Lost in the dark, momentarily

Often, when alone in the dark of the night, I am afflicted by a terrible bug – the kind that causes you to question your existence on this good earth.

Why I am here? What is my purpose? Sometimes, this happens when I lie awake at night – thinking of moments lost, moments that could have been.

But I always find strength in the old memories. The light from my window shines onto a newspaper cutting of Nelson Mandela hanging on the wall to the right side of my bed. I am in the newspaper cutting too, looking up at one of the greatest men of this century. The two pictures are surrounded by a sea of words or so, an emotional portrait of my childhood and the part Mandela played in it.

I find a lot of comfort in the picture. If Mandela could overcome 27 years in prison and still come out smiling and ready to hug his jailers, then surely I can get over a broken heart or unfulfilled dreams. I certainly can get over not being able to get the scholarship I hoped for. It just means I have try harder or elsewhere.

When I look at that wall, I am reminded of my own journey in life. I am here to serve my people. I am reminded too of one very important thing. I am a product of my community – the mother who taught me everything I know, the dad who taught me to be me, the sister who will do anything for me, the friend who will cheer me on without fail..I am not alone.

Wwritten by Silence