Journey Out of the Uncomfortable: Beauty

 

This new year started with a couple of changes. First one being, I cut my hair for the first time in 17 years. When I was six, I begged my mother to cut my hair – I was tired of the traumatic experience that was getting my hair washed. I hated the pain that came with getting my hair braided. So one Sunday, a friend of hers cut my hair. I remember looking in the mirror and smiling.

I went through something similar on the 2^nd of January. I looked in the mirror, looked at my new very mini-fro and smiled. “Let the natural hair journey begin.”

My first week was near-disastrous. I was almost late for church on Sunday. I almost missed a meeting the next day. I’d underestimated the care that would be required. Sure I’d read the articles and all but “I never esperrerit”.

Short Story: Oranges

Lara hated oranges. She hated the taste, she hated how sticky her fingers became after handling one, and she hated them because Lance loved them.

She shuddered as she thought of how her would buy a large bag of oranges from the Farmer’s market every Saturday. He’d come into the house whistling an
off-key rendition of Frank Sinatra’s Fly Me To the Moon, bag of oranges over his shoulder, and swing the bag at her head. If she dodged the bag, he’d beat her up.
The first time it happened, she cried for hours. Now, five years into their marriage, she’d come to expect the beatings. Sometimes Lance would sing
whilst he beat her. He used to find reasons to ‘discipline’ her but nowadays, he beat her for anything. Some days he’d just slap her around but there were a couple of occasions
where his violence landed her in hospital.
Like this time.
Lara was in the Intensive Care Unit, bandaged and propped up, staring at the fruit salad the nurse had brought her. It was littered with small, glistening orange slices.
The smell was revolting. It was almost as bad as the smell of alcohol that clung fiercely to her husband. Alcohol was his mistress. His lover.
It worked hand-in-hand with Lance’s other lover, football. She was in hospital because of a football game gone wrong. Lance often acted like she was the source of all his problems.
He’d been sloppy this time around. He’d thrown her through the glass door that led to their terrace. The neighbours’ dinner party was in full swing.
They saw everything. Her husband was in the county jail at that very moment. No one was willing to bail him out.
Lara thought of the years of madness that were her life. After he’d finish beating her up, he’d go to the kitchen and eat a couple of oranges. When he was done, he’d throw the peels at her.
Lara often wondered how she’d managed to marry such a brute. Had he always been like that? Probably.
She hated a lot of things because of her husband. Oranges. Frank Sinatra. Her life.
She sighed, as she thought of what would happen when she left the hospital. Her family was pushing her to file for divorce. Support from her neighbours was pouring in.
The police seemed to be on her side.
The thought of everything was giving her a migraine. She pressed the call button and waited. The nurse was there in a second.
“Are you alright, darling?” she asked. Lara shook her head slowly.
“Could you please remove this fruit salad? The oranges are killing me.”
That’s how she’d handle her life, Lara resolved. One problem at a time.

Today

We still haven’t met.

That’s okay.

Though I hoped it would be today,

I’m not mad or sad.

 

We didn’t meet today,

That’s okay.

I know that one day that day will be ‘today’,

The day, That day, Our first day…

 

The day that I’ll remember with a glint in my eye.

The day we’ll try to recollect together and accuse each other

Of bad memories and white lies.

Our day.

 

The day your universe collided with mine and

The invisible timer reset from 22 years and a month and a bit

To Year 0 Day 1: Our Time.

 

Maybe, on that day, we’ll know that this is for good.

 

Or maybe you’ll know and I’ll take a while

But my eyes will open and I’ll realize that

“Hey… you’re a good kind of forever, so I choose you too.”

That day…That ‘today’ that’ll lead to

Aisles and guests and pretty clothes and I dos.

That day that will lead to many mini versions of us combined.

I look forward to that day, I really do.

The day I meet you.

 

Or maybe we’ve already met but our eyes are yet to be opened?

As we wade through life, towards each other, and towards more life…

As we are constantly prepared for assorted journeys

And our own, of course.

As we walk, as we stumble – sometimes, as we run, dance and sing…

Towards that day…

That day…

Today.

That today.

I look forward to that day.

The day it makes sense.

The day it’s official?

That our universes intertwine after collision,

And we slowly begin to make joint decisions,

From that today to more todays until…

Well, I’m not thinking about that day.

That can wait.

Wait.

I can’t wait.

But I don’t mind waiting.

Because on that day this will all make sense.

Even if it doesn’t, we’ll make sense of it on our own.

Us.

You.

Me.

We.

That day.

That very day.

Today.

 

Photocred: Edri Ana