HOW ABOUT WE SAY YES TO YESTERDAY?

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Bottomline: I don’t want to live with filters all my life, pretending to be in terms with my past, knowing quite well that something is amiss ignoring the urge to make things right.
“Remember when you wanted what you currently have?”
It is for the unsettling waivers of the wind that the palm tree leaves cannot keep to their calm, it is for the beauty of the stars in the dark of the night that the lonely father keeps gazing at the sky, hoping that someday the shooting one would direct his gaze to a motherly soul.
The silly songs accompanied by cheerful dances the little three year old responds to in the early morning ‘wakie wakies’ every first five days of the week fulfilling the heart of a troubled youth showing him the path to rebellion with an escape route to a safe space.

 

Attaching the wings to fly and energy to drive us where we think we belong, they are what we love; the attractions we seek to get connected to. Step by step we get drawn to what we believe is meant for us to grabbing sometimes; without hesitation, we get involved before deciding to dive in, full swing.

WE KNOW IT ALL; WHAT WE WANNA BE AND WHAT WE DESERVE TO BE BUT WHAT IS IT THAT IS PREVENTING US FROM BEING…?

I was once a teenager like most girls, I woke up to zits on my face and stains on my sheets during those final days of the month. I could choose a more elaborate way to define teenage-hood but then I would have left out the part that scared me the most, the more reason why I had to mention the zits and the stains. My spring-tide days were not all scary though, they were like the silent peers from the eyes of an old man, unpredictable and with vast imagination.

I could say those days are gone with the wind, however, I can’t, in some way my juvenility is still stuck running through my veins and ooh, I love it, no wait, do I really? Teenage-hood might have been lively and spirited but it was also blinding full of uncertainties.

I remember the allures it brought to my mind when I was nine, I thought it was the time my folks would allow me wear nail polish and lipstick for the first time without scolding or disapproving of my appreciation for womanhood –for the record, I bought my first lipstick at the age of nineteen, a little too late judging from the fact that at thirteen I had been the perceived age anyway.

Nineteen still counts as a good age –I also contemplated having a boyfriend who would make my foot pop under the mistletoe. Ha-ha, I had dreams, dreams that I thought would come true once I hit the age of thirteen, ask me again if they ever did come true…

So today I am in my little uninviting hovel of a room, a decade after the beginning of teenage hood, struggling to fit in with the damp odour playing around in a molecular fashion all over the atmosphere, courtesy of the newly cement-plastered floor I had been making an effort to clean for the last one hour.

My cutlery and the few cheap household necessities I put in place three days ago add even more harm to my desire for a cute, blue-themed, girly design prevision of a room. I would have loved an electric kettle to make my morning coffee. The suffocating smell of the burnt kerosene from my wick stove makes me feel so utterly unable to get one so instead, I shift my level to desire a far much cheaper or is it affordable device; a water heater.

I do not loathe my room with its contents are no put off either, I just wanted to be honest about it, it is actually my haven of peace after a long hard day at work, the only homely place I can find warmth, awesome privacy with a touch of genuine love in this strange place where home can only be found miles away.

This room reminds me so much of those half a dozen years I spent being called a teen. Even though they had been challenging, they were simply amazing; a story I would wish to live again.

I used to fall in love more often as a teenager, I fell in love with reading and writing to pen pals. I fell in love with jig-saw puzzles with the attention I thought I got from boys. I fell in love with the stones and the sticks I picked up by the roadside, I saw beauty in them forgetting the heavy weight they added to my school bag was a feeling of pleasure I could not give up.

I fell in love with the grass and the minty fragrance of the eucalyptus leaves, the sweet smell from the lemon grass are what drove me to rubbing them on my candy, the taste I got from them was heavenly. I even fell in love with the alphabet ‘C’ because I believed my future better half had it in his name. Let us all applaud my courage in love, you could call me quirky or a bit unconventional, I allow it.

My budding years on the wings of love took me to a place, a moment that I had to re-live in my adulthood. I wanted and wished for a number of things growing up, some of which I successfully accomplished, some which I am still on the way to achieve. At this point I want to talk about the one cherished teenage aspiration that I carried forward accomplishing it three fortnights ago; let’s talk about my tattoo, shall we? 😊.

I know it is not such a big deal to some but then, I will be selfish about that. Only think about me and how much of a BIG DEAL it is to me, oh! That doesn’t mean this matter none of your concern so with pleasure, please read on, after all, you are the reason why I poured out all this effort.

Fast things first; no judgments so don’t be hypercritical, we need the harmony. Secondly, we all got things from our pasts that we perhaps wish we could re-live or rather fix in order to create peace with our inner selves.

Ostensibly, a number of us cannot really testify to having achieved it all. Well, I don’t want to live with filters all my life, pretending to be in terms with my past, knowing quite well that something is amiss ignoring the urge to make things right. I do not know much about the haunted but one thing I sure do know is that there are poignant persistent feelings that are often involved thus cannot be disregarded when it comes to haunting. So when I felt ‘haunted’ by the thoughts of getting a tattoo, I did not allow neglect to the call.

Tattoo

It might have seemed a little bit irrational and out of line but my picture had already been drawn. It needed a painting to complete its desired look. I have heard mythologies and very scary facts about the adventure I was getting ready to embark on but then nothing could stop a mind fixated on making peace with the past.

I don’t at any level consider myself a social misfit, you are probably wondering why I had to bring that up, but it is what I mostly gathered from all the folks I approached concerning me getting a tattoo. Anyway, I had made a vow hence no amount of admonition could stop me, talk about being a rebel. Being a rebel was never my intention though, my idea was driven much by the thought of awakening my past and creating a valid meaning out of it; my past being the pressing urge to get a tattoo as a teen with the valid meaning being a tattoo of my son’s name, valid to me, be honest about yours.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the prettiest of them all?
All scores had to be settled, that means if I was going to settle for one, then it had to be outstanding. It had to be gorgeous, no one wants an unsightly imprint stuck on their skin for a lifetime, right? So when I lay down on that couch ready for the words to be permanently inked onto my dermis, I had to do multiple mirror checkups.

OK I know you get what I mean by the checkups so let’s not throw stones or lose any understanding between us, remember, we still need the harmony. I have always been aware that most people don’t appreciate oftenly a number frown upon the mention of tattoos. So if I wanted a sight that would tone down the judgments then an artistic decoration would do just perfectly.

My little bambino created a mark when he came into my life. He got out of the sac and just like that, he became a part of me. How great is it to have a flesh from your own flesh calling you momma giving you the purest kind of love, if you understand this, then you will definitely also understand my drive for that physical mark.

I might have gotten a physical mark painfully penned onto my skin to prove my motherhood but then again there is simply no mark, however, merited that could define the love that exists between a child and a mother. A tattoo is probably just a kiss without emotions, not of any high regard but then again, we create meanings from them. Who knows what might be imprinted next or what tomorrow’s yesterday will imprint on us?

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