Day 8: Something I Am Currently Worrying About
In the recent past, a Kenyan on twitter asked the question Nini inasumbua roho yako? which loosely translates to what is troubling your heart? As surprised as I was, people actually opened up. From those who were worried about being diagnosed with cancer and not being able to afford the treatment, to those with ageing parents who closely depended on them. Others were afraid of the security in the country, others worried about the fathers they have never met. And yes, others were still disturbed by the fact that not only was our national anthem translated from Oh God of All Creation to Eh Mungu Nguvu Yetu, but was also copyrighted by another firm in a different country.
But this is not about them, it is about what is worrying me. And that is ME.
So, I am worried about the simplest of things that have to do with me. I am worrying about the decisions I make every day, wondering whether they are the right ones, or I am acting on instinct rather than rational thought. I am worried about the decisions I have made about my hair. Worried that someday someone will ask me a simple question such as ‘why does your hair look like that?’ Worried even more than I would not give them an answer they would be looking forward to, because my answer wouldn’t be far from ‘I like it that way’. And worried also because I don’t know whether that will be the beginning of my downfall, or the start of something new and interesting.
I am worried about my decision to stay alone, despite all the dangers I have been warned come along with that. Like falling sick and not being able to even move. Like being accustomed to slow and silent life. Like the probability of death. And that is which worries me a lot.
I am worried about dying while still tucked in my bed, or sliding in the bathroom, hitting my head on the toilet seat and bleeding to death, or falling sick for days and helplessly watch my body waste away. I am worried that my breath will not warn me before letting go. That it will just go in one snap. But I am more worried of no one noticing I was dead until the neighbours complain of a foul smell. Or until that loud neighbour who plays their music a little bit louder, comes around asking for music, knocks for a couple of minutes, and as impatient as she is, walks away back to her house. I love her though. She knows how to give people their space.
I am worried that moments after my decomposing body is found, people will be ignorant enough to type R.I.P. on my social media timelines, pretending to be shocked to hear about my death, going around with the disgusting ‘kwani alikua na stress na hasemi?’ ‘na mbona alikua anaishi peke yake?’ ‘na tuliongea tu juzi aki.’ Humans!
Others will be ignorant enough to type ‘Is this true?’ on my Facebook wall. And I am worried no one will be bold enough to tell them I didn’t die. I had just gone to check how it feels like to be six feet under, with a pile of cold soil on top of you. I am worried that after I die, my phone will be the busiest, with people constantly calling with the hope that I would pick up, before they immediately become in charge of the committee responsible of printing t-shirts with my image and name, bearing those Bible verses people love to use when someone dies.
They will only realise I was one of them after I died.
I am worried about having a hard time getting along with people at my work place, because as much as I love my work, and I have the coolest bosses on earth, I like to think that patriarchy was born here. I am worried that they will misunderstand me when I tell them I am not working so that I will be a wife to someone someday. Or so that I could cook for them. Or bear children. I am worried that they don’t understand when I tell them there is more to womanhood than the basic ties they attach to women. That they will not understand when I tell them I am a woman who knows what I want, where to get it, and how to get it. That I will come out too strong for them. That they have already labelled me as proud.
And I am worried by the fact that they will wait for me to change my perspective, and I will smile when they realise it will never happen their way.
I am worried about friendships and how quickly they fade with distance. One day you are all over each other, the next you never see them at all, and your interaction is limited to the Facebook timeline where you have resorted to liking whatever they post, no matter how absurd it may sound. I am worried about the bond that weakens faster than I imagined, and that I have to let go of people who know too much of me. But what worries me more is the fact that our memories no longer come with nostalgia, and I am even more worried that they do not feel the same.
I am worried about settling. Be it in marriage, or work or life in general. I am worried that I might turn out to be a boring partner. That my husband will one day leave for work, or the gym, or for a friend’s place and will never come back. I am worried that I may never have the courage to call them and ask what happened, because high chances are that they will lie. So, I will stay in the house and adapt to my new status. I am worried that I will get tired of the monotony, and I will lack the very courage to tell them we need to bring back the spark and thrill.
I am worried that I may be the limiting factor. That he may be afraid to try out new things because of me. That he will care about me too much I will forget how it feels to have a void. That he will fill me in all the right places, and I will slowly transition into him. I am worried that I will be addicted to him, and I will be crashed when and if he decides to leave.
I am afraid that one day we will look into each other’s eyes and realise we were truly meant for each other. And the joy in that moment will be too much I will have to lean into him for support.
Also, I am afraid that one day, the sound that my throat makes when I gulp water, will stop being another reason to laugh. And I will have to leave the room every time I want to have a drink.
I am worried about the amount of wants I have, and more worried about the reality that they will take time to accumulate. That I will have to calm down at times, and teach myself how to breathe slow. That there are days I will hit rock bottom and lack the strength to even lift my head. That I will not fit into my clothes anymore. That people will go silent when I walk into a room, or burst into a laughter when I walk out of it.
I am worried bout my books and my writing. About the book I so want to finish but every day I look at it and feel it is not yet time to let it out. About this blog and whether it really serves the purpose it is meant for; taking travel through one’s life struggles, and coming into terms with who you are, and finally having the boldness to speak your heart.
So, I am a little bundle of worry. And that worries me too.
See you tomorrow!!
