each other for a long time. He mentioned that he had noticed she was not wearing a wedding ring and also figured no responsible husband would let his wife and a baby that young travel a long distance alone. Janet was initially reluctant about sharing her story but somehow she felt welcome to speak. He was a good listener too. Oh God, where were men like this when i was surrounded by Ronalds in my life? She thought.

The car came to a halt a little distance from her mother's compound. This had been the shortest journey to the village ever.

"So uhh, may I have your number or something...maybe I can give you and your beautiful baby a lift again if we happen to be going back to the city at the same time," he said.

Janet smiled, and gave him her digits. She felt more thankful than infatuated. It was a great feeling. He helped her get her bag out of the car and then he bid farewell and left. She sighed to regain her composure.

When she turned around, she saw her mother standing in a distance, looking at her in disbelief. Janet walked towards her, forgiving herself with every step she took, and feeling her mother's magnetic love pull her closer.

The little mud hut that was her mother's house still stood in the middle of the compound just as she remembered it. But there was a warmth to this place. It was fenced by her mother's love. It was home.

Janet fell at her mother's feet and started weeping. She remembered how hard life had been without her ...how she had to beg Ronald for money for food as he wouldn't let her go to work. How she waited for him to come back to their one-roomed house when she was eight months pregnant with swollen feet and an aching back.

"I should never have left like that mama,I'm so sorry," she said, amidst sobs.

Amai Dana lifted her daughter to an upright position, her eyes swelling with tears.

"I'm glad you're back my child, I'm glad you're back."

Those words calmed the storm that had been raging in Janet's soul for a very long time.
She held her baby closer, praying she could learn to give love as her mother did. Unconditional love.

Boarding school at nine years old

The car pulled up outside the girls hostel. It was literally built on a flat rock. I watched other girls run around, carrying their stuff to their rooms. This place was gonna be my home for the following 3 years. It felt exciting, finally leaving home to have some ‘freedom’, at the age of 9.
I was introduced to my new dorm; dorm 4 St Theresa. I chose the upper bed on a bunk close to the window. My parents helped me make my bed, but I just couldn’t wait for them to leave so I could explore this new place and start making friends. I thought I was fearless. The moment I waved goodbye as the car drove off, a cloud of sadness settled over me. The reality that I had just remained alone, in a strange  place, suddenly came down on me all at once. I walked back to my room and silently cried as I lay on my bed, missing my mum and dad.
Before long, our dorm room was full. We were approximately 12 in each room, but it never seemed crowded as the rooms were large enough. As we talked and got to know each other with my dormmates, I realised this was not going to be too bad after all.
The first thing I thought would be difficult on me was the waking up in the morning. Oh the bell that the prefects rang at around 5:30am every morning sounded like a declaration of the beginning of the apocalypse. We had to immediately wake up, and by immediately I mean if you woke up 5minutes later you could spend the next day sweeping the school grounds. We’d take our metal buckets and go have our baths at the bathrooms. The struggle got real in winter when we had to race to the bathrooms for hot water because it ran out on late bathers. After the preparations for school were done we’d gather outside the dormrooms and have our morning prayer and announcements. Then we’d line up to go have breakfast as the prefects assessed if we were all dressed well and clean. Our little black shoes had to be super-dooper shiny. And our blue uniforms; well- pressed and spotless.
On the first day in class, I remember sitting outside as we waited for the teacher to open the classroom. Making friends was much easier  than it is now. I mean you could bond over having the same pencil back then.
 Our teacher finally came and opened the door. We got the strictest grade 5 teacher, and needless to say, we were terrified. However, she had great teaching skills. She sat us in groups, boy, girl, boy, girl ; something they avoid in high school. I don’t think my little self made a great first impression on her coz I had to work extra hard to prove I was intelligent throughout the school term. It took several beatings on my hands for my handwriting to be as emmaculate as it was back then, before medical school ruined it of course. And it is here that I developed an interest in a subject I never thought I would – Math…which was also ruined by med school. All those complex math skills acquired through school are almost all unnecessary now as I have to occupy my brain space with big scientific terms like amygdalo-hippocampectomy….never mind. Anyway, as days went by, I made some good friends, some of which I’m still in touch with, 12 years later.
At mid-morning we’d go for tea at the dining hall. Lunch was in the afternoon, and basically after all the nitty gritty of classes was over. We’d go and change into casual clothes before having our lunch. Being primary school kids, there was virtually no competition for who wore the most expensive label…at least none that I was aware of. We were definitely already self-conscious though.
Supper meals had the best food. And afterwards we’d have evening studies for an hour. I don’t think we actually really studied here, I for one spent the study time playing word games, drawing or reading stories.
I met some of the smartest brainiacs ever at this primary school. It  was a challenge getting a spot in the top ten. A lot of us are on our paths to fulfilling our dreams. We have all kinds of imaginable careers represented, it’s awesome.
The third term came with Jacaranda blooming season. I loved how the jacaranda flowers coloured the ground purple. Sweeping the flowers off the ground, however, wasn’t so much fun. We believed that if you stand beneath a Jacaranda tree and catch a falling flower, you could make a wish and it could come true. Most of our wishes were that we’d have our parents visit. I don’t remember ever wishing for a billion dollars. For all I know, I could’ve been typing this from a private yacht off a self-named island.
The best days were visiting days, and the day before closing schools, which we called ‘big dinner day.’ Seeing our parents and siblings on that one visiting day was ecstatic and made our lives bearable.
 My primary boarding school was not the fanciest school in the country. No. We had beans for lunch sometimes. But, we didn’t need play-stations and i-pads to keep us entertained. We’d sing and dance, while drumming our school-trunks, and have the most possible fun ever. We narrated movies we would have watched at home to each other, and used our imagination to enjoy them. We had simple but joyful lives. And boarding school was a home, a fortress, a place we all grew together into great, yet unique people.
Reflecting back doesn't mean our lives were much better then than they are now, no. It helps us appreciate the path we've walked to get to where we are. And we might not be exactly where we want to be yet (i'm clearly not writing this from a yacht), but we're inspired by the fact that if we could be courageous little beings enduring being far away from our families to get an education, we can be great older beings, making a lasting difference in this world.

A sign just outside our school read: I came, I learnt,  I succeeded. And that’s exactly what we did.
“In unitate stamus.”

Mirror of Grace

                                          (Based on John 8:1-11)

She stood up from the ground, knees still shaking. She couldn’t believe what had just happened. The angry mob had dispersed. She could not lift her head to face anyone.

Mary quickly adjusted the cloth wrapped around her body, and dashed away without looking back. She could feel the stares of the people in the street…their mean whispers.

“Shouldn’t she be dead?” she heard someone say.

She had grown used to the stares of the people that seemed to pierce through to her soul. Even though she wasn’t looking at them, she could feel how cold and hateful their stares and words were. It was horrible enough living among a people who wish you were dead. But on this day they didn’t matter. Their voices faded in the distant part of her mind, overshadowed by a new voice; a voice that had just turned her entire life around.

Mary kept walking, almost running, yearning to seek some shelter somewhere so her mind could properly process what had just happened.

“Home-wrecker!” shouted someone.

The words just flew past her, harmless. She kept moving on.

Mary finally reached her house. She ran in and locked the door, and then threw herself to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. All the deep loathing she felt for herself and for the mean people around her, the guilt, and the pain – she let it all flow out with the tears. Then she stood up and walked towards the mirror on the wall. Her mascara had made black pools under her eyes, make up all ruined and her hair was shabby and dusty. However, she was intrigued by the image she saw in the mirror.

For a very long time, she had not had the courage to look through her own eyes into the depths of her soul. She thought the filth in there would be too much to handle. Her definition of herself was based on what men had told her. Layers upon layers of makeup were aimed at making up for a lost identity…a lady trapped beneath heaps of guilt.  

But the words the Lord had said to her resonated loudly in her head;

“I don’t condemn you.  Go and sin no more.”

‘What? Just like that?’  Those words had knocked off a heavy load that was weighing down on her shoulders. They were the most freeing words she had ever heard.

Mary grabbed a wet napkin and began wiping her face. It was like removing thick dust off an obscured windscreen, finally allowing light into the inside.

 For the first time, she saw strength, and warmth, and love through her own eyes. She saw beauty.

For the first time, she saw her image through the mirror of grace.

Mary smiled wide. She immediately cleaned herself up and wore a clean white dress. Then she went out, to feel the wind against her skin, blowing her hair like the wings of a dove.  All that mattered was what Jesus thought of her.

 Finally, she was determined to be the virtuous, powerful lady she had always wanted to be – in Grace. True freedom.