DRIPPING WORDS 0002
DRIPPING WORDS 0002
STOP RAPING YOUR DREAMS
Empirically, I don't care if you accede to this or not, but we've been living under the duress of the temptation created by our imaginary minds. The duress is or may be cloaked in robes of fear that are beautifully embroidered with ornament of dreams, and a little "shaking of the table" may strip off the beautiful adornment on the duress, and it becomes naked, making your fears vulnerable, and your dreams, somewhat achievable. But we are afraid of our duress, and fears getting naked, so we keep the beautiful robes round its waste, round its body and therein allow our dreams to get raped by some unknown or perhaps known dream reapers.
Permit me to tell you the story of a boy who was uncertain of the future, but still called the shot.
There was once a brilliant boy (couch up the definition of your brilliance) who lived in fears, like stating earlier, his fears had several dimensions - fear of failing, fear of not succeeding, fear of intimidation, fear of getting suicidal (though that's not what he committed in the end), and many other fears that a sane person with insane wits may brood. He relatively studied an engineering course in one of the polytechnics, and though brilliant, he felt he didn't worth being in a polytechnic, but rather in a university, (but was he a demigod to choose for himself?). He completed his two years National Diploma programme, and opted for a Direct Entry to a university. He scored good grades (at least one that could secure his admission). He was preparing for school already, but little did he know dreams sometimes, are mirage, illusions. Reality dawned, and he wasn't admitted. He felt cheated, and thereby adamant in proceeding with his Higher National Diploma. "I will give it a second trial" so he said, and determined, the following year, he did, augmented with a UTME to start afresh. As you think, he should get admitted at least through one of the two alternatives right? Here came the sad moment of it, he wasn't admitted. His UTME score was relatively high, his score was just a few numbers below 280, 277 to be precise, his Post UTME was okay as well. Forget not, I said he was brilliant. And then, all hope for him faded when Direct Entry didn't fall through as well. He was left with no other alternative when the fear of intimidation conjured in him, "two years at home already, take up the Higher National Diploma form, and at least have a certificate at hand. Thereafter, you can proceed to have a University degree" his father had said. I forgot to tell you, he was diligent, and obedient also, so he accepted despite knowing it wouldn't work out. Then, first semester of his programme gone, and his fears threw him a challenge, failure loomed, success became catastrophic, and life came crashing on his brisket bone. Then he had to tell his parent (his father) that he needed to drop out of school. He knew his success wasn't attached to the school, not an iota of it, or so he had presumed. So he had to take the shot, he was going to call the shot, and he did. He told his father, but did his father accept? And if he did, did the boy make fortune out of it? There are no answers to these questions because the boy didn't live to tell it, he died just before the story ended, Tragic.
Empirically, I don't care if you accede to this or not, but we've been living under the duress of the temptation created by our imaginary minds. The duress is or may be cloaked in robes of fear that are beautifully embroidered with ornament of dreams, and a little "shaking of the table" may strip off the beautiful adornment on the duress, and it becomes naked, making your fears vulnerable, and your dreams, somewhat achievable. But we are afraid of our duress, and fears getting naked, so we keep the beautiful robes round its waste, round its body and therein allow our dreams to get raped by some unknown or perhaps known dream reapers.
Permit me to tell you the story of a boy who was uncertain of the future, but still called the shot.
There was once a brilliant boy (couch up the definition of your brilliance) who lived in fears, like stating earlier, his fears had several dimensions - fear of failing, fear of not succeeding, fear of intimidation, fear of getting suicidal (though that's not what he committed in the end), and many other fears that a sane person with insane wits may brood. He relatively studied an engineering course in one of the polytechnics, and though brilliant, he felt he didn't worth being in a polytechnic, but rather in a university, (but was he a demigod to choose for himself?). He completed his two years National Diploma programme, and opted for a Direct Entry to a university. He scored good grades (at least one that could secure his admission). He was preparing for school already, but little did he know dreams sometimes, are mirage, illusions. Reality dawned, and he wasn't admitted. He felt cheated, and thereby adamant in proceeding with his Higher National Diploma. "I will give it a second trial" so he said, and determined, the following year, he did, augmented with a UTME to start afresh. As you think, he should get admitted at least through one of the two alternatives right? Here came the sad moment of it, he wasn't admitted. His UTME score was relatively high, his score was just a few numbers below 280, 277 to be precise, his Post UTME was okay as well. Forget not, I said he was brilliant. And then, all hope for him faded when Direct Entry didn't fall through as well. He was left with no other alternative when the fear of intimidation conjured in him, "two years at home already, take up the Higher National Diploma form, and at least have a certificate at hand. Thereafter, you can proceed to have a University degree" his father had said. I forgot to tell you, he was diligent, and obedient also, so he accepted despite knowing it wouldn't work out. Then, first semester of his programme gone, and his fears threw him a challenge, failure loomed, success became catastrophic, and life came crashing on his brisket bone. Then he had to tell his parent (his father) that he needed to drop out of school. He knew his success wasn't attached to the school, not an iota of it, or so he had presumed. So he had to take the shot, he was going to call the shot, and he did. He told his father, but did his father accept? And if he did, did the boy make fortune out of it? There are no answers to these questions because the boy didn't live to tell it, he died just before the story ended, Tragic.
The future is uncertain, we know that. But sometimes when things aren't akin to our course, we need to take the shot. Stop raping your dreams by dogmatically staying despite you're uncomfortable. Learn to leave, leave to live, and maybe sometimes, you win by quitting, or many times inadvertently, you win by losing, but you just don't know. We are just like the pawns in a game of chess, to face adversities with silly moves to get us killed, or conquer the adversities with brilliant moves to make us queen. Take that shot today, you never know when the table will shake, and you'll get yourself centered on its gravity of concentration. Take it today. The shot.
Mind you, sequel to the story I narrated, it was fictional, and any correlation of the story with another person, either alive or dead is just the mere imagination of the writer.
Broken words from a Broken Soul
Kolade Malik Ademola
malikademola36@gmail.com
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