The drums of war start way long before the actual war. The owl hoots, people get into petty misunderstandings which escalate into a mere slap and the rest is left for the survivors to tell. This is inherently characteristic to interpersonal relationships. What about the wars that we fight inside, the intrapersonal: are we oblivious to that?
Mom, you once told me about a story of three pots. Two of them had airtight lids such that all the steam was contained in the pots when cooking. Of the two, one was weak and so it did not have enough strength to keep itself intact when the steam’s pressure was skyrocketing. Consequently, the pot was blown into smithereens. The strong ‘African’ pot however withstood all the pressure. Once the food was ready, the lid was lifted, and as a result the steam would gush out forcefully and scorch anyone it found on its way. This pot had one weakness though, it became weaker and weaker by the day due to the constant wear and tear. The third pot had a loose lid and so it released pressure gradually eliminating any chance of any build up and therefore the pot stayed for posterity.
I was so carried away by these times that I never got to know what you meant by this story. You should have told me that that story signified the different ways people responded to mental pressure and the outcomes. It’s so sad but I think I am the weaker pot with an airtight lid. I feel like breaking. I think like a prisoner sentenced to life, wild thoughts with no hope. I suddenly develop interests in knowing the measurements of a grave, how a death certificate looks like, am I doomed?
One time I was seated on your grave mom and I got into a maze of thoughts. I thought of how one felt when hanging from rope; it must be a moment of agony and pain. How about taking poison? My head and stomach would throb dangerously. I would writhe around in pain. What about falling from a skyscraper? Immediately I remembered a video of a guy who did this, he broke his limbs but did not die. I could not even imagine myself in such a situation! Drowning in water would make me struggle so much. As I sat there, I concluded that if I were to die then it should be instant without pain or regret. Preferably a bullet to the head but where was I to get it? Suicide is a sin in God’s eyes and so I was afraid of burning in hell forever.
You know mum I now wish I was like the latter pot, but my world is like a desert who will I talk to? I was so accustomed to talking to you and no one else. I look around and see no one to seek refuge in. Now is the time I realize that you were the only refuge I had, but you are gone! Some talk about therapy but I neither have the will nor the money. In any case, this is Africa, who goes for therapy?
My heart bleeds, my mind is busy with thoughts, my body is weary. Is this what life is all about? Mom you brought me into this earth, for what? To suffer and later die? I am coming to you humbly mom asking you to take me home. If there was a mission I was sent to accomplish then, I am sorry to say this, but I have failed. Or maybe I was sent to be used as an example of a failure like they do in schools? Well, I am very weak, confused and impoverished in every way.
Mom, I loved you and you loved me. Now that I am alone here there is no one who cares about me. Please come and take me home where I will enjoy your love forever. This world is too rough for me. I need your help one more time mom. Just come and take me home mom I am of no use. I am dead inside so just come and take me home.
I keep praying this one prayer, that you may take me home, but I keep getting one answer, ‘’Time will heal you, you’ll be happy again’’. Is that you mom?