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I don’t know what parents tell their kids when they become adults, but when I turned eighteen my dad woke up, gave me a huge hug and said, “I can’t believe you’re finally free to buy achohol.” (Weird right?) And just like that we laughed it off and i never put much thought into what he said.

Looking down at my scorecard on three years of adulthood, i couldn’t concur more with the saying, “Once a teacher always a teacher,” and add ” and whatever they say wherever or however they say it, there’s a lesson.” I came to realize my old man’s humor talk was actually a sugarcoated phrase of “with freedom comes responsibility.” You see, college is more than an instituion for others. It means freedom. Freedom from nagging folks, freedom of wearing what you want, eating what you want, doing what you want or even going where you want without answering to anyone but yourself. And what have i been doing with my freedom? Little this, little that.

Those few years have really been fun. Buying my own stuff deciding if I wanted to eat or not, deciding if I wanted to get fat or not…you know, that sort of thing. And it really blossomed my heart. But then, I wish I could say it was all shine, but it wasn’t. I’ve failed,been broke, paid, hungry and full, lied and lied to, taken advantage of, cheated on, heartbroken… And to think the devil had given up, I lost my brother! Meeen, I wish I could go into details and explain to you how hard it got sometimes. How hard it was to watch things go south and no matter how much my shaken soul wanted to change them, I just couldn’t.

People think they know me because am that person who laughs so hard and so long and will hardly cry in public unless it is something I can’t control. But they dont. Not really. Actually, I cry often times, because it hurts. It does. I guess you could say it hurts to be me. No, am not being mean…am just being honest.

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(You can just stare at this photo and forget how sad this story is)

As I was busy giving up, the earth rotated, the sun rose in the East and set on the West, the moon still came out at night… in short life continued. But then, let’s just say God will always be God. It’d be rude not to give credit where it’s due; so to my friends Richard Nyamanga and Griffins Ndhine (with respect to writing) i wouldn’t be back on my feet if you guys never realized my head was taking too much time in the clouds.

Today when I look at myself in the mirror, I don’t start whining how dark, unfit or twisted I am, I just smile and thank God for everything because I don’t see loss, or pain or heartbreak anymore. I see a strong woman who learnt her lesson and is ready to dust herself off because on the ground is the last place she wants to be. So as I turn on a new leaf on my 21st birthday, I can’t promise to be perfect but hopelessness is a dish I no longer serve. And when the road becomes endlessly bumpy, I’ll always remind myself how the alternative is too awful to contemplate.

Thanks for coming by

With love…

Sharoe

0 thoughts on “Her Version Of 1,095 Days

  1. Wooooow a really touching story… which leaves one yearning to read more yet so captivating and delirious
    Kudos
    And happy birthday in advance

      1. Anytime. We love seeing you being introspective, contemplative and much more being original. Hoping to read more of your masterpieces, we readers get insights into your work, believe you me.

  2. Great stuff. Looking at other comments, I need not to add anything. Maybe an advice, we all believe that there’s great potential in you, but remember what really matters is what you see in you, you are the one to set your own limit. So, go for it and continue making us proud. Looking forward to reading your first book..

  3. There is something about what you write i can’t really explain but its captivating. You can’t stop reading when you begin. And interesting as it gets you realize .OH it’s over… Hahah… Thumbs up namsey

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