What’s your superpower?

 

What do you share when you’re speechless but required to speak? Or for this matter, write.

I can perceive the urgency in the air. My whole body shivers when through my mind pass the images of all I will one day achieve. Or what I presume to anyway.
God has His own plan. Am I following it?

New Year’s always brings a characteristic indecisiveness along with excitement. New year, new me — right?

Ha.

Expectations.
How dangerous are they. Yet, needed. If one doesn’t dream, thrive, desire… then what is the difference between me and a bird? I am able to go as far as my wings let me, but… where?

What do I expect from life? What do I wish to conquer? What do I want to be known for — if at all?

Recently I have seen the film Detachment. During one of the visits of the main character to his grandfather, he asked him if he had written anything on his diary. The words that were whispered by this old man caught me by surprise. They thoroughly broke my heart in pieces and had me crying at a scene that I am sure no one has before. It was supposed to be such a daily normal moment between grandfather and grandson — one of those conversations you just wish to end because you don’t seem to be understanding him anyway and you’ve got tons of things to do, right? Nonetheless, those five words struck me particularly. I couldn’t help myself but pause the film and write them on a Post-It, which now sits on the right-bottom edge of my computer screen.

“My life isn’t worth memoirs”.

I read them in my mind. I whisper them. Every single time I see them, something inside me is torn apart. My soul screams and shouts in pain. My heart breaks. My mind enters in shock.

Maybe it’s because I am a writer that I can’t imagine anyones life being boring or uninteresting. Maybe it’s because I believe in God that I cannot come to terms with the fact that someone can live that long and yet had never lived the beautiful and messy adventure that is life.

“My life isn’t worth memoirs”.

How superficial have we come to be that we don’t put value to the traditional and so needed wisdom we receive from our elders? So much so, that we have convinced them that whatever they have lived is completely worthless now. Lives that have suffered through civil wars, world wars, social classes war, ethnicity classification, the exodus of rural lives to the cities… So much change, uncertainty, doubt, fear, loss, and tragedy.

It wasn’t something that happened parallel to their lives. They didn’t have the choice of ignoring reality. It didn’t happen in an unpronounceable town in some country in Africa or Asia. It was the very reality they battled with every day. The same problems we had as teenager, for instance, of finding that girl or boy and have our first kiss… Can you imagine going though that while you can barely walk through the streets without having people shouting, running or throwing things at you because of your skin colour or your beliefs? Where in the pyramid of priorities sited acne problems or technological devices?

It infuriates me.

It infuriates me that someone can get to live until such age and still see no beauty or wonder in the movement of their hands. In the way their face wrinkles when they smile. In the way words cascade down their lips when they are courageous and speak up. In the way their hand trembles when they witness injustice. In the breathtaking way light sits across their face and brightens their eyes.

It infuriates me that they have lived so much and yet put no value on their own words, their stories, their wisdom. They believed the lie. They think that now they are waste of society, so they just sit in a elder house waiting for the day to come.

I don’t know what I want to become when I grow older. But I know what I want to do.
I want to inspire people to believe they didn’t live in vain. That their lives are treasures still waiting to be discovered. I want them to have the chance to leave a mark on a young person’s heart because, regardless the horror they have been through, they are still brave enough to hope and believe.
I want to inspire young people to imagine beyond what they have been given in front of their eyes. I want inspire them to be nonconformists, and when they read a book, it doesn’t matter if the author said the character was small, fair, brunette, that they are rebel enough to picture them black, tall with freckles. I want them to have a mind of their own, thriving and seeking something that they cannot see but know it exists and it is in their hand to bring into reality. I want them to believe that they can become whatever they want. That everything is one dream away, if they are just brave and rebel enough to dream. And dream big.

My expectation and hope for this year is that I can live boldly enough that I collect stories and wrinkles. If I can inspire one person older than me to truly believe their time isn’t over and I can stir one young person’s heart to lose their fear of asking questions, then it will be a good year.

We can’t do everything, but we can do something. The only way to change the world is by helping one person at a time.

“My life isn’t worth memoirs“.
They say the only way to become immortal is have someone write about you.

Everyone deserves eternal life.

Xx,

C.

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