Onward

The words are freeing themselves from the pain.

I have been trapped between layers of vivid, burning emotion and angst; locked in a grid of restriction, control and expectation since birth.

For the first formative years of my life, I sat in a room with thirty others quite like myself, knowing I was different, trying to fit myself into something I did not understand or appreciate, but badly wanted to belong to.

We were allowed one hour for lunch each day, with a ten minute break for lunch and without fail, I was guided by the clock, counting down the moments to freedom.

The bell always made my nerves jerk forward, propelling me into excitement; I no longer had to listen or obey, but on some days even the playground was set in concrete, surrounded by imaginary lines; rules and things upon things which should not be said or done.

It was a confusing time that I thought would end with adulthood.

When I was obedient, it did not suit the students.

When I was unruly, the teachers got angry.

How can you please everyone?

By morphing, adaptation, shape shifting, dumbing down, folding, tearing yourself up into a million pieces, hoping one day, I would find them all again.

The Power Rangers morphed every afternoon between 4 and 4:30 p.m.

I was the pink one, who could do gymnastics, had long hair and a beautiful smile.

All the boys liked her and in my dreams all the boys liked me too.

When I saw my thick lips, large nose and gapped teeth in the mirror, I thought the face staring at me would somehow change during school hours because why would anyone want to be friends with someone who looked like this?

But somehow despite it all, one day I found myself staring at me with marvel.

“The only thing beautiful about you are your eyes.”

She said it with such conviction that I could have believed her, but I had spent time reading about self-esteem and I knew, without a doubt she was lying.

But I did not tell her so.

Because, to tell her how beautiful I knew I was, was to tell her that she thought herself ugly.

She was a popular girl.

I did not want to hurt her feelings.

It was a test that I almost passed.

It would be decades before I found the freedom to love myself unapologetically, to allow the light in me to shine so bright that I did the unthinkable to release it.

It would take thirteen years of hard core therapy, soul searching and self-acceptance, to identify the other things I was searching for.

My audacity to dream.

My audacity to dare.

My audacity to be myself.

How dare you be yourself in a society which is still subservient and searching for its own soul?

How dare you walk an uncharted path while slaves are still carrying the bridge their ancestors built?

How dare you set yourself free without their permission?

Haha.

The devil sits in the corner of my mind and chuckles quietly, longing for someone to provoke me.

But they are long gone, the critics, the ones inside and outside, have vanished.

Sometimes they visit but they do not stay for long.

The truth burns deep and bright; a shield against the words which once reduced me into a technical robot, settled at a desk, facing a computer and a beige wall for eight hours a day, with an hour for lunch.

Imprisonment.

The teachers have been replaced by supervisors and managers.

The class clown is now the dysfunctional and hopeless employee.

The fear of being evicted from class has been replaced by a fear of unemployment.

The wheel keeps turning.

However I am no longer a part of it.

I am free.

I am separate and apart.

I no longer have to pretend to be like the others in the box.

I no longer have to fit in.

I am more than creative

I am complex.

I am a synesthete.

I am talented.

I am an artist.

“Onward.”

Bio :

Valentina George is a writer, entrepreneur and law student. She loves orchids and enjoys horseback riding, watersports and meditation.