I stand to be corrected, because I think otherwise. I am who I am because I choose to. I myself have done that and find myself paranoid and confused when things fall apart. This environment confuses me. My circumstances are my wounds. Like puss oozing from a stale wound, so are my fears and my endorsed low self-esteem. This cocoon needs to fall off. Yes it has to, before sunset.

Priests and preachers always are constantly giving us assurances of how important each and every person is. Jah man, I’ve heard it mentioned on those sermons that our uniqueness is a cause for celebration because God Almighty created us wonderfully and fearfully. Alas, we choose not to take that encouragement and think otherwise. At times I become restless when negativity infiltrates in my life – like fuel through fuel filters in a car.

Someone once said to me, “Only through communication can human life hold meaning.” It’s not people’s comments that make me. It’s not my fears, worries, or the ugly names that people call me by that makes me who I am. Surely their imposition is truly not me. I’m a young, brilliant person with a bright future lying ahead of me. My imposed fears still follow me everywhere I go. Why then is it that no one, not even an infant believes or recognizes me or my endeavours? It matters not for I need to remember that I am wonderfully made.

This reminds me one of a poem I wrote in my first year at high school; trying to keep myself going, especially trying not to succumb to teenage pressures. I wrote it to try and remind myself that I need to define my life then no peers will have to do that for me. Maybe, I picked this attitude from my humble background, where we didn’t have fancy things to show off with, yet we were decent enough to be among other people. After a history lesson on revolution, people called me names such as zinjanthropus, man of Zinji. I took my pen and wrote this poem:

I am who I am
Because I choose to
A glass to be broken
Or an iron pillar to lean on,
Or a rose growing from concrete;
One sure fact is, every rose has damaged petals
Sometimes eaten by a canker
Oh gosh! Honestly, name calling is barbaric and
A sore in the eye, though we try to sail above the tirade.
They say we are born to suffer, or we live to suffer,
But I say everyone can change the course of the river’s flow
By standing against all odds, standing up straight with shoulders up
And say to oneself,
“I am fearfully and wonderfully made, I am who the creator says I am.”

Those are some of the memories I reminisce on. Now, they’re history. Back to my story, since the day I was born, life has never been fair to me. What an understatement! I mean to say, that from the day I was conceived, it was an uphill battle for my mother I was told. My so-called father disappeared into thin air, like the fumes of the city of Johannesburg factories.

I blame both parents for their efforts and endeavours to bring me into this world. I don’t understand why they tried to establish a family when they were both still in high school. They couldn’t take care of their Life Sciences text books yet they thought that they would be able to take care of me.

***

Tell us what you think: Do you also believe that you are wonderfully and fearfully made?