Today, I escaped a near death experience for the umpteenth time. Thanks to my mom, the root cause. Why bring me into the world if she knew she couldn’t shoulder the aftermath? Why didn’t she just take some pills to flush me out through her vagina? Or just perform the pillow play and sap me of my breath? I hate myself, but I couldn’t hate her less. I really couldn’t.
19 years ago, in a suburb of OG called Puratto, I was born. As told by dad, it was one of the most beautiful places in the world, and even though the residents lived in simplicity, they lived in comfort.
Dad used to tell me how beautiful I am, how pretty my mom was and how it was she I took after. He told me how beautiful I smile.
I also remember him telling me how the suburb was a village bathed in flowers. The people cultivated flowers and farmed bees. He told me about the orange sunsets that stretched across the horizons of the suburb and how it painted the flowers in our garden in an astonishing shades of colours.
But I have never beheld a sunset.
Dad told me how at age 2, I could run, talk, sing and do things my mates could barely do. Dad said I was smart. “Real smart,” he said. “Claire De Smartie.”
He said I had great senses. I sensed things beyond the average girl of my age. I was also a happy-go-lucky girl.
On my 10th birthday, mom baked me a cake, made me blow the candles and moments later, she left home. She never came back. I presumed, after many days of her absence, that perhaps, she had gotten tired of taking care of me. So I was left alone with dad.
I have pretty much forgotten how she looked like — what my mind told me she looked like, because I had never really seen her.
Well, today, I’m 19, and dad had been long gone, too. When dad was alive, he was my salvation. My knight in shining armour, always there to save me. Now I have just a few friends, most of which are like me. We depend on people. We are blind. We cannot see. We were born this way. Our minds are our eyes”.
This morning, I woke up in one of those moments where everything around me becomes darkness, not just visually, but mentally. That moment where I cannot contort a proper picture in my mind. And my thoughts are foggy.
So, I’m thinking about one thing this morning. Blindness.
This isn’t my first time having thoughts about blindness, but it came so strong I had to write it down.
How does it feel to be blind?
Have you ever imagined yourself being blind your whole life?
Have you ever thought of a life where you do not know what you or your loved ones look like? A life where you cannot see movies, view paintings, and other things that make the universe beautiful?
A sad life where you hear so much about a particular thing or person but you do not know the curves of their faces or how they look.
It is a terrible life. you cannot tell light from darkness, dawn from dusk, night from day, because the only thing your eyes see is darkness. Thick blankets of darkness.
How about a life where you cannot sense your way out of troubled times? Where you do not know the direction of gunshot.
In our character’s life, trusting people is a risk, and one she takes everyday.
If you have perfect sight, be grateful. With every counting second, and every counting minute, be grateful, because you have one thing that makes life worth living.
Appreciate, love and show kindness to the blind. They did not choose the path of blindness. Help them. Care for them. Neither sneer at nor use them to your advantage. Blindness doesn’t make them less human. They have equal rights as do every one of us. Please pray for them .
In many ways, they are because we are, and we are because they are.