WRITTEN BY NZEH UCHE
I was born this way. Yes! I was: born with the eyes of a green horn and a truthful mouth. Born with a correspondent’s gene and swift ears, catching every vibration in the wind. A being, Laced with the curiosity of an eager beaver.
I am not alone. Millions are also born this way. But, no two lives are the same; the uniqueness of finger prints and the eye’s iris has proven this. On this matter, uniqueness and alteration are salient.
Reality says, “A life is altered by the associations kept, and these adulterations, comes within the course of a lifetime—irrespective of age, gender or group.”
Reality also says, “Success is a choice.”
I was initially perplexed, trying to figure out the connection to both statements. Then I stumbled onto facts.
Facts say, “What you imagine, you’d become.”
Stop there for a second—hold that thought I mean. What!
This was really unclear. Now, considering the three statements:
I had seen things. I’d seen many men—I inclusive, associate, make risky choices, even imagined hard to reach the peak of whatever the endeavour was, but with all three recipes, still failed.
I assumed ‘reality’ had lied. In my heart, I had sent ‘fact’ on an exile, for the majority of men didn’t turn out to be their long imaginations. These men, with time, felt and expressed anger at the conventional values of the society around them.
I needed to accuse someone of the falls, anyone, or anything at least. I did; the unknown. The unknown commits larceny—it takes men’s great future away. I wished to know where men got it all wrong. Which ingredient was wrongly used?
I was concerned because I wanted to attain wisdom and most especially, the brilliance of speech. But the healthy sense of style and the beautiful eyes of the unknown—that same unknown that kept watch over the fallen men, stared closely at me.
‘Unknown’ is a pseudo name—it’s called in different tongues; it all depends on how it affects an individual or group. It throws darts at innocent men who want to live above their world. Men dodge these darts, in turn, dodging opportunities.
This made some miserable. Was it their association or choices, or even their failure to imagine? This question became my mantra.
Unknown was meagre, it refused to share info on how to escape its yoke—it wanted to rule forever. It had made a name off men and enjoyed every moment of it.
It became obvious that no one could escape the unknown without determination—life was that cruel. It had to be taken by force.
I figured why men linked up—no one could survive without others. I wanted one or as many that would help me become an assaulter to the unknown.
I sought. Then, I discovered!
I now speak results—from a broken truth—sieved by nature itself. The words I utter, are not debased of any kind, neither are they merely joined alphabets. Their roots run much deeper than any deep reflection.
I found a friend; a friend who taught me how to run away in none befitting battles and handed me the bravura to win my wars. This friend built a wall around me and I was moulded within it. A shelter above me to shield me from the devouring claws of careless winds and made me a fire to help through the pores-opening cold nights.
A friend that has allies everywhere—it helped them become who they were now. Some I know, some I don’t, some I read of, some I’ve heard of, and some I’d hear of, uniting all with understanding and convictions. A friend who is always there for me and if it hadn’t, loneliness would have made life as pointless as the conversations we hear in the world today.
I am never made a strange of; never ridiculed by it and when men throw labels at me, it teaches me how to define and defend myself. I learn endurance and persistence, following the faith of crowned men.
Now, I can plan my life—knowing where I’m headed because dwelling with my loving friend gives me the components of a better tomorrow. It won’t be easy—nothing ever is, but I must push on. Push on, for every disappointment. Push on, for every rejection. Push on, for every regret. Push on, for every shame from falls, and also, push on, for love.
I don’t care if tongue must wag, neither do I care if eyes must twitch nor nose twist, in fact, all sorts of expressions in disgust to my association with my friend, but I would never stop loving my best friend LITERATURE, a true friend in need.
Finally, nature spoke: “Literature is the best friend anyone can get.”
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