When I was young, I believed somewhere deep within my unhappy self, that I would never make beyond the age of 30.
I would spend time agonising over ways I thought I’d die. I’d have recurring, near identical nightmares of me falling at splattering speed through towers of thick, cold grey, flashing cummulonimbus clouds. I’d wake up with a sweaty start!
For some reason, my over imaginative self thought that these nightmares meant that I was going into an early death.
However, over time, as I learnt to understand that nightmares were merely dreams I hadn’t befriended yet, and that with patience and understanding they bcould be totally transformed and shaped into stories of learned understanding and growth.
I learnt to appreciate the journey of the fall and that I needed to focus more on my surroundings in that fall. I began to listen out for the crisp tinkling of the icy hail, snow, and electricity in the rub of particles. To smile in the flash of lightning and the cradle of the bass of thunder.
I learnt to guide my fall feet first into the stillness of lakes that would waterslide me to a place where broken dreams build towers of fortitude and resilience and create gods out of men with wounded souls.
Today I’m 41.
It’s not been a cake walk. But god, it’s been worth every step. I’m loved. I’m appreciated and I’m learning to stand.
Soon I’ll be able to stand and learn to walk and so on…
Written by Frank Malaba
Frank Malaba Prosetry 