Vulnerability and I

“I’ve been searching for the right words,
But I can’t even find an echo.
There are only twenty
Six letters I can use”

It’s three o’clock in the morning. The world around me is silent save for my neighbour’s crowing rooster. I’m staring at the ceiling and doing a terrible job at counting imaginary sheep. “54…69….72”, shit I missed a number.

“69…70…73…”ugh why am I having so much trouble counting? I’ve always been good at numbers. 

 I turn and lie on my stomach; maybe if I squash my chest against the mattress I’ll suffocate myself to sleep. Anything to keep these terrible thoughts ricocheting through my mind at bay. They show up as soon as I’m under the covers and only go away at daybreak. In a sick and ironic way, I’m thankful for them. When your life is constantly changing you have to appreciate the one thing that remains constant, even if it’s an internal monologue recounting all your failures and inadequacies.

There is a burning feeling in my chest as I chastise myself for all the time I’ve allowed fear to destroy something I value. The friends I’ve lost, the opportunities I’ve missed and the bridges I’ve burnt. 

“Remember that time in high school when you let yourself fail because you were too scared to say your exam paper was missing a page?” whispers a gnawing voice in my mind.

“How about the time, you skipped out on an interview because you were too nervous?” it persists. 

Scene after miserable scene, I replay all the instances I’ve sabotaged myself because I was timid. 

I wish I hadn’t been too proud, too arrogant, and too scared to offer an olive branch after disagreements. I’ve let so many people walk away because I was terrified of saying something. 

I wish I hadn’t been so terrified of embarrassing myself that I ended up taking disrespect. A particular memory comes to mind. I’m in a bus on my way to school.  The seat next to mine is occupied by a grotesque ogre donning a white turban on its head. His body is wrapped in a Masaai shuka that conveniently covers his hands. If someone had asked me, earlier in the day, how my afternoon would go I’d definitely not have guessed that I would get groped by a Mukurino yet here we are.  For a man whose church is keen on decency, his actions are extremely vile. 

It takes me a moment to gather enough courage to react. With as much nerve as I can muster, I yank the shuka and expose his grabby hands. I click my tongue and shoot him the death glare. For a moment he is startled and I’m confident that he will stop. To my dismay, I see his creepy hand reach out for me. There is no fight left in me. I simply scoot away from him whenever he tries his shit.  I make myself small. I cower away. Later in the day as I think about the encounter, I can’t help but feel disappointed by my inaction.  I should have done more than glare. I should have thrown a fit. I should have put that slimy ogre in its place. Why did I let fear hold me back?

The recurring theme in this early morning reveries is my relationship with vulnerability. It terrifies me. I make a point as I always do, to be braver and to embrace more risks come tomorrow. It’s a shame that when I wake up in the morning, these 3 am resolutions are banished to the darkest corner of my mind. Sigh, I wish daytime me was half as put together as 3 am me.