Hard work is glorified. There is nothing quite like a 'good work ethic'. Wake up early, go to bed late. Stay up all night- as long as it's in the name of hard work. Break yourself. Do a dance with your shattering bones. Cry. Sweat. Bleed. Blood, sweat and tears season your success. Give talks. And speeches. Be read by millions. Die trying. Be heard by multitudes. Nothing is good if no one's applauding. If they aren't, you don't have enough followers. If you do not, you didn't try hard enough. Don't be lazy. Do not be lazy.
You'll be great.
You will. Don't entertain that What If. The one that thinks you won't. (Miss Khokwa said you write very well.)
What a waste of brains you are.
And you're not even trying.
(She asked for $60,000 to speak at our event. Isn't that how much you pay for school? That could put 6000 people through school for a whole term, actually.)
You need clothes for the summer. You need to hide your hair.
Your face is fat.
Your arms are hairy.
Your stomach has a life of its own.
You're not loving. You're not kind. You don't know who you are. You're not kind. (You've got to be kind.) But being kind is kind of like not littering in Lilongwe. If no one else is not doing it, then what's the point?
You know God's real, but you also know that men have added so much in the mix with him that sometimes it's hard to tell where the lines are.
You've got friends. You've got love. You've got a good family. But that's not enough.
Remember where it said in the bible that you can never really escape God's spirit? That he's there in the heights and depths and all that? You can also never escape chaos in the world. When it's not nuclear bombs terrorizing us, it's our own self-hate having a little bit of us three times a day like some sickening prescription. Isn't that ironic?
We're not required to save others. Oh, and before I forget, quitting is allowed. Not everything is deep. But everything has meaning.
10. Oblivion is a luxury I can no longer afford. Ignorance is a rusty trinket that's not quite as precious as I once thought it. I pine for both, on very frequent occasion.
9. My disposition isn't sunny. It's LED lights. The blinking ones that are screaming to be changed. 8. 8. I wish everyone in the world was poor. I wish all we had was play and constant conversation. Or lengthy silences drawn out for hours under the shy sun. Predictions of when the rain would fall that were based on the smell in the air, and the direction in which the birds flew.
So get this; most times, I don't feel like a writer. Because my will to write is seasonal. But my hunger to is constant. But what good is an appetite for mangoes when the tree hasn't borne them?
Hard work is frightening. Home sometimes is, too. From far, it's glorious. But close up, it's suffocating and pitiful. But home, still. And, I suppose I should add that it's hopeful. But sometimes I'm afraid that the damage that was done to it will last much longer than I'll live. I hate that my life's on display. That a large number of uninvited guests get to share in my life's most secret moments. If I had the head-shape, I'd be bald. If I had the drive right now, I'd be bold. Quitting is allowed.