Self Expression (Pt.1)

I think I write about fulfillment a lot, and if not the writing of it. The thinking of it. what does it take to get to the place of happiness? For me and for you? Is it in transient things? A lingering look from a lover. The clutch of a baby’s thumb around your finger. The smell of freshly cut grass on a rainy day.

Or is it in the things that stay with you? The feeling of contentment that comes with a good relationship? The ability to raise your hand in a meeting and articulate your thoughts.

I have constantly said that I struggle with self-expression and this struggle has led me to a place where I struggle with self-actualisation. What I have never asked myself was the why behind this.

I have been seeing a woman. A delightful old woman that reminds me of my grade 3 teacher. A woman whose kindness has stayed with me through the years. Her impression of kindness eases the feeling of wretchedness and unworthiness that followed me as I snaked my way to school. I say snaked because I slithered. Through the grass and over stealthily over the dirt road. In sudden bursts of speed that would allow me to get to school quicker with a smaller audience. 

The attention I received. Imagined to receive, from the kids at our school as car after car, of Toyota Corollas, Pajeros and Classic Mercedes Benzes seemed to glide across the tar. Their children rightfully taking their places in the world. And I, covered in the grime and the poverty that my mind created. The filth of the primus stove that my mother had used to make dinner the previous night. The filth of my father’s car dying that morning and being forced to catch the bus. Breathless and shaky from the prospect of getting to school. What I felt as I walked up the road was a shame that a eight, nine, ten year old had no business feeling. The same of being a bother. The shame of being seeing. Of creating a spectacle. Mrs Robinson’s kindness created a tunnel through it and straight to me. I have never forgotten her.

How she would always stop as soon as she saw me, it didn’t matter that I was almost close to the car. My relief at seeing her fleeting across my face, for I had learnt even then not to show my face. Not to show the pain and embarrassment. Not be a bother.