My Beautiful Witch Book
As a child, I read a lot. Books were my favorite hideaway. My dad would bring me forty books each holiday season and make sure I read them all in the one month I was supposed to be resting. I know it sounds like a punishment, but I loved it. When other children were watching cartoons and eating mud, I was cooped up in the house with a pacemaker. It was the perfect childhood, my perfect childhood.
I fell in love with Chinua Achebe at the age of ten. I especially loved three of his books, Things fall apart, No longer at ease and Anthills of the savanna. I remember repeating the story of Okonkwo and being fascinated by their traditions. Truth be said, I don’t think I ever understood the concept behind Anthills of the savanna, but I was only ten and intrigued by this world of paper.
Apart from Chinua Achebe, I had two other books that I carried around in my back pack. I don’t remember their titles but I remember that one was a book of poems by a Nigerian author. I repeated those poems so many times, they were basically my life. The other book still haunts my dreams to this day.
It talks about this twenty six year old lady who lives in an urban neighborhood, used to the modern lifestyle. Her life is turned upside down when her aunt passes on and lives her a huge Victorian mansion in the middle of nowhere. It’s about her journey to becoming a woman, finding love and coming to terms with the fact that her aunt was a witch, a good one, but a witch none the less. In my mind I picture the house as a place with beautiful flowers in the backyard, a place where magic resides and good vibes follow all those who live there. I am not sure if I introduced my young innocent mind to the complexity of the spiritual world too early but I still see the house in my sub conscious up to this day, I can actually see it right now.
If life has taught me anything, it is that I am actually not afraid of heights, I am afraid of the minute that my body will hit the ground. I am afraid of the agonizing pain it will bring. I am not afraid of loving, I am afraid of the day love will fade. There are no happy endings, just happy beginnings. I am not afraid of giving hugs, I have been told I am a terrible hugger, I am just obsessed with my personal space. I am not afraid of communicating, I am afraid of the response and sometimes that is a good thing. You see, if life has taught me anything, it is that stripping yourself bare has never been a good idea, life will steal your clothes and leave you naked, shivering in the cold. I have an odd fascination with hurricanes and how they destroy everything in their path. I have an obsession with milkshakes, especially the vanilla one, and how it melts in your mouth leaving you wanting more, much like life.
I am spiritual, not religious. I believe in a higher power, and that he created us and is always watching. I have got a box under my bed, overflowing with all my bad mistakes. I have got so many skeletons in my closet, so many so that I never go in there anymore, they scare me too. I have got a heart that has been ripped and shredded and yet it still beats. I am a contradiction. Easy to read, yet too hard to understand. I have been told I have abandonment issues, I laugh it off and hide behind my writing. Truthfully what gets me through most nights is my old Victorian mansion, with flowers and a magic spell that sends good vibes wherever I go.
Ps. I heard it’s mothers week, I haven’t celebrated any of these in like eight years but this year I am privileged to have one amazing woman in my life. Miriam Anyango, may God always watch over you. You have been such a blessing in my life. Thank you, for everything.
Until next time, live love and laugh. Send some good vibes to the mothers in our lives. Adios.
