CHRONICLES - Eric Mwangi

"Emotions are like wild horses and reason can not entirely master them ... " 

- Paulo Coelho

 " ... and something in us dies or breaks or snaps. The realization maybe instant like the breaking of a twig but the process takes time. It is the culmination of small events, the compounding of love withheld.

And he sat, like Robin Hood (covered) and you could capture the weight of life on his shoulders. He was not handsome, not the kind that could be spotted in a crowd. He was jinxed. The kind of err that is graceful; that sweet symphony of a broken tuba. He wore a maroon hoodie.

The weight of life lay over him like a perpetual drunk that keeps returning for another swig. Such intensity in one so young; so foreign yet so surreal. He had glossed through life, unapologetic.

I took another shot at depth psychology (that unit in my first year that I disdained), to bring out whatever lay behind those windows to the soul. Was that a dart in his eye? Then another? And yet another?! Little torrents were showing, a deluge was coming.

From the corner of his eye I could see a tear. He brushed it with the knuckle of his index finger and looked at it a tad longer. Who knows the last time he shed tears? The last time he leaked?

The key to crying was looking at the same spot till thy kingdom come, but that too was failing. Waning.

I was beginning to get uncomfortable, the pain in knowing one so fragile is hurting yet it is beyond your power is defeatist.

His lips parted as though to gasp, then came…

'I wish I was allowed to be a child!'

No withholding, no prejudice. Just let it all out.

I wish I was able to go through the rigorous of teenage hood, which did a number on our faces with all the acne and weird hormones gushing through our system, without depressing suicidal thoughts

I wish I was allowed to jump on the back of a man I call father and laugh to the smell of smoking chapatis.

I wish I could rush home to the face of an impeccable with a report card in hand: though there are days, many of them which I better not do that for the conflagration that happens forthwith is immense

I now wish I could fail in that math test. I know how crazy that may sound, but I wish I did. Not for the joy of it (though there was seemingly more fun among the drongos than the nerds),but to be told one more time that it’s okay. It didn’t define who I was.

'I wish I pursued that writing, I wish … '

I wish I worked harder at that construction site even though I was only 14.

I wish I wasn’t forced between buying mandazis and replacing that torn trouser.

I wish I was allowed to love a girl without the shrill fear of what dialect you speak or how many millions you have, when you are barely 30(though having money is spice),or what mistakes and wrong tiles you might have stepped on. Or even age

I wish when I looked across the mahogany table I couldn’t see a young student take a few minutes to cry, wipe his face then carry on with his Cunningham’s manual

I wish she didn’t hang herself. Her sisters and brothers cried. Bite their heads off their neck wondering what they did wrong.

Love withheld ...

I wish the world wasn’t spinning this fast, maybe we would linger in the before; now the after is imminent.

I wish you hadn’t dried those tears so fast at the knock on my door.

I wish you hadn’t grown your heart so cold. Won’t you look at the veneer now covering your soul? That coat of dust.

Suddenly he grabbed his back pack and just as fast, out of reach ... "

#they called me young, with a derogatory connotation.

 

Eric Mwangi