Burn the Past
In a world stripped of the tangles of emotion, where love’s sting and heartbreak’s shadow never touch, life might be simpler. But such dreams vanish when faced with the rawness of reality.
I saw it firsthand—the day my best friend’s spirit crumbled. His girlfriend, his anchor for years, had left. Tears carved tracks down his cheeks as he murmured, “Love’s pain is humanity’s curse.” Those words are anchored in my soul.
Memories, like old wounds, sometimes throb and ache. I find myself sighing, lost in their grip. Forgive my moodiness. While you might cherish love, I’ve chosen to step back from its embrace. Why, you ask? The sting of heartbreak is all too familiar.
Emilia radiated warmth and sincerity. One day, as a beggar approached, she didn’t think twice before draping her scarf over the frail woman, absorbing every word of her tale. That moment showcased her heart. Yet time unveiled her struggle to look beyond my condition. Despite her early compassion, she echoed the actions of those before her.
Enough with the detours. I’m Andrew Nwoye, thrice abandoned in love. Their parting words? “I thought I could cope with it, but I couldn’t.” Three strikes in the game of heartbreak.
On a quiet evening, Ikenna, with his towering frame and eyes that seemed to know the world’s secrets, joined me on my balcony. “Clara, with her laughter that could chase away storms, remember her?” I began.
I saw us again on a sunlit beach, her laughter mingling with the waves. But that light dimmed, replaced by shadows of doubt. Ikenna sipped his drink, his eyes understanding. “She fled from the whispers and stares. And Ada? She felt she couldn’t stand by my side.”
Ikenna’s voice softened. “Andrew, many have hurt you. But some will look beyond the disability and see the strength within.” His words wrapped around me like a comforting blanket.
At 35, while many find partners, I still search. Emilia, with her laughter and tales, seemed like a beacon. But she, like others, hesitated. My path, unlike most, is paved with trials, all stemming from my medical condition.
Every morning, the weight of cerebral palsy pins me to my bed, making each motion a battle. The simple act of brushing my teeth or buttoning my shirt feels like scaling a mountain. But every small victory, every conquered challenge, fuels my spirit.
Once, at a conference, my fingers stubbornly ignored my plea to grasp a fallen pen. A compassionate stranger, noticing my struggle, handed it to me, saying, “My cousin battles with cerebral palsy, too. It’s a rough path.” Walking, holding, even sitting straight—all feel like distant dreams.
In my electric wheelchair, I’d glide through the park, feeling the weight of countless eyes on me, each stare heavier than the last. Whispers, some pitying, others curious, trailed behind me.
Yet I steered through the sea of judgement, finding solace within myself. Many couldn’t see past the chair, and I often wondered if love would ever find me. Beyond my physical battles, society’s whispers and overt rejections scarred my heart. Every heartbreak echoed those biases.
However, one thing has always shone brightly in my life: my razor-sharp intellect. As a child, my mind set me apart, placing me in the spotlight. In university debates, my swift rebuttals earned even my opponents’ applause.
This mind, my unique gift, propelled me to become Nigeria’s sole professor of aeronautics. But for all the applause and accolades, a companion’s warmth eluded me. Emilia, for a fleeting moment, had filled that emptiness.
Lost in thought, I remembered the night I met Emilia. The grand ballroom of the governor’s state dinner shimmered in golden light. White-draped tables sparkled with crystal while the air buzzed with the mingled voices of politicians, magnates, and celebrities. Conversations flowed around me, punctuated by the soft notes of a piano. The evening wasn’t just about the governor’s achievements; it celebrated the state’s unity and progress.
The moment I spotted Emilia, her beauty took my breath away. She moved with an otherworldly grace, a blend of confidence and tenderness. Her raven-black wig accentuated her striking cheekbones and lips. But it was her deep, story-filled eyes that ensnared me. As she chatted with her friends, I wheeled closer. Our eyes locked, and I beckoned her over.
Emilia arrived, and together, we nestled into a secluded spot, shielded from the lively throngs. Her eyes lit up as she recounted tales from her journeys, her fingers animatedly sketching invisible paintings as she spoke of her art aspirations.
In return, I painted a picture of the skies, my heart’s pull towards aeronautics, and the adrenaline rush I felt when teaching. As stars began to pepper the sky, our laughter intertwined, and spirited debates sparked. There was an unspoken bond between us.
Emilia’s voice softened. “Andrew, it’s not our bodies that shape us, but the fire in our souls and the paths we choose.” Her words resonated, and I found myself lost in her profound insight.
Weeks melted away as our dialogues ventured into deeper waters, exploring dreams that kept us awake, shadows of our past, and fears that whispered in the dark. Through these heart-to-hearts, the depth of our four-month bond became clear.
Months flew, and our shadows seemed to merge; my disability appeared invisible in her gaze. Emilia unveiled chapters of her life, battles with self-worth, and the demons of doubt. Her stories whispered a promise that she looked past my physical limitations. One day, with her words of admiration echoing in my ears, I mustered the courage to ask her out, my heart torn between hope and fear.
Her lips curled. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask. Yes, Andrew, I want to stand by your side.” Euphoria wrapped around me. Yet, as days morphed into weeks, a chilling shift settled. Calls went unanswered, and our soulful exchanges were reduced to fleeting words.
Her once heartfelt laughter now echoed hollow. Our meetings grew scarce, and an unsettling distance loomed. Desperation clung to me. One dusk, her voice wavered, her eyes darting away, as she unearthed a chapter from her past—a love she believed was behind her.
Each word she uttered felt like ice piercing my heart. The ground beneath seemed to give way when she revealed her impending marriage to her ex. Desolation consumed me as she labelled me a ‘burden’. Why ignite a flame only to douse it? The answer remained elusive.
Amidst the storm, Ndidi stood firm, a beacon of unwavering support. Our bond, carved from mutual respect, stood in stark contrast. Her relentless faith in me was both puzzling and heartening.
Lost in the whirlwind of memories, a sharp ring jolted me back. Glancing at the screen, a sigh escaped my lips. Ndidi. Her persistence, fueled by her experiences with a disabled younger brother, never waned. She championed the idea that my journey could light the way for others.
“Join me,” she’d often urge. “Visit the centre for these children. Show them that challenges don’t define greatness.” Her words tugged at my heart, but doubt lingered. Would I be an emblem of hope or a symbol of bitterness? These thoughts I buried deep.
“Ndidi, how have you been?” I greeted.
“Andrew, are you set?” Her voice brimmed with anticipation. Before I could muster a response, we were en route to the centre. As we drove, I hoped my presence would bring a glimmer of hope to those young souls. Ndidi’s fervour was palpable, her belief unwavering. Gazing at the eager faces of the children later, her words resonated deeply.
The staff of the centre greeted us with open arms, leading us to the children. Vibrant murals of superheroes and biblical figures adorned the walls, turning the centre into a sanctuary.
Outside, children’s laughter filled the air as they played on specially designed swings and slides. Within, classrooms brimmed with resources crafted just for them. Every corner radiated an aura of love, care, and unwavering commitment.
Watching those children, each with their own unique challenges, yet laughing and playing with such zest, tears I hadn’t shed since Emilia’s departure welled up in my eyes. A spirited girl sporting a prosthetic leg dashed by, her laughter filling the room.
Nearby, a boy with uniquely shaped hands crafted a mesmerising painting with brushes strapped to his wrists. Their infectious joy and unyielding spirit choked me up.
Golden sunlight poured through the windows, painting their faces with a warm glow. Their laughter, a melody of hope and strength, danced in the air. I approached cautiously, not wishing to interrupt their moment of joy.
Yet their chatter hushed as they sensed our presence. Their matron stepped forward, explaining that I, too, had faced challenges and wished to share my story. She then stepped back, giving me the floor.
As I faced them, words initially eluded me. Yet, gazing into their eyes, I recognised familiar shadows of doubt and fear. Determined to dispel those shadows, I yearned for them to see past their physical challenges and realise that their dreams and spirit were their true essence.
“My dear friends,” I began, my smile genuine and warm, “have you ever felt different from others?” Many nodded, while some eyes remained fixed on me, searching. “That very difference is your strength. It’s your signature. I’m sure each of you dreams of a future, perhaps as a visionary composer who can’t see or a brilliant doctor of shorter stature. Such paths not only sound incredible but also leave an indelible mark. Trust me, I’ve walked this journey.
“How many of you have felt the sting of unkind words because of your appearance?” Every hand shot up. I nodded. “It’s painful; I understand. But remember, people often fear what they don’t understand. It’s natural to feel hurt and to shed tears. Yet, rise each time stronger and more determined. When you shine, critics will be silenced, and any whispers behind your back will be inconsequential.
“Remember, the world awaits those who dare to be different, to make a difference.” As my words settled, moist eyes met mine. Some children dabbed at their tears, while others sat taller, their faces alight with determination.
A young boy up front, eyes brimming with tears, gazed at me, his expression a blend of hope and uncertainty, wondering if such a destiny awaited him.
For three hours, I lost myself in their infectious laughter, forging bonds with these young souls. Each child’s eyes held tales of dreams and battles, lighting up the room with hope.
Their giggles and their unwavering spirit painted a picture of love far removed from romantic tales yet equally deep. In their joy, I discovered layers of love I’d never known. This, too, was love. And in that moment, it filled my heart.
As we exchanged tales and aspirations, I grasped that love extended beyond mere romance. It wove a tapestry of connections, understanding, and acceptance. My fleeting moments with Emilia had taught me about the ephemeral nature of some bonds, but the deep connection I felt with these children spoke of love’s unyielding strength. Perhaps I’d misunderstood love all along.
Upon reaching home, I penned a message to Emilia, expressing my wish to be present at her wedding. Had I missed mentioning it? My apologies. In a mere three weeks, she’d be walking down the aisle.
Though her choice had stung, it had also ushered in introspection. I came to see that love wasn’t solely about seeking a partner but also about understanding oneself and embracing inner peace. Perhaps love deserves another shot from me.
Perhaps.
