14 June 2014 Saturday

The world has always been broken, I just did not know- none of us did. And now we are old and trying to fix ourselves and our parents’ mistakes. I remember I used to wake up and watch my mother sleep; for some odd reason when we are young we have no sleep and we get older we cannot get enough of sleep; anyway I used to watch my mother sleep and I think she could sense my eyes following the contours of her face, she would tell me with her eyes closed to get out of bed and make food. I would jump out of bed recklessly in hopes that she would wake up because I was bored when she was asleep and I awake. She would not wake up. I would walk out of the house with the bucket that was half filled with urine (because the house did not have a bathroom inside) and go out to the toilet to empty it; I would then rinse it and hang it upside down behind the toilet to dry. At the time my grandmother had a little vegetable garden, I would look at the corn shoots with pride and then go to the bush that had monkey tomatoes. I don’t know if that is what they are called in English but that’s the name my mother and grandmother gave them. This bush my grandmother did not plant, it somehow shot up on its own- my grandmother and mother would always tell me not to eat the fruit of the tree but you know children don’t listen very much. The fruit looked like tomatoes except they were very very tiny and unlike tomatoes, they were bitter, I enjoyed eating them because I was told not to, because in that moment of morning when dew drops slide down green grass shoots and the birds are feeding and the sun lazily rises and other lonely children like myself loiter the yards of their grandmothers, that moment was everything to me because a few minutes later my grandmother would wake and tell me to do my chores because you know what kind of adult would I become if I did not complete my chores. The world is broken, chores are a reminder of that it cannot be fixed and that brokenness is inevitable.

I am contemplating finishing the bar of dark chocolate I bought and whether I should wash the cup from which I drank hot chocolate. The former will probably happen and the latter probably won’t- I’ll wash it when I feel like it. I haven’t been feeling particularly well, after typing my symptoms into google it suggests I may have a urinary tract infection; I’ll know on Tuesday when I’ll go to the doctor. In the meanwhile I will pop painkillers like their sweets, drink lots of water and eat lots of yoghurt. My braids are heavy and killing my neck but I have no money to change my hairstyle and I’m too lazy to braid my own hair.
A few hours ago I feasted on half of a chicken and half a bar of dark chocolate but I’m still hungry. I can’t eat now, it’s quarter past eleven at night, and I’ll just have to force myself to sleep.  The hobo that was missing from his sleeping position a few nights ago is back- I’m happy for him or I guess for myself.
In a state of madness, that is trying to achieve my dreams in a world that remains constantly chaotic, brokenness is not such a bad thing and tomorrow I’ll hopefully wake up early to do my chores: wash my cup and my dirty clothes. I’m not saying it will definitely happen; I just hope it will.

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