Meredith Grey says,
“We’re all damaged, it seems. Some of us more than others. We carry the damage with us from childhood, then as grown-ups, we give as good as we get. Ultimately, we all do damage. And then, we set about the business of fixing whatever we can.”
I was born with two hearts. The doctors took out one. They said it had an unstable heartbeat and it was dark like dirty oil on the mechanic’s hands. I was born different, an anomaly. My parents were told I would die. So they made made me a small casket and in it they filled with the finest wood shavings. The owl cried for seven days. And the entire village held the funeral, my funeral, because I was dead, because I was supposed to. They had to bury the empty casket. Now they call me the one who defied death. There is something mysterious about life. About OUR lives. We were born to the fringes of the society. We are the fringes.
The home of my madness, of my demons and those of others. We don’t exist. We never did, out there no. We exist here, in the midnight hour with the help of Sade’s Smooth Operator. We are in the darkness, because we were born deformed and we might die naked. This space is our political battleground, where our demons fight the gods and win. Here we matter, we make sense because, we have blood and hearts.
And sometimes, the horses might run unbridled for too long,
prompting a process of peeling the layers of an onion
and coming to terms with a life of authenticity, coming out in the African fashion
again it is process, an arduous one.
The stories continue
Even in the midst of living in the closet
at the backdrop of societal nonacceptance,
we choose to find the meaning of who we are,
triumphing in the secrecy of our lives and the torment of our shackles.
We learn to be happy and make sense of our dreams.
And like horses, we run unbridledly in the closets we live in.
This is our space, these are our stories.