I want to be forever young, which I know is impossible but, I wouldn’t mind being a black that don’t crack well into my 60s. I am looking forward to that. I like how as the years fly by and I mature into ripe grapefruit (I believe I am still too young to use ‘aging like fine wine 🤣), I experience an increase in understanding on matters love and life. One of the things I have learnt, and continue to learn, is the art of peacefully walking away from situations that no longer serve me. No drama. You realize something is not working, and you have tried your best, and this thing does not even hold its destiny in your hands, you walk away. Like you were never even there.
Especially with romantic relationships. The broken beyond repair ones. The ones being held by feather strings. Those ones you staying is only aggravating the situation. You are holding on to hope. Ah, hope. That thing that keeps us alive; that tells us things might change if we try harder. Hope as they say, is a good breakfast, but a bad supper. Because when dusk sets in and you realize all your efforts are once again, burnt down to ashes, resentment sets in. And resentment tell you it’s time to leave, and time to also leave a mark. On who or what… you figure.
It is a vicious cycle. Insults exchanged, smashing of glasses against walls, tears, ‘utajua mimi ni nani’; banging of doors and slitting of wrists. HA. All so familiar to me. The how dare you? But they did dare. Was I not enough? Kwani what do they want?
Anger, resentment, more tears, oaths to revenge.
You exhaust yourself. When all is said and done, the one left broken beyond is you. Because you were the one holding on; giving chances and forgiving. Yet every time you forgive, the space that held your love for them was filled with anger. Pent up. Begging to be released. Even after walking away, you are still holding on. So you go back. Because you don’t know what else to do with yourself. Abuse does that to you. Leaves you stripped bare, naked. Zero self-esteem, zero confidence, zero purpose left in you. You want your drug, and it is them.
One day, slowly, you begin coming home to yourself. Your wounds are healing. You are more aware of yourself and others. You are more discerning. You can see the signs early on in your engagement with them. Best part? This time you walk away, whistling gleefully. No drama.
You know what you want, and you know it’s not in people. It has never been in anyone outside of you. All this while you have been searching for it in lovers, alcohol, sex, brief friendships, in family, yet it’s always been inside of you. Patiently waiting for you to come to yourself.
You are older and wiser now. You have mastered the art of peaceful separation, not because you no longer care, but because you care for yourself too much to waddle in the mud.
You’re not a hippo.