How Time Has Changed Me

 

I can’t say I remember my suckling or cooing days. Neither can I claim to know for sure if I was a terrible toddler or not. What I can vouch for are the marks tattooed on my legs and forehead. Mama tells me they are monuments of the many falls sustained during my tender years. She has recounted to my horror, my audacious attempts at clambering the tall mango tree in our backyard at three! And how I slapped other children across their cheeks and watched them wail, unfazed, devoid of emotion. I am also told I once chortled and tried to reach for the slithery viper that crept into our living room. Thank God, Mama was always there to save me from me.

There is a phase my memory has not deceived me. The time the upbeat, patriotic songs blared on the street corners and lyrics of Michael Jackson and Grace Jones thumped through open windows and muffled gramophones. I remember reciting every verse of Nothing is Gonna Stop Us Now and painting my diary pages with every word. My interests were innocuous at first. But as the music took on a new meaning, I was no longer just chanting, scribbling and dancing to the rhythm. To the boy who sent my pulses racing, I professed I Will Always Love You. When he shattered my heart into a thousand pieces, I begged him to Come Back to Me. I was just another Broken-Hearted Girl. Each melody, each beat, every phrase, became poignant, sacred and meaningful. An allegory for my life. 

Those in the know say I was just a teenager with raging hormones. 

But I swear the world was conspiring against me. How else could I explain other girls having superior coiffures? Or that my bulging thighs were an eyesore even in steeply priced habiliments father bought with his hard-earned cash? By now, I had sassed what calls for flattery and roused the opposite sex, and it was nothing I possessed. Nothing I could pin down. Is it any wonder jealousy, self-doubt, and paranoia consumed me? 

Then I took a stab at engineering my transformation. Skin lightening creams, hot combs and Palazzos came to the rescue. I am thankful there was no Snapchat and Instagram to increase the torture. Looking back now, I cringe at the things I did. What was I thinking? It was inevitable, I suppose, that gradually I would embrace who I was. It turns out, being me is okay. My looks do not define me. There is more to me than my hoarse voice and knobbly knees. My intelligence matters. I could shift my focus towards greater heights. Reach for the stars. Become the so-called woman of substance. 

There are things I wish I had, want to have like yesterday, but I try not to dwell on what I cannot change or control. I am learning to trust the process. Friends and the need to belong are essential to me. But I am also at peace in my own company. When I experience defeat, my mantra is to try, try, try again. I pride myself on my resilience. My ability to bounce back. For how can I grow if I do not fall?

Somewhere within me lies a passion for igniting. I have something to offer, not only to my family or my immediate surroundings, but the world. It’s funny how an appetite develops into insatiable hunger. The realisation that there is an entire world to explore. Something else. I derive satisfaction from motherhood, wifehood, occupation, and all that which makes me a grounded being, I suppose, but should I suffer for wanting more? Striving for more? Geography and responsibilities do not a hindrance make. Personal expansion is mine for the taking. But first, I must know - what is my purpose? 

With each season, I become my own philosopher, pondering, searching and demanding answers to life's tough questions. I know little, but I have heard and read the success stories. The distinguished men and women inventors. The DaVincis of our time. Writers and performers, and those whose names are not visible among the stars but have changed the world all the same. Who am I to stand in my way? I could write the world's most celebrated novel or find a cure for cancer. This fire is past kindling. Perhaps one day, like the cleansing furnace, it will rid me of the disquieting voice. That constant whisper that nudges me towards greatness and prompts me to find a reason to live. My purpose. Meaning.

 

Inevitably, I will enter my twilight years. Without a shred of doubt, I know that when the time comes, it will be the cacophony of my grandchildren and great-grandchildren's whines and feet that will afford me the most pleasure. I will treasure the feel of their tiny hands, exploring the contours of my wrinkled face. I will attend to their questions, showing as much zeal as the desire I have to make sense of it all now. I shall drown in their stunned, twinkly eyes when they listen to my tales. I will chuckle when they gasp at my ancient words. For it matters not if they get it or not. Because in the years to come, they will.  

When the time comes for me to slow down, cross over to the other side, I want to reflect, inhale and exhale, knowing I did all I could. That I swam with the sharks and survived. That I swung for the fence, reached my full potential and fulfilled my destiny. Or at least gave it a whirl. 

Hey, come back soon!

 

My End of Year Blog Part One

It is stunning how twelve months can flash by in an uneventful second. 2020 not that uneventful. It has been a year of mixed emotions for me. I have smiled, laughed, cried and felt absolute rage. 

 

Being able to sit still, reflecting on the significant moments, good, bad, big or subtle, is always good for the soul. For it is during these contemplative minutes that I can assimilate all my encounters. Encounters which, as I move through this life, shape and define who I become. 

Gratitude washes over me as I prepare to hail the new year on this crisp, winter day: I am alive and well, and so are my loved ones. Need I say more?  

 

I had hoped by the time I pen this blog, 'rona' would have relented. Unfortunately, our invisible enemy still rages.

The disease has me ruminating over the moment when, as a frontline healthcare professional, it dawned on me, that I had to don my PPE kit and get on with it. 

 

As nurses, we are trained to handle medical emergencies. This was a medical emergency like no other. The shift was sudden, and the fear of the unknown had my stomach, churning. 

But COVID 19 had declared war on the population, and there was a job to be done. I was not being punished but merely assuming my position. 

I recall the dragon ride and some of my colleagues' sentiments: 'The first morning, I had the shits. Went four times and in the end, I had to tell myself come on now. It was hard to sleep. I kept waking up and looking at the time. I felt like a corona animal,' one of them said.

 

I burst out laughing. Not funny. Not funny at all. 

 

'But it was alright,' he continued. 'It's not all doom and gloom; many patients recover.'

 Another felt embarrassed at first because 'I was thrown into the fire, and wasn't sure what I was doing. Also, it's a new environment, new people, everything is strange. But I always wish the patient to improve and hope my hands do something for them.'   

 'When I think about a shift that's going to happen tomorrow, I'm drained of energy. It's not about the work; I can work like a buffalo. It's the environment. But when I look around, I feel like I'm not alone. Everybody is there, and it's not like I'm working 24 hours,' said another.

For the doctors and nurses, and other healthcare professionals, it was an emotional rollercoaster. Still, we had an understanding: the job at hand was bigger than our trepidation. 

I'm outraged by the conspiracy theories on social media. The preposterous assertion that COVID 19 is a hoax. 

I hope you never have to live through the nightmare of not being able to hug or kiss your loved one (s) goodbye or attend their burial. 

 

Your thoughtlessness is an insult to those who stood by the roadside to clap and salute departed colleagues as they took their final journey. Oh, the rage! 

My heart swells with pride as I reflect on the courage with which we coped with our new reality. In addition to our undeterred spirit, the show of gratitude and constant reminders of our good deeds propelled us.

'I never want to see another pizza again. There is food everywhere,' a colleague quipped. I had never seen so many presents in my life. 

The #clapforthenhs soon became a ritual. All done as a way of saying, 'thank you.'

 

The occasional I-don't-eat-the-clapping-I-will-still-have-peanuts-in-my-bank account outburst could be heard in the hallway. (Human beings got needs, I suppose.) 

 

'Still, it's nice That they are doing that. It's not always about money,' said the voice of reason.

I'm reflecting, how in our workplace, messages of hope and goodwill poured, via social media and the intranet. How as colleagues, we cheered and praised one another more than we had ever done before. It was this sense of camaraderie that nourished our courage and determination.  

I would have wanted my COVID reflection to be a thing of the past, but alas, this enemy won't yield. Still, there is hope at the end of the tunnel. Vaccines are being rolled out to the population, and something tells we will soon breathe a sigh of relief. 

Soon, we will be able to make plans, travel and reunite with our loved ones. Soon, we won't have to live in constant fear. Soon, we will tell the story of how we overcame. 

Without hope, what else is there?!

Hello Everyone...An Update!

What a ride 2020 has been, and we still got a few more weeks to go yet!

I hope you have all been keeping safe. To those who have lost loved ones to ongoing pandemic, my thoughts and prayers go out to you. As a nurse, I have seen the amount of suffering first-hand, and all I can say is, 'This too shall pass.' Let us remain strong and hopeful, doing the best we can to keep ourselves, our loved ones and fellow men safe. 

I know it has been a minute since I updated this blog. But I have not been sitting on my laurels. 

As you all know, I am a nurse, which means COVID-19 has kept me, the other first responders and all those on the frontline, busy. During the first peak, I did not have much headspace to write but picked up again once things got settled, if that is even a thing, considering the current status. 

However...

Since my last blog entry, I have been able to pen the first draft of a romance (fiction) manuscript and am currently editing it. And I have to say that I am feeling excited about this project. Not only have I thoroughly enjoyed writing it, but I have also been able to discover things about myself during the process. Writing, after all, is a way of self exploring. Many a great love stories have been written, and with lots of similar themes, but what makes writing special is that there are stories that only YOU can write. To me, the project is exactly what the doctor ordered. 

When will it be published? I do not yet know. You cannot rush a work of art, right? But keep an eye out. An announcement may be coming sooner than we think!

Meanwhile, keep reading. Keep writing. Stay safe. COVID-19 is still very much with us.

Come back soon!