|| VALERIA ||
THREE MONTHS AGO!
Life...
It's a simple word that ensembles and characterizes the events and activities of human existents. Events—some good, some not—that nurture and define individual characters. Characters that will ultimately allow you to either make or break your dreams.
It's a simple word with unlikely meanings for different people. Some might define it as the way of being alive—a journey that admits both memories of joyful bliss and a dose pain to spice up everything—the ever repetitive cycle of 365 days.
I admire folks with the aforementioned definition of life.
Why?
Because for them their definition derives from the daily enjoyments and all in all blissfulness from having something to live for.
But for me it's a different story because my life is nothing remotely close to being blissful.
I define life as a miserable experience paved with endless suffering, loss and pain. A miserable experience with no warning signs nor a guiding manual to direct you. It's a journey full of enumerable agonizing pitholes filled with venomous snakes and impassable hurdles where you never know when its twist and turns are coming. Twist and turns that wrecks my survival equilibrium into a total imbalance.
My name is Valeria Jaarson and I hate life—my life. I hate everything that involves—revolves around it. I wish with every fiber and bone of my body I was dead. Why? Because mine is not life. It's a daily torture. A daily reminder that I am no one. That I have no one—stranded and lost in this cruel world with absolutely nothing. That as of two months ago I had a place to live. A place I could proudly call my home.
But look at me right now. Parentless, homeless and worthless.
Don't make the same mistake I did, sauntering around thinking all will always be unicorns and rainbows. Things change and they can change at an instant—at the snap of the finger. Never think you are better than the next person—undermining and devaluing their worth. No one is better than the next. We are all human and we are all worthy. Life was, is and will never be fair. And ultimately there are no exceptions to its cruelty.
All walls can and will crumble down on you at the time you least expected. And it can be at the hands of a friend, family, lover or an adversary. But the worse kind is when people you love and thought will always have your back are the ones who enacting the walls to tumble down on you. When they are the ones squeezing and squashing out your last shred of breath until you are nothing but a mere empty, lifeless vessel filling up space like matter, passing days as they come, counting the seconds, minutes and hours, searching for ways to cease the pain.
I was once foolish enough to believe in fairytales where unicorns and rainbows existed. Where everything will always be chocolates and roses. Because it's the result of my foolishness I am rendered to my current status quo, trembling as the cold rain air pierces my skin sending it ablaze with freezing chills as I take refuge under the comfort—not—of the vilest and most disgusting bridge humanly possible.
The drifting cool air doesn't only carry the once spirit lifting, life-inspiring fresh rain breeze but the unbearable nauseating reek of urine and fecal matter. As I rub my arms attempting at warming them, bracing the forces of nature, contemplating my faults to deserve all that have happened to me, tears start flowing anew, leaving a cold-burning sensation in their wind. A broken sob escapes me, making my lips quiver, hands shaking. The pain is too insurmountable and I don't know how to do this anymore. I don't know if I or whether I am strong enough to do this—to survive this.
The wind pressure heightens, changing its direction in the process as well. The approaching blasting storm is now directed at me as it propels itself through the surrounding trees, passing the nearby stinking riverbed, coming straight for my under bridge safe haven, penetrating the three layers of clothing I am wearing. I shudder as the force of the cold air plummets me to my very core.
The sound of my crying intestines reminds me of the gut-twisting hunger and the fact that I didn't eat anything today. I can feel the intestines turning and twisting, coercing and asking not so silently when they are gonna have something to fill them. The dryness of my throat letting the scrapping unquenchable thirst known, not making it easy on me.
The place where I made camp has no water neither food meaning I have to commute by feet for thirty to forty-five minutes to get to the closest place in the city with a dustbin with eatable food. And it so happens that I woke up feeling... just blah and weak and tired, hence the reason why I am starving and thirsty.
The slippery movement of something at the small of my back sends me jumping away from the wall I was leaning against, jerking up and running from my sit, crashing into the opposite wall, screaming at the top of my lungs like a banshee on steroids.
I take in a big chunk of air, panting, scanning the area at the same time.
I roll my eyes back into my sockets as the memory of me waking up sharing a blanket with rats flashes through my mind. And what a delighting experience it was. Sense my sarcasm. Oh and when I say blanket, don't for a second think I refer to something warm, cushy, and thick because it's a thought five million miles away from reality. It's a worn-out thin bull—thing that doesn't even deserve to be referred to as a blanket.
I feel like the she-devil felt pity for me and gave it.
Valeria snap out... you might be sharing this place with a snake tonight, I chastised myself. That snapped me back into reality, my internal siren going off as I started chanting silently 'Oh, let it not be a snake' over and over again. Only God knows how much I despise those slippery bastards.
I close my eyes with a sharp intake of breath before I start the snake hunt because I would need the courage to complete the task at hand. Just the thought of them sends the coldest chills throughout my body, my sense of normalcy in an overdrive and my phobia hiked to its highest.
I bend down to pick up the bag pack next to me with the utmost caution. Luckily it wasn't that side of the of wall, I sigh in relief. I dig into the bag and search for my beloved phone which by the way is the only possession under my name besides the few samples of clothing. After I find it—my phone, I immediately switch on the flashlight and start the actual search for the source of my scare.
I sidestep away from the wall where I was seated keeping my ears perked for the faintest of noises for confirmation of possible locations. The soft patter of the rain and the crunching of the nonsense—papers, dried leaves, etc— under my feet are only current audible sounds. My eyes glimpse at something that catches my attention. It's a newspaper dated four months ago with the headline 'The Jaarson Girl accused of killing her parents on the run.' I take in a baited breath, the headline hitting me deep to my very core because it's—the headline—is an implication furthest from the truth.
I ascertain to keep my distance away from the wall as I attempt at dismantling the makings of a bed made with clothing amidst dust and dirt. It has been like fifteen minutes and still nothing. That only means that there is nothing. I am safe... for now that is.
Probably it was just a figment of my imagination.
I take a seat after rearranging my clothes into a bed with a deep sigh escaping my fractured body, a white fog forming in my face from the cold front. I lean against the wall, sighing heavily again. My tummy takes that moment to make its status quo known yet again. The insistent desperate and irritating cry for food. I hope they would get the memo and stop soon. It's not my fault I couldn't get anything from my usual suppliers and by suppliers I mean the big garbage bin next to the Dine Inn.
Sigh!
Eating from dumbing sides has become my new normal. From a posh lifestyle to begging people for crumbs. Hoping they would sympathize with me. Wishing I would find, at least one good Samaritan good enough to spare me something to eat—to survive the day.
This is my life. A screwed up version of my life since I was thrown out of my house. Her house I mean. Roaming the streets of Swakopmund.
My teeth start clenching and releasing against each other in rhythmic way, leaving behind a teeth-clinching sound. My lips are purple by now. My hands? I don't think I have any left because I can't feel them anymore. I wouldn't be surprised if the temperature is at negative-something because this cold—I can't take it anymore.
I wish I was in my queen size bed engulfed in the smell of my strawberry cologne, tossing and twisting; basking in the glorious feeling brought about by the soft cushions of the bed. Not this rock hard bull-crap cracking up my back bone like that of eighty-year-old lady. Even worse, circumvented by the unpleasant fecal and pee odor.
Life is a long and hard journey paved with pain, heartache and life lessons that need to be learned. Life is how—why I became what I am today.
Once upon a time, I was rich and living the lavish life but due to lives cruelty, I was reduced to a sub-standard existence. Homeless and destitute, suffering on the streets. And by life I mean the she-devil otherwise known as my cold-hearted-too-bitch-of-an-aunt. Only God knows how much my blood boils and curls at the mere thought of her deviled existence.
I have never hated anyone like I hate her. I despise her with my very being. I hate her! I wish I could wrack her life into shreds of nothings only filled with agony, suffering and the blistering raging flames of hell. She destroyed me. Reduced me to a meager existence I was not previously unaccustomed to. I am nothing because of her. She is one calculated, venomous, diabolical bitch ever to have walked the surface of earth. She... you know what? Why think about her and ruin my already sour, tasteless excuse of a life. Insert shoulder shrug.
I am already only left with wishes and hopes which I desire were all met. Just like how I wish my parents were here with me. Alive and breathing. The thought of them makes my tears start coursing afresh. I miss them so God damn much. It has been two months. Two months ago where I made plans which they wanted to be part of. But they were taken away from me far too soon. Way too soon. They were here one moment, next... poof. They were gone into the dust. Why God? Why are you so cruel? Did it have to be the both of them at the same time?
One moment we are arguing and next they were gone.
They are gone.
I didn't even say goodbye. I couldn't say goodbye. I wish I didn't say all the things I did. They died thinking I didn't love them—the way I made them believe all these years—but I did so damn much. But I only realized way too late. At the time they were already long gone. Why did I have to be such a spoilt brat?
I will never forgive myself for that.
Never!
Not forgiving yourself will not bring them back my subconscious chimes in. As if I don't already know that.
Silence. Wind. Sniffle. Wind. Silence. Wind. Sniffle. Silence.
These are the sounds that surround me now. Sounds were silence seem to be a dominant factor. And wherever silence dominates, the brain works overtime, coming up with all the scenarios of what could and could have. Bringing wounding skeletons, you would rather have buried to the surface. Making you think of possible ways to end the endless suffering. Ways to ease the pain. But can I get to that point? Probably. Probably not. I don't know.
Gasps!
It started raining.
The rain water is now pouring down on me, soaking all that's within my reach. My tears are mixed with the raindrops showering down on me. I don't know what to do. For a girl who was raised in money and privileges, I never knew this side of life existed. I never knew people could live like this until now. Where people bequeath their love ones to the woes of the streets.
Where are yours you might be asking. The answer is I don't have any left. I only had one who deceived me. But rest assured I will have my revenge. She will regret the day she was born because I will make sure to break all hell loose on her. I don't know how but I will. One way or the other. One day.
As the rain takes a short breather, my mind drifts off to my school. School? It starting soon. The final semester. The semester that's supposed to be the decider of my future. But the question is; what future? Mine is already crushed and tossed deep under the salty waters of the Atlantic. Its completely destroyed with no trace of possible resuscitation. I don't know how I will survive the last two remaining months of high school where its just basically preparations and writing of exams. Probably by God's grace I will make it through. I don't know. Right now my focus is to survive and I don't think there is room left for school.
That means adios to future.
I am a proud black African girl who lived the life of a rich once upon a time. Who had everything life could offer at the tip of my fingers. A fully furnished luxuriant bedroom, the latest gadgets, the money, friends, everything. Now I am just a mere hopeless zula girl, hoping things were better. Wishing things were different.
Where from here? How do I survive this?
Only the man above knows the answers to all those questions.
For me, I don't.
I feel the sleep finally catching up to me, as the flowing tears begin to scald my skin. My eye sockets feel like there are billion tiny stones embedded in them. I am shivering. My body is freezing cold.
As I drift off to the land of the sleeping with raindrops softly drizzling down my already soaked body, I cry myself to unconsciousness. To oblivion. Hoping maybe—just maybe—tomorrow will be better. Because hope and wishes are all I have left.
Hope...
I wish at least it will have mercy on me.
💠💠💠