SECRET JOY
Chapter 1: The Weight of Reality
When I was younger, I believed life was full of roses. However, as I grew older, I realised that adulthood comes with its own set of challenges.
In my tender years, I relied heavily on my parents; now, I find myself hustling to achieve my goals. Gone are the days when I could simply wake up and make demands that would be met. Instead, I now face the stormy winds of life, often feeling like I'm losing my way. Yet, I remind myself to pick up the pieces and continue moving forward because giving up has never been an option for me.
My journey took a significant turn when I gained admission to university. I understood that this new chapter was not child's play. With prayer, hard work, and good conduct as my guiding principles, I stepped into this new world. However, the reality was far more challenging than I anticipated. The unfamiliar teaching methods, diverse peers from various tribes and backgrounds, and strict lecturers with their rigid rules tested my adaptability.
As the stress mounted, I eventually broke down and fell ill. What I thought was a manageable situation spiralled out of control, leading me back home for recovery. After being admitted to the hospital and later discharged, I felt like I was losing everything. The medication did not seem to help; instead, it compounded my sense of despair. One fateful afternoon brought devastating news: I lost someone precious to me. Coupled with my illness, this loss pushed me further into a dark place.
I felt like I was losing my mind. Instead of sharing my struggles, I kept them bottled up inside. My friends and family only saw the surface of my pain; they were unaware of the turmoil raging within me. Classes became pointless to me; I skipped them frequently and isolated myself in my room, blocking out everyone including my mother who tried to reach out.
In my solitude, I began engaging in self-harm as a misguided outlet for my pain. Using a razor to etch words into my skin became a way to externalise what I felt inside. My mother panicked when she discovered the bandages covering my arms; she had no idea how deep my struggles ran.
Amidst this chaos, art became my refuge. It was the one passion that kept me tethered to life. Painting and ceramics were not just hobbies; they were lifelines that allowed me to express what words could not convey. On particularly difficult days, I'd pack up my easel and venture deep into the woods, a secret sanctuary where I could paint in peace without judgement or interruption.
