Everything happened so fast, the one minute I was in a restaurant having a great time dining with my friends on an impromptu gathering, the next I was running to my car, too shocked to even shed a tear, interceding, praying that the damage may be bearable or rather within my pocket's reach. Before I could ask what had come to be I was being convinced to report the man bleeding and wailing on the ground for his felony and in no more than 10 minutes the officials were there, one of the security guards took it upon his stride, after witnessing my reluctance to pursue the case any further, to phone the police and I groaned in despair.
Was a broken window reason enough for me to send a man behind the cold jail cells though he would perhaps be united with his mates and laugh his way to bail? Was it enough reason for him to sleep in a bed not of his own? Were the kicks and fists not already a steep price for the felony he kept denying? What if he memorised my face and decided to one brutal day come for me, dramatic as it sounds? All those supposedly daft questions rang in my mind as I parked outside the police station, still struggling to recover from tremor's dominion.
The last time I dared or rather bothered set my foot in any police station was when I was applying for assistance funds through NSFAS at the University as they sought an Affidavit and a certified ID copy to oath my Mother's inability to pay for my fees and that was over 3 years ago, police stations aren't at all my ideal hang out spots so I by all my might choose to ignore that they even exist even though one is just down the road from my mother's house, in fact I have never found men dressed in bullets, misdemeanour and arrogance appetizing to the eye that I don't even bring them up over cups of solitude. Apart from feeling over-dressed and looking dangerously gorgeous, the experience peaked my fear of the authority houses beyond any known levels and the police man insisting to write the statement for me as slow as a snail didn't make it any sweeter, leaving me feeling as empty as a hopeless man trying to be hopeful.
After about 2 hours, irritation seeping uncontrollably through my pores and dodging the hooligan's sight, I was free to go home, eat and snooze off to a place less cold and less scary. The promises of my case number being sent to my phone in an hour’s time then have not yet materialised as expected and I, contrary to my girlfriend's belief, have not yet come to know the virtue of this patience that my priest preaches about in every sermon. I will never fully comprehend why the keeping of promises has become such a thorny task for the mankind or has the man's word become as immaterial as life when death comes? To what do we now hold on if even the sound of our words has become too hard to trust and grasp?
When the sun and the moon victoriously collaborated to page the year to new, I swallowed a pebble of revival and I expected a free flow of things as perfectly as the fish swam through the River Nile. Having made my requests and resolutions known to God and the gods on eve of the new born child ‘2013’, I anticipated more freedom of thoughts than the confinement I had sailed on the year ‘2012’and the sudden rain showers and bruised knees served as confirmation that my supplications were heard and would possibly be attended to with great urgency.
On the 1st day of the year, broken bottles told more tales than what the voices of my neighbours could let out, while some wailed as they bathed in regrets that the closure of an old chapter had offered them, haunted by the walls they claim spoke to them in syllables of loud silence. I, on the other hand, was high on life, thoroughly sunken in the goodness of my maker and his candy sweet promises, thinking big and already living a dream that was yet to come true as I sat in my room texting "Happy New year" messages to whoever treats me like I matter.
My plans for this year are big, bigger than all the dreams I've had in my entire existence of 305 months and my strategic corporate expedition to Japan for a year attests to this and I am more thrilled than fearful. I have additionally decided to let loose and bury myself in faith of the higher power in all spheres of my life. Last year was a never ending funeral in my heart, constantly mourning the death of bigger significant pieces of my life chasing shadows of what seemed to be but turned out to be not and any more deaths would put me to indefinite slumber so I have chosen to yield my entire soul to the one who made this life possible from the onset, unquestioning that He will again carry me through the stormy and sunny weathers like he has successfully done in the past.
In my attempts to save what is still remaining of me I have dared to believe in myself, to be comfortable in my own skin, to be perfectly naked to fate’s embrace and to stop comparing myself with other people and with the things the world has made more attractive than being real, perhaps that will help mend the shattering glass of my faith. I have grown weary of lowering my gears to a pace that everyone else but God deems acceptable as if I was founded on men’s standards. I was not formed to be accepted and to survive, I was crafted to live and to love and to be thankful, to live life plentifully and with great pride, to love with less caution and augmented passion and to be thankful of every passing second that leaves me alive.
As I put on my great armour of confidence, on the mark to more opportunities, I'm overcome by waves of joy mixed with nerves as I let myself drown in the truest depths of myself for the first time in my entire being. But nonetheless I have leapt beyond the borders of ordinary in my thoughts uncertain as to how I will hold on to such greatness by my mere two hands that are already leaking from the earth's blessings. I deem this is that point where I surrender more than just my burdens to my creator and to ask of him to help me carry all the blessings He's showered me with, the most daring move I'm yet to comprehend, trusting the Almighty with both my troubles and triumphs.
Everything that has come to be so far is enough to convince me that the worst is crawling my way but having understood the great Alchemist Paulo Coelho when he said that when you passionately want something the universe will conspire in your favour, I stand assured that this truly is just one those mishaps that should happen to a person even if its once or twice a year so we can claim knowledge of strength and become great witnesses to those currently drowning in our former pits of despair though I am still haunted by the sadness of people upon learning that they were just "festive budgets" and that the new summer love they had faith in had to come to a close as soon as the bottles popped open in the peak of the night in honour of the new year but how could they not have known that summer love was never intended to live through the other shades of the year?