Progressively...time stood still.
Posters of her imagination...forming a collage of her reflection...
This girl I put cursor to work about is not ordinary. This girl, my cursor blinks ferociously, writing her history is not easy to write about.
Pause...
Patiently she lifts her face to the mirror...she pauses to compose her features with her eyes...
This girl struggled to get here... Looking at the mirror she sees a playful girl...no..she sees a woman..wait,
Its not a stagnating picture rather its a motion sequence of growth....
Look...
See that woman holding her hand? That is the woman who carried her for 9months... Them woman who had 8 before her...but they never saw the day of light....The woman who cried to GOD to keep that little girl held in amniotic peace...
See how she laughs as the girl learned the word..."Mama." See how this woman called mama makes it a life mission for her to live life. For the girl to entice the world with her mind. No, not a stereotypical girl who conforms to the adulterous ways o a sinful world. She, Mama, wants that little girl to shine. Mother Teressa would gladly say "that is my child."
Look,
another picture forms...fading a memory into the depths of vague amnesia. The little girl learns how to walk...
But these are not her memories. They were concealed in the cerebellum to long, how can they still be so vivid?
Oops. She fell. The first time she understood what pain was, she also finally coherently(in her small in-exposed mind) understood that when an accident happens, the most appropriate emotion is to holler. She probably didn't understand that the feeling was pain. Who could blame her, her mind was just taking baby steps in the adult world.
Dissolve...
The scene in the mirror before her changes. Her first day at school. At one and a half, she felt audacious.
There she is, holding her head high walking with her little squeaky shoes and tiny bag in tow with mama's hand. She was going to school, and no-one would stop her dream. It was already in its final stages at only one and a half years old. Mama walks into class with little girl and oh my, didn't she feel special. The room: colorful posters line the sides of the space, little desks and tiny chairs seem like lab equipment to the young one's mind, children. Some looked so drab: tear drops circling the rim of their big beady eyes, threatening sniffles that seemed as though they would turn into full fledged wailing characterized their tiny mouths. Little girl wondered why they seemed so sad.
A new emotion, SAD.
Little girl was happy...
A new emotion, HAPPY.
Mama lets her hand go, little girl looks expectantly to mummy waiting to be lifted into her loving arms.
LO! Mama walks away... The elderly looking woman who seems to grasp the whole class in her stern demeanor dares the little girl to call out to her mama. Defiant, she opens her mouth.
As the first inklings of her small voice build into a climax of larynx symphony, a stinging sensation intrudes her little buttock. And now she sympathizes with her fellow inmates.
Look.
The scene changes...little girl is no longer one and a half... she turned older..grew into a woman. No she is not yet the woman who carried her for 9 precious months. She is 10, 9 years older than before. She has learnt a lot more vocabulary. She could intelligibly express ideas and thought, she could formulate ideas, even though they were somewhat rudimentary. No, i don't mean stupid. I mean bright ideas that lacked body. So at ten years, 9 years older, she was a duckling still. Half her teeth still missing, her smile still needing tweaking but all in all, she was ten, 9 years older.
Haze....
The mirror returns to reality. The mirror reflects this new creation, the woman. No longer the little girl to a harsh world, but to mother, she will always be her little girl. Reality speaks a different story, her rudimentary thoughts over the years learnt how to develop and form themselves into concrete vivacious and eloquent themes. Her mind, an analytical foreground where ideas battle for supremacy, where feelings struggle to create clarity and where her mind gathers seems of endless thought processes like carpet weavers. Her mind has turned into a vast integrated software with brain cells firing to and fro, like fission, fusion process. The ideas move so fast between layers and because she is human no barium rods can contain this process. but she is a grown woman now, so she can successfully turn on thought and retrieve memories as easily as she can remain thoughtless(without mental activity) and forget experience.
So she stares at the woman on the screen before her, she became a swan. She can now smile with all her teeth. She's still waiting for the wisdom, at least she has one lone strand of gray hair atop her head. And that strand she grows with utmost care. She is a few years older, just the other day she was one and a half, but now she stands a tall young adult embarking on a new set of adventures. See that gray strand denotes a few years of existence. One day when she gets to mothers age, she will have a full head of gray. Then she will say, truly experience and life have shaped my wisdom, but GOD has blessed me with the mustard seed we call wisdom for now...
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| Rain-bow |
We are making a mark!!!*
