I looked through the window and I saw the great nebula. It was immeasurable. My heart pounded fast, the judge was about to say his last words.

I felt like the death sentence lay in ambush along the corridors of power. I looked where he was seated, he was solemn.

I knew what he was about to say was not debatable. The courtroom was silent. As they say, silence is golden.

Fear was written all over my face. I had feared what the judge might say, but there was no turning back. Either way I had to face my fears sooner or later.

“I have gone through the papers and I heard everything that was said. The parents of this boy are divorcing, and they don’t want anything to do with him. But luckily enough an old lady, who happens to be the grandmother, is willing to take this boy as her own. The court is adjourned,” the judge said.

Then the judge left the room, along with everyone else.

I walked home with my grandmother. It was drizzling,; at least no one will ould notice my tears.

My head was full of questions. How could my own parents reject me? I am only 15 years old. What did I do to have such a horrific experience?

My heart was shattered. I felt like I had been stabbed in my back by a sharp knife. I was angry, even the mightiest rain would not calm the rage of anger I had.

I was so deep in my thoughts that I couldn’t even hear my grandmother calling me.

“Sunday! Sunday!” my grandmother called.

“Granny…” I answered her with my broken voice.

“What happened today was meant to happen, don’t blame yourself. Be grateful that I was there to take you with me. Otherwise you would be homeless by now. Remember, your name is Sunday, that means you are the believer. You should have faith in God and yourself,” my grandmother said, trying to calm me down.

“Grandmother, tell me, what is the point of my existence when those I love don’t remember I exist?”

“Only God knows the point of your existence, I can’t answer that question.”

I just nodded my head and continued to walk. I was out of words. No one deserves to be rejected.

We arrived home,. tThe house was nothing compared to where I used to live. It was a four-room, built of mud. One could see that if a great storm came, we could be homeless.

A few months passed after I started living with my grandmother and two other siblings.

Life was hard, dinner was a casual affair. We would eat bread off a newspaper, and drink water from a can. Other days we would go to bed hungry.

Even though life was difficult, my grandmother tried her best to make me strong. She would tell me that a man’s weakness shows his emotions in public, so I had to be strong. So I had to lie to my grandmother and pretend as if everything was fine. I had to move faster than my shade, not because of guilt but because of failure of acceptance.

One day it happened that I was singing on the streets. A man approached me.

“Good evening, boy, you have a great voice. How old are you?” the man said.

“Thank you, my name is Sunday and I am 16 years old,” I said, with a bit of confusion.

“Nice to meet you, my apologies, I forgot to introduce myself. I am Jackson Smith. I am a music producer and a director. With the voice that you have I would love to make you a star, if only you would allow me.”

From that day my life changed, I became a singer. I changed my grandmother’s and siblings’ lives.

I was no longer a pretender, instead I was a contender. Now I know for sure that when you are rejected, it is when you are directed to the right place.


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