I am inclined to believe I have a secret fetish I share with the rain. Or so it seems for whenever it rains, my valves open and ideas spew. When I think about it though, rain is dangerous, it is like a piece of evidence that incriminates you for a crime you committed. It serves as a reminder that no matter how new a person you are, once upon a time, something happened. Do you ever feel like; rain clings on to you the same way a dog follows a scent- the same way your sins follow you. Yes, the bible says we are forgiven and atoned, but oh well, every one knows you kissed Jack with the running nose. It clings on you. Just like the rain today, the flood gates opened in the middle of the streets after my stroll with local man and The droplets of water slowly formed a web on my skin that reminded me of a novel I once read- Carradice chains: This droplets, though tiny, are a curse, a curse you cannot break; no matter how hard you wipe it off, the wet patch will always prove you did the nasty. To break this curse, you must let it dry on its own. Today, I felt like my sins were on bare. Naked. I had crossed a mile last night. One I hoped to amend.
But anyway if feel like a ranting spree today…
In my head, I am caged in my four pillared cell. Nothing obscures my view, no barriers prevent my escape, but I simply can’t escape the shackles that hold me in my spot. Outside, the sun shines bright, but within my cage, the frost bites my bones. Wiffs of black smoke begin to drift into the room. An ominous soundtrack plays from a mile away. The time is near, when the truth must come to light. As the smoke rises, so does my resolve to tell my tale arise. Today I lay myself naked for my jury to cast their biased verdict. This canvas of perfection is slowly wearing out and the scars are beginning to show. The brushes are worn out from applying layers of colour to hide the ugly rage that seeks to sip out from within. And the truth is, I forgot to be a better person for a moment and made a prayer last night.
Growing up, they told me we only pray to give thanks, to confess and to bless. Never to curse. But well, when I made my prayers last night, I told God to spank a couple of people who often stepped on my toes and got away with it. My vivid descriptions of the people I felt have hurt me was so surreal I failed to recognize the darkness that was lying still within me. In my thoughts, I wished that anyone who put me down over my loss of weight or my chubby chins and flabby tummy should for a day wake up in my weight and tell me how much it hurts to be insulted over something as beautiful as stretchmarks or fleshy arms. After all, African men love them. I prayed for my fake friends who tarnished my name when my pretend boyfriend passed me like a joint. I prayed for them to be ditched in dark spaces with no one to fight their battles with them, that way maybe they would understand the value of kindness. I prayed for my relatives who branded me promiscuous, or should I say they called me a tart. I wished them well, I want them present at my wedding, they said I wouldn’t make it. He lied when promised me a dance in the rain someday and I hoped that whoever he met next broke his heart as he did mine. My imagination knew no bounds last night.
I didn’t mean it though…
Walking in the puddles makes me feel as triumphant as my wicked wishes. Stepping on their imaginary faces for once makes me feel victorious. I don’t know if this only happens to me or if we all go through it. There are times the universe keeps on pushing you until you can’t hold back any longer and you explode. You listen to rumors people tell about you, you listen to your friends burn you to look good, and worst of all you have family judging you for being different. Of course at some point you are bound to snap, and I don’t think anyone should blame you for it. Petty. I know. Once in a while though, we are pushed to extremes we never knew we were capable of . Being human makes it logical to react in the span of anger, in a moment of desperation, in a fit of rage. We make wishes we do not want granted, we make prayers we do not mean. No one wants to be bitter, so to ease the burn, we take the quickest option available, speak of it and surge forward.I wish for the hate to stop. Life is too short for us to keep on picking on each other or put each other down for our imperfections. The world is too lonely to push the few people that care away. Family is too important to point fingers without minding our own imperfections
The rain is still socking me as I walk towards my bus stop, but the prints of my sins are still visible on my jeans. Tiny patches reminding me of a little more confessions I need to make. The sheds are flooded with sinners like me seeking redemption. We have all made that error once or twice, but is it really worthy to have someone make a dishonest prayer? I live the jury to decide.