A NARROWED SOUL

Amelia paid a visit to Soul Gallery with her best friend Clare. It was Clare’s idea, believing that it would refresh their minds. Amelia wasn’t much into handcraft, though she respected art in general because she believed it was a noble gift from God.

Entering the room, she stared at paintings; many of them with people’s faces, and flowers with bright colors. She loved that behind every face, every flower, and every picture there was a story; provoking an emotional response, or challenging one’s view about life and its beauty. But how could she get to that story? She felt the desire, and was inspired to let her fear go through expression.

She couldn’t grasp the concept, but kept on contemplating the pictures, like they were talking to each other.

‘Take a video of me looking at these paintings’, Amelia asked of Clare.

‘Hurry up, there’re some people on the balcony that I want to talk to’ Said Clare.

People? Why? This was supposed to be our night, alone. Amelia felt a bit nervous and irritated by the word ‘people’ but the anxiety stifled her voice. Her heart beating faster, her palms sweating, and her mind running all around: am I well-dressed? What will I be doing with those strangers? Obviously they are going to ask me what I do in life, which I don’t know.

She was nervous.

‘The video looks great. Come and take a look.’ Affirmed Clare

‘I think I need another one.’

‘No, this will do. Come, they are waiting outside’

Seeing Clare all excited about meeting other people, she put on a plastic smile just for Clare to enjoy the evening too.

The conversation with Christian and Bob was normal, and business-oriented. But for Amelia, it was emotionless, which intrigued her. She was sitting there gasping. Why can’t people talk about shame, guilt, hate, anger, or something fulfilling reaching the soul? Why do we have to repress our emotions?

After some time, she stood up and went to the washroom, to get some air or escape the questions about her because she was unable to go with the flow of their discussion without a drink. And she had promised to quit alcohol.
She went to the washroom; looked in the mirror, and imagined herself standing in the middle of tall old trees, listening to the sound of the wind, to ease her anxiety.

On her way back there was a dark reddish room, to her it was a leakage from people, to pass time.

In the room there was a lot of captivating erotic art of naked black women, which roused another kind of emotion: having goose bumps while at the same time being taken away.

Who would find these portraits attractive? She kept thinking and got lost in that room until Clare and Christian came to find her. The paintings captured women’s bodies with pale backgrounds.

Now she was interested in talking to Christian

‘Who made these? Do people buy them?’

‘Huhhuhh, they are made by a colleague. And yes, people do love them.’
‘Really? They are dark-skinned women.’ As far as she could remember, all portraits of naked bodies were of white people; plus, black isn’t that beautiful…
Why was everyone seeing it as normal? She didn’t comprehend; nobody could explain it to her.

She kept quiet. Probably her self-guard inhibited her from expressing herself; what if people laughed at her? She had no liberty to be spontaneous and free her soul. For the sake of protecting her soul, she silenced her consciousness.

The prisoner-within, convinced her that she’d be safe only if she was not seen and not heard. What could she do to stop suffocating her soul in a hated body?

A few days later, she went to Clare’s office. There was a new person, Michelle, Clare’s workmate.
‘Hello Cla, am I disturbing?’

‘No, come in, I will introduce you to my new colleague.‘

‘Michelle, this is my best friend Amelia that I told you about’
‘Hi! Nice to meet you’, Michelle said

‘Nice to meet you too’, looking at the subject line of Michelle’s mail box

‘It’s almost time to leave, we can go somewhere and grab a cup of coffee.’ Clare suggested

‘Are you sure it’s a good idea? I could leave if you have plans together’
[Amelia texting Clare]

‘She’s so insecure….’
[Clare singing and giving Amelia a glance]

‘I normally don’t go out, for the reason that I don’t like being around people’ Michelle made the odd comment to a group of people at the restaurant,

‘Me too; I don’t like people,’ Amelia quickly added, her heart rejoicing about meeting someone like her.

‘Even at home, I spend a lot of my time in my room, alone’

Now Amelia was grinning like she had found a soulmate; Michelle got her
She pulled the chair closer to the table to have this deep & interesting conversation with a stranger who supposedly happened to be her twin in another life.

‘I don’t get you guys. For me, I can’t live without people in my life.’ Clare said.

‘That’s because you draw energy from them. For us, people consume our energy and we get drained. My family doesn’t get it either, because they habitually say things that hurt me and I get depressed. We live in a bubble of strife. I’m like a stranger to them,’ Michelle revealed.

Amelia was blown away; what else could she say? Michelle was her mind’s reflection

‘It starts from an early age, when you don’t get intentional love, it affects you in one way or another. You know we all develop an idea of ourselves at a young age – our physical appearance, our competences, and mostly our congeniality. This concept strongly affects our behaviors throughout life, influencing our success in all sorts of relationships. So every current behavior of ours is an outcome of our childhood experience.’

‘Is it?’ Asked Amelia.

‘Totally! I think if you had maternal love at an early age, you wouldn’t be who you are today. You would be different.’ Michelle said.

Amelia’s face crimsoned. That statement put her in a state of turmoil, like a pin pointed on a plastic bag filled with water.

Now someone had opened a window in her dark room; how could Michelle read her mind? Who did she talk to? Was her face crying out loud?

‘You seem derailed; I’m sorry I shouldn’t bring that up like this, it’s just I can sense people’s emotions easily.’ Michelle Added

‘Please go on’ Amelia whispered.

‘It doesn’t come naturally to you to keep your word, to be decisive; you let people’s opinions interfere with your intentions. I’m saying this because I believe you can do something about it’

Amelia nodded, ‘I’ve never had this kind of conversation before,’ before she goes on, Michelle interrupts

‘Am I right? I know it makes people uncomfortable, but I think you should know it’

‘Yeah, sure. I needed it. It’s just, I didn’t know it was that obvious for people to read it on my face’

‘Don’t worry, there’s nothing wrong with you. I happen to sense all the energies around me.’

‘That’s so cool’

‘Not really; it’s not something I choose or fantasize about doing, and I rarely reveal it because, you know, we are culturally silent about our emotions.’

‘Yeah! I guess you’ve found your spark, to be a psychologist or something like that’

‘No. I don’t want to do it for money; it would kill me. I just want to help some people. My theory is that there are individuals that come into this world to help others physically and others who have a calling to give out emotional support’ Michelle said, rolling her eyes and sipping her cup of tea.

As the conversation went on, Amelia got more curious about her calling, and the meaning of her life, because a lot of the time she was gloomy and afraid. How could she be of any help to others with those sensations?

Was she strong enough to even live her life fully? Because, whenever something went wrong she felt like hiding and moving far away from the people/world. She felt incapacitated, empty. What could she do about it?

That night she took whisky, she was in that superb state of drunkenness where the world felt all soft and flexible. But then, she felt an immeasurable guilt the next morning. Her heart bumped hard and she had a headache.

Like the person who tries to fill a void but uses the wrong medicine, only to find that the cup has no bottom;

When one tries to fix depression with alcohol or sex, it is impossible for one to find enough drugs to ingest.

You try to fill up loneliness with shopping or travelling, and there won’t be enough money to spend.

You try to fill up guilt with condemnation or judgment; and there won’t be enough accusations— that is until you reach forgiveness.

The conversation with Michelle awakened old memories,

Amelia grew up suffering from body dysmorphic disorder – hating herself, and believing in what people around her said. ‘Your skin is too dark, you are almost invisible. You should see your elders at their birth. They were cute babies, contrary to you. You are rukara rwa bishingwe.’ Historically, Rukara is perceived as a hero who fought for Rwandan people’s rights, especially land rights, through resisting the white man’s leadership. He was the first Rwandan man to kill a white person – a colonialist. Rukara was strong, powerful, and confident, a fearless man or a man of war as he is described by those who saw him. He was killed in 1912 over Paulin Lupias’ death. But to her, they used his name to describe how ugly she was – being dark-skinned. Whenever she showed her torments, they said she was being too sensitive. But how could a black family be surprised to give birth to a dark-skinned girl? Yeah, she wasn’t brown. And why was she offended? Didn’t she know who she was? At home, they had a big place for garbage which was called ‘ibishingwe,’ so at her young age, she felt insulted. Her emotions were not ready to receive anything other than positivity due to a traumatic pregnancy her mother went through.

Isn’t it strange how words affect our being? Like we seem so controlled by people’s opinions.

The most hurtful thing to her was hearing her mother venting about how she would leave her in the room alone when visitors came. Was it out of love or shame? Nevertheless, Amelia drew energy from her father’s love, she has never heard him lament about her looks, but the scar that her mother instigated on her was kept deep in her heart and now, in her adulthood life, she found that it shaped who she had become. Growing up extent, she knew those moments hurt her but didn’t realize to which extend it was on.

At school, Amelia carried a mirror in her pocket that allowed her to look at her face, hoping that something would change, a miracle would happen at any time and cause her skin to become light.

They convinced her that she was ugly and she believed them. Her self-concept was affected. She was persuaded that people hated and mocked her. She neither believed in herself nor did she wish to be known ever since; thinking that her opinion would matter if she was beautiful, therefore admired.

Not only did it affect her but she doubted, having children of her own, especially girls. What if they looked exactly like her and never found happiness?

The only time she recalled having good moments was when she was still a child along with her siblings. However they grew apart. Each one of them found their own path and her sister once got hospitalized for severe depression, which made Amelia even more distressed. She was feeling lonelier as years passed by. Even blood couldn’t mediate to lower the tightness of life’s spitefulness. The effect of maternal rejection and what she had been conditioned to expect, elicited criticism of self-concept and variations of personality.

To Amelia, it was like life on earth was for crushing her soul. Her happiness never lasted and she never felt joy whatsoever. She felt in pieces and had no attachment to the world.

What was missing in her life to be positive and optimistic? Was it an apology from her closest relatives? Was it inner work that she needed to do? Was it a simple word from her mother that she was wanted? Would she be freer & expressive? Would she belong? Would she love & choose herself?

‘Beyond biological bond, there there’s something very important; a choice; would you still choose me to be your daughter?’ A question came up in her mind after her mother confessed that she forgot Amelia’s birthday; would she be able to let it out in front of her mother?

If she’s the result of her mother’s story, if she represents her traumas; how does it make her mother feel? The more she hated on her family, the more she became like them – conditioning her relationship with others, judging people based on their looks. The vow of rebellion wasn’t working in her favor.

What could she do to accept her body? The color of her skin, the shape of her body that made her uncomfortable? Even during sexual intercourse, she convinced herself that her boyfriend hadn’t yet noticed her naked body, especially between her thighs. Thinking that if he saw them, then he’d leave.

Was it necessary to remind her how beautiful she was in her dark skin like the portraits she saw at Soul Gallery? Would it have made a difference? She spent her teenage years looking for assurance from her male friends, longing for approval, yearning to be attractive, henceforth seen.

Amelia was shy all the time, in all situations, except with her best friend Clare, who constantly reminded her:

‘Do not trade your happiness for anything’,

Like the other time her boyfriend asked her: ‘When was the last time you were happy?’ And Amelia paled, what was she going to say?

‘Uh, Uhm, .. I don’t know, you mean like, uhm, happy about what?’

‘Like you made it, you feel good about yourself, something like that’
Now he has made it worse for her, because such a question in a period of uncertainty, raised her qualms; she finally said.

‘2 years ago’ what she really wanted to say was 5 years ago when she was much younger and had hope for a good life, but it was a long time ago to explain it to someone

‘What happened?’

‘I, uhm,,’

‘Is it a secret?’

“Yeah, it is’

Amelia didn’t find words easily. She was so anxious to open her mouth in front of the world and consoled herself with ‘if I can’t say anything verbally, at least I can say it quietly inside my head’. During meetings with others she would keep silent and have an inner conversation with herself.

‘You should read “Atomic Habits” By James Clear. It has helped me a lot. I recommend it to you. Xoxo Michelle’ an SMS popped in her phone screen.

Immediately Amelia called Michelle

‘What should I do? To make things go better?’

‘Maybe you should talk to someone, a therapist, maybe.’

‘No. I don’t want to embarrass myself; what would they think of me?’ Amelia quickly responded

‘It’s their profession to help you. Look, I know how difficult it is to trust a stranger, but you can give it a try’

‘Anything else?’

‘This is a hard one. Talk to your mom and let her know how you are feeling’

‘Hhaha! Next?’

‘A friend?’

‘I don’t want to be a burden’

‘I don’t know; what helps you when all the emotions seem to consume you?’

‘Write, I have a secret diary in my room’

‘Then do that. Do it fully with a purpose that only you, can achieve’

‘What should I write about?’

‘Anything and everything that comes to your mind. Let it out’

She went into her room, the safest place to feel all the emotions. She opened her diary, hoping to conquer obscurity. Would anyone get her?

How could she express her emotions through writing? What were the right words to use? Was it going to save her life, sharing herself with the world? Sitting in her room, hearing trees whisper and leaves rustling in the wind,

She started;

Hey there,
I’m supposing that one day somebody somewhere will be reading this and hear the roar of my silence; maybe or maybe not; I’m just holding to sequences of maybes,,,