Birth is holy.
Birth is divine.
Creation is the epitome of the grace of the man upstairs, who has no beginning. Neither no end. He exists to create, preserve and destroy. He is eternal. He is immortal. But my maker isn’t so. My birth is different. A baby’s cells in the mother’s womb amalgamate, cleave, undergo mitosis and meiosis before they unite in creating life and a form for a new soul that has chosen to be born human. But my creation has no application of those rules. I don’t choose my mother. My mother chooses me. She cogitates on the idea for her child and prepares to gather the essentials that intricately weave together, just like a spider web.
But my existence doesn’t catch innocent passer-bys so that my creator can satiate her desire. I am in no way a hindrance to others, except if the basic building blocks are deliberately spewed out as a myriad of contradictions and hypothesis. I have the privilege of saying I constitute an entertaining perspective.
But it takes a long time before my process is complete. The fire of determination, the perspiration of hard work, the tenacity of strong will, the strength of confidence and display of gallantry stream out of my maker’s cerebrum and adds each engineering factor from all directions. I house several lives within me. Even a whole world.
But don’t mistake me as God.
Albeit, I’m given the capacity to welcome each and every aspect with open arms. My heart is endless and connecting the inner core of myself to the light of my maker, I merge myself majorly with one person, who is my catalyst to live. That gives me life, as I turn myself to the form of that one star. I am my maker’s best friend.
My buddy and I encounter adventure, love, friendship, courage, tragedy, grief, humour, or all at once which establishes an attractive embodiment for my fabrication. But the feelings reside in how I’m brought out. I cannot be shown blandly, as it is treacherous to my poor buddy. But she of course throws her whole life and energy into my manufacture, stopping at nothing to shape my inner being and making me more alive than I ever could be. I live from her love, which culminates in publicising my glory to her friends, family, and eventually the entire world. I prepare myself. I’m not going to let her down. She’s done her part. It’s my turn to exhibit all that she had imbibed in me and allow her to send me to a complete stranger for approval.
I’m really excited for this. I love her, my best friend, who in my eyes is the most beautiful, kind, warm and encouraging soul to exist. And I know the person she decided to send me to will be just as awesome.
I was wrong.
This new human being sounds obnoxious. Okay, he doesn’t want me. But why can’t he throw the rejection in MY face instead of hurting my buddy? Does that mean I exist for her grief? No, please no! I cannot do that! Why is this stranger, who neither knows who nor what she is capable of, having the gall to create that forlorn expression on her face? Never had I seen her face crumble like that.
But she is no defeatist.
She is a warrior.
So she squares her shoulders and sends me off to another stranger. I don’t complain nor do I protest. She alone has the authority over me and I exist to fulfil her desire.
I’m very loyal.
There’s no telling this stranger will like me either. And my prediction comes true as this person states my disability and wounds my buddy’s heart once again. This happens countless times and I end up on the verge of being hopeless. How much more of this is she going to withhold? Because I’ve met many more of me, hundreds of them, paying a visit to the same stranger I do and they spill their anguish their buddies have lost all hope.
I pale with trepidation.
Because that will result in death for my species. If a buddy decides to shove us to the dump as a result of not being able to take it anymore and suddenly viewing us like the plague, there goes our light. It diminishes. I am afraid if my buddy will do that to me too. Will she decide to forget about me, just like that?! How could she!
But it appears she is not what I fear. She takes each rejection with a strong heart and sends me to more and more strangers, giving me the privileged honour of proving my loyalty. Yes, we can do this together! There are millions of these strangers. Who is to say I’m not likeable to at least one of them? Time’s our challenger, not the strangers.
We team up and win this excruciating challenge by never losing hope, which finally results in gaining appreciation. It is glorious. It is ecstasy. It magnifies double-fold because of the exhaustive trial we went through.
See, I promised her I’ll always be loyal. I need her to trust me. And she gave me that, which fuelled the fire of my determination more. I have no death. I am now immortal.
My buddy is now an author and I’m a mere manuscript turned into a magnificent book.