Diaries of a Divergent Soul

My first Patient, My second greatest pain

There he was. Tall, dark and handsome. A complete personification of what masculinity entails or as Kim would put it, “six o’clock on the dot”. Spontaneous, unpredictable and free spirited, it was only a matter of time till he swept her off her feet with his charm and in no time, she found herself fighting a futile battle of resistance. Hers was a unique taste fore she entertained only the Rarest kind and he was not so far off the bar. She was complicated in her simplicity and was a blend of an addictable drug and the black rose of Turkey.

As captivating as he was to her naked eye, as dangerous as he was to her heart and as appealing as he was to her broken self, it was clear he wasn’t all that she longed for. He was no Prince Charming neither was he what she dreamt of in a winter night, but he was one thing. He was the “it” or is it that he possessed the “it” that made her stick around for so long. The ‘it’ that kept her awake at night. The ‘it’ that gave her the strength to tolerate bullshit. The “It” that made her helplessly fall for him and the same ‘it’ that was the cause of a few drops of tears before bed. Till now she has not been really sure what the “it” was or is.

She had never really admired easy. She always thought easy was boring. And easy, he did not give her. He gave her that which was attractive to her broken self. That which kept her brain as restless as ever, that which made her think deep and hard and above all that which kept her on her feet. But could it be that it became all too overwhelming for her?

Stone cold, he portrayed himself but each time she stared straight into his eyes, she would be taken to another world, a different world, one that he did not like to talk about. He oozed of mystery, enticing mystery and attractive mystery. From the seven strong walls, to the naggings, from the heart bores to the never ending tantrums, theirs are memories worth keeping.

The thought of letting go terrifies her as she knows not was lies ahead. The thought of someone else holding him the way she did makes her sick to her stomach. The heart ache she gets on a calm sunny day when memories flood in, convince her she might actually have felt something deep for his person.

Bona fide she hopes all will be well with her.

                  It wasn’t a second cut, it was a deep opening

                  on an already existing wound and she can

                  only hope will heal someday.

Theirs was not a relationship nurtured, it was one that withered before it even bloomed. A homeless love that will always have constant what ifs engraved to it.

“You and me and never us, a complicated series of almost interactions.” 


We live in a world with labels, a world where you are but a misfit if you choose to ignore the social constructs. We carry these mental tags around and freely give them to both willing and unwilling passer-by’s. Losing our own individuality we delve into the constructs of society. Beauty for example is constructed and reconstructed again and again. Today bigger is better, tomorrow smaller is more manageable, now long hair is prettier, later its short hair, lighter skin is a sight for sore eyes and in no time its dark skin that is more attractive. Many times I have been told to lose weight. Society has completely outlawed “African Curved Woman”. Many labels with negative connotation when it comes to weight and body size have been formulated-plus sized, big, fat, and large. So rare now is to find women that are not afraid to go beyond the boundary of being average, Women that have no shy. Won't hide the cellulite because society thinks it’s disgusting. Won't hide the extra skin, tuck it and hide it from the world, suppress the flesh while in actual fact suffocating the soul, digging down and slowly eating away the core of that person. Society calls it extra skin, at least calling it love handles has a cute ring to it, and their existence is evidence of extra sand, extra effort. An appreciation of them, finding comfort in holding on to the extra, holding on to individuality while the rest slip away and fall into the traps of society. We are told over and over again to hide the stretch marks, that these marks are embarrassing evidences of continued rebellion against the "average movement". These marks you see are the marks of a warrior, not average marks that appear from strain. These are tiger stripes that a tiger earns from standing strong in the face of #hatters and still loving yourself. Day in and day out we hear comments like, "lose some junk, dunk the fat, go to the gym, you look diabetic" and the most striking, "take care of yourself". Each of these statements is like a merciless lash on the bodies of the bold. We take it all in, absorb all the negative and still smile. I look at myself in the mirror and see a work of art, all the curves and contours, the undefined edges the mountains and mole hills and the fully fleshed parts all part of a beautiful landscape. Beauty goes beyond painting a mental picture or societal acceptance. It goes beyond contentment with yourself but also accepting others just the way they are flaws and all. Why should pretty hurt when what you give is what you get. A smile is something which when you give away comes right back to you. Whoever taught us beauty is just but physical was wrong. It’s much more than what the eye can behold. There is the beauty of a soul, the beauty of an idea, beauty of cultural diversity, shared vision, unity, love, peace. there is beauty in all things just waiting for us to burn away the veils and realise it.