I am sitting in the comfort of my room, safe and warm, quite and calm if i will it. But in the same minute, someone just drew their last breath, in the same minute someone was just bought to be a sex slave. WHY?
In the same hour i wake up and give thanks to God for another day, someone is praying for eveything to stop, someone is running for their lives, someone was just gunned down.WHY?
In the same day I am celebrating answered prayers, someone is mourning their child, someone is sitting by the phone hoping to get a call that their child has been found. WHY?
Hate is spreading like a virus, people are being murderd, woman are bieng raped, children are being molested and mutilated, hate is engulfing and suffocating the single presence of peace.
Its happening every day , if not in your house, then your neighbours house, if not them , them, then somewhere out there its happening. So many statistics about how many woman have been raped, how many children have been kidnapped, so many headlines on the vistims. But very few on the the actual people that commited these crimes.
We are a broken race, a broken world. We fail to look after the very planet we live in, we rape, we kill, we harrass, we hate each other.WHY?why?
why is this us? why is this our world, why is this our manner of living.
how many more people need to die or get hurt before we learn than we are not bettering anyone or anything. How many more suicides, how many more kidnapping.
WHY IS THIS US
I remember reading that, just because you have 5 hours of free time to do something doesnt mean you should take 5 hours to do something that require less than one hour. In a way we dilute our efficiency of doing something when take an uncesesary period of time to do it.
If you are a student , you are most likely to have better organised work when you start doing it as soon as you are given it. If you are given a month to complete an assignment ,dont wait to compress all that work in the last 3 days, start as soon as you recieve it and have enough time to revise it over and over till you perfect it.
If you are moving, start packing a week in advance to get rid of all the things you will not need. If you are traveling, be at least 30 minutes early to your point of depature.
Perssonally , i have doing things at the very last minute, i do not like being rushed, growing up , i used to do that, back in his school I would do my homework in class, when i was supposed to do it over the weekend.
But over time i have learned the importance of preserving time and managing time. The rush or adrenaline drive of the last minute wont always get the job done right.
Learn to prioritise.
The flower petals
It’s all in the most obvious things that we can find answers to alot of questions…
She sat where she was, hands crossed over her lap, and on her face she had this certain look that I couldn’t seem to identify. So just like her, I too, sat there in silence and stared at nothing, it appeared to be somewhat the most convenient thing to do at the time.
And then she spoke, she begun by simply saying “I was an original” and took in a deep breath. As though having to take a moment to search for her lungs, she continued. “I was an original once, by beauty and by soul, my character was of high definition, I was beyond understanding. Originality defined me and that was who I was, up until now. Until now, I had reason, until now I was driven simply by the sound of myself exhale that was enough motive for me.
I looked at her, and looked down at my dusty boots, I allowed her to finish, because her saying still felt incomplete. As if in response to my unuttered thought she continued, “I was all of it, and more. I had character that I believed in and never stopped to doubt, I fail to understand how it all faded to dust.
“I had beauty of which I upheld with no need for approval or complement, now I am just a face, I can’t seem to relate to my reflection. I was alive and felt alive, every time i took in a breath I felt the air fill my lungs and I felt a live, every single day I felt more alive than I had ever been. I seem to have arrived at a time when the only proof of me being a living is when light hits my eyes in the morning and they tear because of the irritation”. She took a deep breath in, and I quickly understood that that was her full stop and she had said what she wanted to.
Out of habit, I rubbed my thumb on my other hand. And I began to talk, taking no care whatsoever of the words I would use. “I don’t know, perhaps I do know, but right now I don’t how say this. An original is far from what you have talked of. An original could never loose worth over time. Something past your understanding is what it means to be an original, it is not in your scope of knowledge, and I have got to know that. Originals are not defined by visible worth; they are not built on the basis of what others see in them. See, there is something, this little small thing that you need to understand, you can never be an original if you believe originality could ever fade. Even with time, beauty remains original beauty. Wrinkles made as proof of elapsed time on ones face does not remove any worth, scars left behind from fights and despair do not scratch an original”.
I looked at her, she appeared robbed of speech, I didn’t bother to ask but I rather continued. “You were never an original if you believe you can lose your originality, your soul is out of anybody’s reach. Your spirit can’t be broken, unless its built on others, originals are self-built and live to their own expectation. An original is not built by ego and pride, don’t get me wrong, but an original can still stand when left with no pillar to help them keep balance”
“Dare not to shame yourself by trying to find yourself by finding reason in the books written by others, if you ever look at your reflection and feel lost, it is because you are a result of other peoples expectation and not a true reflection of the person you are to be. Were you really an original in the first place? Or where you living up to peoples idea of what an original is. Now that their definition has changed, you know not where you belong, let alone who you are”.
“Originals; we are beyond definition, time is not a measurement of our worth, our beauty, our soul, our spirit, our character, our SELF. We are timeless even when we age, we remain originals’’. I said the last statement with my head down. She looked at me, I tried to hide from her stare but I couldn’t. I feared for what she would say, tears filled her eyes and she hugged me, I didn’t know what to do, moreover I feared to hug her back. She dried her eyes and looked at me, a smile spread on her face, a beautiful smile. Her eyes as puffy as they had become and her smile, real and true; she was beautiful. She spoke in a slightly crooked voice; “thank you, such honesty is rare, you are an original and have given me an insight of how to be one. Live by your own definition”. She stood up, looked at me and told me to take care of myself, she dug her hand into one of the pockets of her denim jeans, she took out a locket and inside it was the word ORIGINAL. The locket was old, a bit rusted on the side. She handed it to me, she told me I looked happy and the smile on my face complimented what she said. I asked her why she was giving it to me and she told me ‘’there is a lot of bad on this earth, but when you come across any type of good, don’t let it go past without acknowledging it, that locket is an original, just like you, I believe it has found belonging, perfect belonging”.
I took a minute to look down at the locket and when I looked up she had walked a distance away from me. She whispered one last time “take good care of yourself” and with that she faded. I stood up to run to her but she was gone. I looked at the locket, it glimmered and turned new, I was amazed. I looked up to the skies, I will never know if she was an angel, or a being from a distant planet, but all I know is she had originality in her. Besides I thought angels only wore white flowing robes. I smiled to myself, put the locked around my neck and found…
Thanks for joining me!
Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton