The Man in the Selfie: A tale of true self-love.

“You are not special, you are just different.”

 

Every morning I look at him, a couple of times. Twice. Thrice. Always never sure why or what I’m looking for. Answers perhaps. I do have a tonne of unanswered questions. It’s not like I don’t know him, I do. At most, two-thirds of what makes him. I mean, who else could know him better than I do. Our bond has only grown stronger over time. I remember when we were young, I used to look at him like that way thou it was a little different then. We used broken mirrors and only got parts of the bigger reflection. Looking at him in the selfie now, his whole reflection is still intact but a little blurry here and there. I guess that my cue to invest in an iPhone. 

When I starred at him then, it always ended up being something more than just some starring contest. It could be both of us laughing or crying. Hard. We had arguments, shrinking sessions and sometimes it was just good old pimple popping. He was quite helpful, he still is. I pray he forever stays that way.

I was a powerful public speaker in my teen years and he was always my first audience. He taught me how to plagiarize back when we weren’t smart enough to scribble a three-page speech by ourselves. He had mastered the art. There was a motivational piece in every Sunday Mail or The Herald either by Milton Kamwendo or Authur Marara. Thank the heavens my older brother religiously consumed the propaganda from those papers. It was easy to get them, he would just look so serious while slowly flipping over the pages one by one and making sure we made enough noise to alert Bhudhi Fraddy of what’s happening. The assumption was he would quickly fall in love with the idea of a 16-year old who has a genuine interest in current affairs and leave us with the paper. A phrase, sentence or paragraph from each piece was enough to prepare for a badass work of oral art. FYI, there were brilliant works of art. He was creative and his creativity took me places, to say the least. Creativity, in a conducive space, could take you places. My confidence in him was intense and it still is. Oh, and did I mention he was a prayer warrior. Yeeess! He was. Honestly, he was nothing short of special, perfect in his own way. I loved him. 

I’m sure by now you have established how fond of him I was. It was hard not to be. There was a point I wasn’t so sure thou. I sure did appreciate the exposure but it seems with it came seeds of self-loathing, low self-esteem and some kind of an unquenchable thirst. I didn’t abandon him when the seeds gradually grew into demons that fed on him from the inside and I was right not to. All we did then was looking for comfort in any agreeable form. Lord, I hate how much human beings are sophisticated creatures of want. But then again I hate the images I see when I imagine what we could have been if we didn’t want so much. He too wanted. And so did I. We wanted to be and to go. If you really think about it, everyone works so tirelessly to become something and/or go somewhere. It's just that the processes are so different that we even fail to notice that we all want the same thing. Comfort.

 

Back to the man in the selfie, if you paid enough attention to everything I have said so far you must have figured out a lot happened between then and now. He is still the same person. He also might have changed. Significantly so. Like I mentioned, a lot happened between then and now. Confusing, I know. My feelings for him could be a little puzzling at times but I’m convinced that I love him. He is neither where I wanted him to be nor what I expected him to be but I still hold on to him dearly. I see the dissatisfaction in his eyes. It could be unhealthy. But who am I to be so hard on him, his world is just carved that way. Besides, it’s the dissatisfaction that drives him and you. Or maybe not, we would never really know would we now? 

When I look at him, I see a marvellous creation. A whole vibe, quite unique yet a total cliche. I made him, steered him in a particular direction, picking our struggles and some we stumbled upon them. We made decisions, never certain if there are good, we always did what felt right at each moment. It was an adventure. He is yet to go somewhere, to become something…

 

MORAL OF THE STORY: Love yourself, deeply. Don’t just live, exist, loudly. Experience each moment as it comes, moments expire.