ASHES, AND DUST. (PT. 1)

To be honest, I never thought I’d one day be writing about this. I never even thought that something so little could affect me so much.

At a point, I didn’t know if I was angry at myself for feeling so low, or I was angry at the scar which made me feel so low. I failed myself. But today, I am writing to tell you that it doesn’t matter. You’re human. It is okay to fall short sometimes, and when you do be sure to pick something up.

Major key.

Almost a year ago, I had a motorcycle incident where my legs touched the exhaust pipe and as such were burnt or scared. My both legs. So they looked like eyes. Initially I laughed it off, didn’t think much of this. Didn’t really pay much attention to treating it, I just tried applying somethings on it few times, then gave up. I am guessing that it felt better if I didn’t remember that I had a scar. That period, I wore lots of trousers to school to avoid getting questions on how it came about. It was easier.

It didn’t get any nicer when I got home, as my parents kept complaining of the distance from where I lived to school, and how the bike incident came about . And again brought up the topic of my moving to the hostel. Then it started getting to me. Slowly, and slowly, through words, I started allowing it become a part of me. Sometimes people did not even notice that I had an injury, so Iย had to show them,not for the pity, but for them to know and just take me as I am. Now that I think of it, maybe I wanted a little sympathy, but hid it under the guise of being “okay” with it. It got to a point when I felt like I wasn’t good enough, or not fine enough. You see, I have to an extent always been that skin/health conscious person. I was that child that’d drink all the bitter mixtures and eat all the fruits once I was told that it would make me internally healthier and physically fresh. Fresh here meaning that my skin would be popping. The kind of student to use shea ย butter in secondary school diligently as my daily lotion or cream, even though alot of people hated the smell, and most of them didn’t expect me to be using it. I was afterall a “tech” girl. But I did not care. As long as it was going to give me better skin, why not?!

Slowly as the insecurities crept in, I started seeing myself suddenly crying when I was alone. I felt unwanted. I would be on my Instagram feed and see some really pretty ladies (not the superficial fake big bummed ladies), and would instantly notice how nice their legs were. Then reminded myself that I wouldn’t be able to show legs anymore, as that is the level of body show-off I thrive on. Nothing more. Legs are all the body exposure I needed. When I was alone, it was self-torture all along.

Then, it happened. I heard that my friend’s nephew whom had cancer and had been on my lips during prayers had died. I can’t even explain how much I cried. I don’t even know if I was crying because of his loss, or because it seemed like the universe was against me.

To be continued…

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19 thoughts on “ASHES, AND DUST. (PT. 1)

  1. ChukaUwakwe

    I must confess, I love ur write ups…… .. I’ve been reading๐Ÿ˜‰๐Ÿ˜‰.. …

    So please, finish up๐Ÿ™๐Ÿ™๐Ÿ™

    Like

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