I had missed two weeks of lectures and assignments with no prospect of hope. My mum had tried everything she could, but couldn’t get me the cash I needed. The sales weren’t forthcoming and it was difficult to get help.
The previous semester was a total shame for me as I had to feed off friends at school. I had managed well without the situation escalating. Needless to say, none of my friends at school knew how deeply unhappy I sometimes became due to my needs.
I was bored of lazying about. I got news about how much my classmates achieved daily. It became apparent I was missing out. I needed the money and I needed it fast.
The Determination Path
My mum came home a bit early one afternoon and went straight to her wooden wardrobe. She reached out to the top compartment. The top compartment was where my mum’s most prized clothes stalked up neatly. These were clothes of value, they gave her hope, possession of some sort.
In a polythene bag went 3 neatly folded attires. I knew what she was planning to do with these clothes. We both knew what she did with the last set she took a few weeks before now. The only option left was to make use of what she had.
I swallowed hard before asking her what she needed the clothes for. She looked at me, throw her head back and laughed. With this, she said, ” What do you think I would do with these?”. Then she continued, ” A friend asked me to borrow “.
I felt the melancholy in her laughter. I knew it was all lies. Within a few hours, my mum returned with some money, enough for me to return to university. The money was an exchange of the clothes she left home with. Of course, she had sold them cheaply at the second-hand market to grant me the option of returning back to school that semester.
I knew how much my mum loved her clothes, she wasn’t a party goer, but she was from an era where a good set of prized attires define who a woman was. One after the other, she had reached out to this little possession to put food on the table. With each one, she would say “Of what use are set of clothes when the stomach is empty ?”. With each one, she made promises of replacing, but she never did.
Looking For Way Out
I had to be prudent with the little she gave and study hard. To face my fear and be true to myself.
Such was the magnitude of my mother’s sacrifice. She defined the odds like many. We all gave up something for other things to shift. Yours might be giving up sugar to stay healthy or leaving a toxic relationship to regain sanity.
My Unblinking Option
Oh yes, I have danced the dance a couple of times. Dabble into many other options to make things work. But, here I am staring face to face with the fear that had kept me away from reality.
I am afraid to say I am a writer. Something tells me I am not good enough. That my writing sulks. Don’t blame me for this. I have my facts. There are more intelligent writers out there who define the true meaning of the art.
However, there is something about this craft I love. I love to write. Things I put in words are often better than what comes out of my mouth. There’s something about writing that resonates with my boring self. It sets me free.
In my case, the option of writing has been put aside for many years, I have shoved it in the closet to rot away, but it has reappeared long enough to be noticed with its full will and wit. It is time to concentrate on my writing, to show it some love and develop it to the maximum. From now on, any side hustle is to make this dream a reality.
Amidst all of these, I am open to constructive criticism, personal development and to be part of a community that not only encourage but add to my growth.
I am learning to say “I am a Writer”. The words are in their formation stage. I am intimidated by the stream of thoughts in people’s mind.
But, I am here with the only option. To write and maybe with this option, I might be able to say out loud (in the foreseeable future) “I AM A WRITER”.
This Post Has One Comment
Ride on girl let your pen speak volume . You inspire me with your writing