Sometimes I wake up in the morning and wish I slept away all my days. Sometimes sleep passes away and I pray it was all I could have. It is not that I have not had good times in life. If reality has not blessed me with memories of good tidings, at least I can contend with that which my imaginations meet me with. Sometimes I sit on my bed and ask if it’s worth going to bed only to wake up to meet a whole new morning of daring circumstances knocking at the frame of my door. Sometimes I slip into thinking and suggest to myself, why all these toils? Sometimes, in fact many at times, I ask myself, “why me?”
I entered earth so innocent. Everyone laughed in welcome of my entry. I saw new creatures. Some bigger types of my own species. Everything seemed new. I thought I had now been relieved of the confinement of my mother’s womb. But it rather turned sour.
I was only one year and two months old. I remember that is the age my mother told me. I saw everything to be harmless. It was no fault of mine. Dad was passing by me with hot water in a pot. The handle suddenly lost its integrity and I was the victim of that unfortunate circumstance. The first tragedy of my life was to lose my identity. A full thickness burn of my face. Not even the best plastic surgery could buy me back my identity. It passed away. The wounds healed – after all the numerous weeks in the intensive care Unit.
It was time to go to school. Anytime it was break time, isolation was the only friend I could have. Now nobody comes closer to me because I am different. I don’t resemble any of my own. Getting loved was an issue. I was never given the chance to prove what I could do. Whiles my mates would be playing in the fields, I could only resort to my books. It was from reading that I felt love. I realized that was how I could prove a point. But unluckily for me, the more I tried to read, the worse my sight became. The doctors told me it was as a complication of the trauma I suffered years ago. In order not to lose my eyes, I had to call a quit to education.
Mum died when I was nine. Daddy married a new woman. She cared for me and loved me initially. I thought I had found a new mother. But it wasn’t long when she gave birth to her own. It was then she realized how deformed and challenged I was. I became the rejected stone. I had no cause to complain to Daddy because I was the last creature he wanted to set eyes on. Isn’t death better than this?
With a disabled right hand, I learnt to use my left hand to harness my talent of drawing. I started making something meaningful from this trade of drawing. I was at work one day when she brought me a job. She introduced herself as Madam. I was shy of her but I had to be professional. From then we became friends. She liked me so much. Even as I was. She introduced me to Christ Jesus. I found so much hope in him. We grew fonder day by day and had made preparations to marry. A week before our wedding, she came to me and said “she had something to tell me”. She sighed and said “I am sorry, but I feel so empty”. At that instant I just turned dumb. She continued “I have had a malignant cancer that I have been fighting from childhood. I think it is eating me away now. I might have to leave this world in no time. I am really sorry”. She then walked out of my door through the wailing clouds. I couldn’t say much. Three days later, she collapsed and passed away. Now wicked was all I could say life was. Why me?
It has become a norm to me now. Every morning I wake up I expect to meet another torment thrown at my face.
Amidst all these things, I continue to serve my maker. If I had the heart that could cry, I would cry out all the fluid in me. If had the spirit that could sorrow, I would mourn all my quandaries away. Glory is to God that I have lost so many things in life. So so many of them. But there is only one precious thing I keep. Not even my life is that one precious thing I have. I have a HEART THAT BELIEVES. A HEART THAT BELIEVES.


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