The Great Everywhere
(Space All Around)
The Distance Between Us
Sometimes, I stand in the middle of the stoep in my backyard. Thinking about my time in the Universe so far. My position in it. I have moved houses four times already with my parents, and I wonder what that says about where I have ever belonged. Planting a tree with mom outside my bedroom window at our third home; and by the time it was as tall as our house, I had already left. I grew up more miles away from it that I imagined I would. Otherwise, I would have kicked rocks instead of smiling at everyone to make friends.
I remember how loved I was by my neighbors at that house. Yet, somehow, I am loathed by the wrinkly woman next door at our present house. I have to tiptoe if I want to catch some sunshine, so that she does not spot me. She keeps to her front yard, staring into the street as if she is thousands of light years away from us. Us in our short skirts talking with the boys who dream of rap careers. "The awful youth of today" written all over her weary eyes.
The Shelves At Home
My mind wanders to my bra strap falling off my shoulders, as I walked carrying all my groceries home. It was a few times this has happened. I had to wait until I got home to put down those canned beans and cereal box-filled plastic bags, to pull the strap back into its place. Where it belonged. Right after, I placed my food up into the cupboards – where it all belonged. Each tin can, each box, each tub, and carton, and jar, as well as the egg tray. Remember how we used to make paper mache cups and plates with those back in the day?
How does every little thing in the world have its own space? My bra strap that goes on my shoulder, the peanut butter jar goes to the far right on the second top shelf, the tinned foods go to the left, everything everywhere. Grocery shopping is such an awful day.
My Face
My mother quickly calls out my name when this happens. When I fall into the hole where my memories live. It makes me feel like a crazy person. I assure her each time, "I am fine". Although, she never asks what goes on when I space out. I bet she has her own assumptions.
When I come back to what is in front of me, it feels like I was building an Island in there: my own little world where the ocean runs free and the sand speaks. My mind allows me to travel wild to the most creative places there are, or simply consider every dark spot on my face. None of those belong there, by the way. How awful they are to stay.
Their Minds
When I am not thinking about random things, I am on the dreadful internet. Where the good Earth folk torch each other alive. I look for fashion inspiration and writing prompts. I never want to see slick comments about Black women. Their stench marks and dark, uneven skin tones. How some of them have no hair and this makes them less beautiful. How sassy they are in the streets. How they are into KPOP now because their Racial Identity is forever lost; they should hate themselves less and stay in their place. How kind of User087543456899 to be so considerate of me.
However, I must say, what a small box I occupy in his head. If only we created large rooms with expensive chandeliers and Leonardo Da Vinci paintings hanging on the walls, for those groups of people we give time to in our heads. I think me and my coarse hair deserve more than your clever, uncalled-for judgements. We should be regarded as the individuals we are. It is so awful, so small this dress African women must wear to amuse yourselves. I have had my own dresses to wear since the day I learned how to walk, thank you very much.
The Garden
Sometimes, I wear the dress of a woman who loves flowers. I water them for a few hours, or I take pictures with them. It is an innocent friendship we have. The outside is beautiful if you think about it, if you go to it. That is, if you have opened your gates to lilies and roses of different colours, or those purple flowers with long thin petals – I never learned what they are called. The ones with a yellow pistil.
I simply know that I sometimes wish there were lavenders. Although, these are beautiful in their own right to exist freely here. The world is for everything. It is awfully incredible how every home has room for a garden. The sunlight, too, is awfully ever-welcoming.
The Stars
And it all began from above. The above where our eyes cannot really see, apart from the satellite photographs and scientific equations. We all know the sun stays rooted in the same place. However, does it not feel as if it loses its space at night?
Much like that tree falling in the middle of a forest that ceases to exist simply because I am having coffee in my living room, watching the news about elections and COVID-19 updates. Much like me ceasing to exist because Betty Truman from some neighborhood in Canada cannot, for the life of her, imagine my existence.
In all of this, I prefer the space in my soulmate’s eyes. So much like how I know the sun is where it always is, no matter where the arms of the old clock on our kitchen wall go. The world is awfully a lot of space.
Glossary
Stoep is a South African term for the veranda outside your doors enclosed by a mini extended roofing. Many houses where I come from have one in the front and back. Otherwise known as a porch or deck.
This is for MWC Space.
I thank you for taking the time to read my reflections.
