Usually, after I read a good book, I like to give it enough digestion time before I get onto another one. Such was the case after I completed Paulo Coelho’s Veronica decides to die, only this time the digestion time took longer, for I connected with the book on a personal level. I felt like moving onto another book so fast would be more like cheating , and so I gave it about four days, always contemplating about it midway my house chores and in between arguments with my mother and brother. One question has haunted me most, what if we are the mad ones, looking at life all wrong and thinking we have mastered the art?
What if the ones we like to refer to as ‘mental’ are the ones who have it all right?
Lately, all the conversations I have with people, be it loved ones or regular acquaintances seem to be closing up on me and taking the shape of societal imprisonment. The Bible scriptures interpreted to disguise the hypocrisy and painting them right seem to be chaining my already vulnerable soul into an unquestioning puppet for fear of being termed blasphemous.
Sometimes I laugh when I look back upon the picture I had of growing up.
My naive self always painted the experience as a borderless garden, one where I could move, dance and sing along which ever path I pleased until I found a shade I was most comfortable with.
I had no idea of the already made decision of which path I should take, how I should dance, whether I should sing, under which shade I should sit and with whom I should share the rest of the garden with.
I was taught to be very afraid of falling and failing for it’s a shame and was never told of the truth that life is a non segregative teacher handing you failure until you got the lesson right.
I was meant to go through life unblemished like a lamb prepared for sacrifice and I was denied the truth that it’s in the scarring where all the fun is, in having something to show for your success like a war survivor who opens up his scars to show of where the bullet passed but here he is anyway.
And now I know better, that my own life belongs to everyone else but myself, that I am the mad one, the one seeing the wrong picture and everyone else is right.
That I can fly but not so high to make another doubt the strength of their wings.
A toast to growing up!!!!