Don’t Rush To Get Grown

This old lady said to me;
“Ubuntu, you seem like a really nice kid, but it worries me how you juggle up everything at once, and you dream like an idiot, and strive for success, equally idiotically. Please slow down my son, allow fate to take its course, live in the moment and enjoy life for the beauty it truly is”.
She smiled, touched me, and said; “Don’t rush to get grown”.

I was silent for a moment, my past flashed back to me, the crimes, drugs, guns, women and everything else, and more recently, my deceased babies, and my late father. I then thought of my family, how much they needed me, relied on me and so I figured there really is no slowing down for me, given the stakes.

Finally I replied, “What if it’s already too late?”
She smiled, shook her head and then said, “It’s never too late my son, ever”.

The Scars We Cover Up

He was a true craftsman, a poet, an author, his mastery of words was his charm, and he was a true reflection of self-confidence. He had style, class and determination that reflected through in that all he did.
He had come from a broken home, with a torn heart, horrific images of his father strangling his mother, hence he breathed hopelessness, his blood boiled with rage and his stomach had endured hunger pains as “daddy” drowned in another green bottle.
As he randomly chatted up random ladies and often was complimented for his charisma, optimism and sense of humor, no one ever noticed the scars in his heart, covered by godly designed ribs and flesh, and a perfectly peaceful smile.

She had a million dollar body, shaped like an hourglass, timeless, and a billion dollar walk to compliment it. She had a perfectly cheerful smile, bright and beautiful, and her confidence could move mountains, or so most people thought.
She had been blessed with a baby, and simultaneously cursed with a clumsy operation that cut almost half of her stomach off, it was now a scar, but still a fresh wound to her that bled uncontrollably every single night she uncovered her expensive garment.

She had a perfect life, so he thought.
He had a perfect life, so she thought.

My Self-Esteem

To say I have a low self-esteem would be a lie, although I’m sometimes skeptical to call it high.
I think of myself as average in every possible way, and that’s just euphemism for dull as they come.
I do not drink, smoke or club, I spend most of my time indoors writing articles, reading books and watching documentaries on how to acquire wealth; I’m as dull as they come.

When I was younger I wasn’t a very fluent speaker, my aunt would imitate my sloppy voice that I grew up too afraid to voice my thoughts and feelings fearing focus would not be on my content but rather my “funny” voice, funny isn’t it?
In high school I was “slightly” overweight, and at home they treated being fat like a “deficiency”. I remember my aunt showing me the Eddie Murphy movie The Nutty Professor so I knew “the handicaps of being fat”, as if the tight pants that I wore in grade 9 weren’t enough torture, and the fact that a girl I used to crush on once spanked my ass because it looked like a girl’s, damn it.

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I have never been handsome, smart, excelled in academics or athletics that I was a center of attention, and Lord knows how desperate I have been to get noticed somehow.

Am I confident in myself though? I would like to think I am. I have made peace with my “deficiencies”, focused on maximizing my strengths, and realized that what really matters in life is how you impact other peoples’ lives whilst just living your own, hence I have made it a personal mission of mine to make people feel good about themselves.

Again, am I really confident? I am not confident that if I ever asked Beyoncé out she would say yes, but I am confident that with my words I can make someone feel good about themselves as much as I’d like to believe Beyoncé does about herself.

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My aunt really screwed me over, but I’m partly to blame, I should have known making one more sandwich on a full stomach was a bad idea.

I have really struggled fitting in the society, so much that when I think back of college I only imagine the weirdo my classmates must have figured I was, and as for the rest of the schoolmates I doubt they even noticed me as I was defeated by painful hunger pains, abusive background, bad choices and a paraffin stove odor; I have truly come a long way.

God has blessed me; I have been through a storm and because of it I have learned some of the most valuable lessons in life; some which are more valuable than everything I ever learned in college, combined.

And for the last time, am I really confident in myself? Yes, so much that I don’t even need to prove it to no one. My life matters, I know it, I believe in it and I let it shine through every fiber of my being without making it anybody’s burden.

Amen.

Death

When my father was still alive, he was kind of dead to me.
And when he finally died for real, I cried desperately wishing he were still alive;
Even if it was just for me.

My Life Is Just One Big Awkward Moment

I am seriously anti-social. I have a slightly dysfunctional personality, needless to say it is almost impossible for me to interact with other people, “socially”.
I could go on forever really with my infamous excuses, “I’m too different”, “too shy” and “I just see the world too differently from everybody else, so I just choose to keep quite so I don’t offend anyone”.

But one thing I never say is (and probably the most truthful); “My life is just too awkward that everything I may say will turn even the most random conversation to an awkwardly uncomfortable one, and we both won’t like it”.

Questions I fear that most are; Do you ever fall in love? Where do you stay? Why are you always so quite? Where is your dad? And mom? Do you have any siblings? Why you never talk about them? And my most embarrassing; Why do you talk to yourself?
Yep, I do talk to myself, not as in thinking out loud but a proper conversation solely, similar to the one two or more people would have, make jokes, laugh out loud and even pat myself on the shoulder for my outstanding sense of humor. All that, by myself.

Maybe I am too afraid to open up to the world because of its judgmental nature, or maybe I’m just an obnoxious a**hole who has made peace with all of his misfortunes and doesn’t care what anybody thinks of him, or at least pretends not to.

I have tried multiple times to be more “social”, but I just tend to be too transparent and honest that I end up embarrassing myself or the person I’m being “social” with, either way, we both don’t enjoy it in the end.

I then created my own little world in my imagination, and so I talk to myself (friends), sing along to my headphones, and dance like nobody is watching.
I will be judged and be called names like “attention seeker” (like I always have) and I just will not pay no attention to it (like I always have), because I understand that they do not know my story, the cards I’ve been dealt, and why I make the choices I do.

Amen.