Twenty-6 alphabets have always been more than enough. They were able to mend our broken hearts, heal our wounded souls and even materialize our wildest dreams.
For the first time in my life, I feel like 26 letters are just not sufficient for anything. They’re so few I can’t even use them to share the miraculous joy that has been my life in the past couple of months.
Like most experiences, excellence is relative and even though external factors have a lot to do with how it’s perceived, I strongly believe that much like happiness; excellence is an inside job.
Exactly three months ago, I took the decided to turn my back on everything I ever was, am and will always be. Draped in hopes and dreams with nothing but a suitcase, I stood at the airport altar and screamed I DO!
A moment I had dreamt of almost my entire adult life was finally here. What’s sad though, is that it didn’t feel quite right. Not only was I leaving the streets that birthed and raised me, I was also leaving a flesh of my womb.
Surfing the wave
“Is it worth it? Would it someday present itself as regret? Choosing what could be versus what is?”
Fortunately, the opportunity to live through these answered prayers has assured me that all will be well. Imposter has always told me I’d only make it to senior jobs after 30. Thankfully, the universe said not on its watch. Two months in, I was christened employee of the month. This self-proclaimed overachiever didn’t just end there, she went on to tick off life-long personal goals and targets.
…and it crashes
How amazing would life be if everything decided to just align and work the fuck together!
Moving to a new city meant changes in my life. It meant stepping out of a formula that’s carried me through the best and years of my existence. True to its nature, murphey’s law worsened the situation by putting me in the darkest cell at ABC prison.
The inability to bond with my first love is by far the hardest thing I’ve ever had to live through. My nose is suddenly allergic to the ink that keeps my heart beating. My hands no longer itch to take Manando through the day-long journey of my 9-5. As if that wasn’t trouble enough, the crashing wave has started spilling over to other aspects of my life.
Typing this, I feel like all the answered prayers are worthless. What is a dream life when I can’t paint it for the world to read?
P.S. This is the 455th word of this blog and I hope it marks the end of my writer’s block.
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