Let me write from the heart.

My natural instinct is to always consult my heart first. Whether I listen to my heart is a totally different matter. This world sometimes require us to do the total opposite of what our heart asks. 

But for now let me listen to it and write from the heart.

Nursery school are my first few memories of being in an environment where social acceptance wasn’t assured. It’s where I first learnt the concept of feeling alone, but not actually being alone, Nursery school was where I learnt that the world was bigger than home. I was dropped off  by my father every morning, and even with welcoming teachers and making new friends, I felt alone. I felt separate. I felt like I could easily be forgotten. Dismissed. Overlooked.  

Don’t worry. Eventually, I found it fun; this new world. I learnt my way around. My teacher wrote in one of my reports that I spent more time taking care of other children than playing.  I wonder what my mother and father thought when they read that. Especially, since I was the youngest in the house. Where could that have possible come from? It seems I was more concerned with giving myself a purpose in order to fit in.

 I am reflecting on that moment because I see around me a number of people who struggle with feelings of loneliness. I think sometimes we are scared to say that on some days we not comfortable in this world. Sometimes the mission of existing is tough, and the experience is rough.  But we are scared to say in case we appear ungrateful. 

Someone asked those same questions long  ago, and it even inspired them to write a poem.  Have you heard of the poem ‘The Dark Night of the Soul’ by St John of the Cross?

He writes about this strange euphoria he experiences in mist of despair, when he finally realizes the purpose of his suffering. (btw... I am not saying that we are all Saints) I love his honesty in the poem. I love the fact that his journey is not always blissful. That there are moments of doubt, fear, loneliness and even dullness in the process of life. As much as we try to fill our lives with things people, places, there will always be emptiness. There will always be sharp moments of stillness. Thoughts that remind us that this is all temporary and we are mortal.  It will always catch up with us but it doesn’t have to overcome us, most likely there is a purpose to not fitting in so neatly into this world.

Years ago, I went on a catholic retreat. We visited a monastery for the weekend. I don’t even remember the name and yet it had such a monumental impact on my life. I was going through a break up and the stress of back to back assignments at University. My friends and I were also going through the tensions of renting a house together for two years. I needed a break. The Catholic Student’s society offered one, so I packed my bags and disappeared for the weekend.   

What I found interesting about this retreat is the fact that  the Monks were not allowed to talk to each other. That was one of their vows. One of their sacrifices. They spent their days in silence, with very little time in the day allocated to speaking. An hour into the retreat, we joined then, we sacrificed our voice to God and began our silence. I spent atleast 24 hours in silence. Solitude. 

In our world with 7.1 billion people, everyone must struggle in some way to be seen, to be noticed to be acknowledged. Office politics, social circles, family gatherings, daily life require us to use our voices and our words, our conversations, and body language to assert our presence. Imagine a world where you can’t. Imagine if those 7.1 billion people were told they could not speak to anyone for two days. How would we communicate with each other? Imagine if we took it further and said everyone must wear the same clothing. What would that do for egos? How would people be able to catch clues of who we are if we all dress the same, and if we could verbally express who we are? Even the graves of the former monks have no names. Just a modern cross, marking the loss of many  in a special section of the garden. At first I thought it was a modern art exhibition. We don’t know who they are. We just know that they are graves.

Yes. I just quoted a Beyonce single. I thought it was interesting that she choose to put this song on her album. As a successful woman with a husband and close family, she chose to sing this single. She never promoted it that much though. Interesting. 

A lot of our masters spent time in solitude, Jesus, Buddha, etc.  So don’t worry you are in good company. A lot of great works are produced when the mind is allowed to wonder on it’s own. But it’s so nice to be with people, to connect, to laugh, to share moments, to share each others’ lives. As Brene Brown says we are hard wired to connect with each other.

After a good night sleep, I remember enjoying the first early morning hours of the Catholic retreat. I liked this new challenge.  Five hours in and I was starting to feel it. No TV. No Movies. No Magazines. Just books. Lot’s of books on history. Lot’s of books on theology. No loud music was allowed, we had to commit to being quiet. I would pass a fellow retreat member  in the corridor, or find them in the tiny kitchen making tea, and force myself to  swallow the urge to speak. It felt rude. It felt unnatural, yet I had committed to silence. We had tea with the monks at 4.00 pm that day. Some really good scones…but no conversation. Just silence and the sound of people sipping and chewing. A few moments of eye contact and short smiles but mostly emptiness. By night time as I lay in bed the emotions hit me. I realized how much I rely on connecting with people throughout the day. Also everything that I had been bottling up, suddenly came rushing out of me. Demanding to be dealt with. Such is the nature of solitude.

Solitary confinement in prison is supposed be the worst punishment of all. Is it because the prisoners are left alone with themselves? The mind is incredible, but is it all the more unbearable if you’ve committed despicable acts, if you lived a terrible life?

Is solitude only for the strong minded like our masters?

When I asked people to write for a “welcome to womanhood” series, it was mostly because I was reaching a milestone in birthdays, and feeling extremely self reflective. I wondered whether other women had the same internal struggles that I was having. So I asked them to write their stories. I asked for moments in life when they realized they were grown women. My story is about solitude. It’s so far removed from my ideal experience of what it means to be woman. Yet it sticks out like sore thumb, it’s my experience. I see so many people dealing with loneliness but I am not quite sure why it’s there. They have families. They have children. They have partners.  They have great jobs, a social life. Yet there is the feeling staring them in the mirror. Loneliness. 

In my head solitude feels odd. In my heart in feels good.

A month ago I attended a party with a friend, where we met a kindred spirit.  Barely a few minutes into knowing each other, somehow we found ourselves talking about some of the struggles women go through when dating and when in relationships.  She told us, during a very dark period in her life, a newly single mother, and extremely heartbroken, she used to go to bars and order a drink by herself because for most of her young life she had always gone with someone. She had always ordered what she thought other people around would approve off. Forcing herself to go to the bar alone, made her figure out which drinks she liked. When she started figuring out who she was, she felt like she could be a good mother. I immediately thought she so brave, to go to a bar by herself in Kampala. Most people when they see a women by herself in bar… they assume certain things about her lifestyle. Even I was judgemental, as i listened to the story. When people see a woman alone they feel sorry for her, like she should be miserable.

In my world I’d be able to write the following sentence across my forehead:

“Stop feeling sorry for me, I am chartering my course, figuring out my destiny. ” 

Some people are like me,  innate nurturers, we feel guilty about alone time. We usually happily forget all about ourselves in other people. It’s so tempting and so easy for us. Regular solitude ensures I have no excuses. I have to work on myself. I can’t get lost in someone else’s life.

I feel like am fighting back for the woman who feels alone. It’s the experience she finds herself in. It's okay. It’s okay to have dark night of the soul too. Don’t worry, great things come from solitude.

“Nourish yourself with grand and austere ideas of beauty that feed the soul… Seek solitude,” Young Delacroix counseled himself in 1824

Dear Queen (Queeny to be more affectionate).

You knew you were a woman the day you realized that running from your marriage was not an option for you.

 It would always catch up with you and running is not brave or difficult, it would be the easy escape. It would always catch up because it´s not about him, it´s about the dynamic you seek and cultivate in your relationships – not just with men but with friends and family too. It can be slightly egotistical – let´s be honest Queeny – you like to be at the centre so it´s convenient taking responsibility so that the focus is on you. 

But, how can running be easy? Imagine the heartbreak, the shame of having given up, the public explanations of why. Running is easy because when you run, you decide that imperfect isn´t enough. Running avoids the realization that you Queeny are not perfect and neither is he but that love is the accepting of the imperfections.  Imagine that, you don’t have to be right and you don´t have to be the best person, be it the most intelligent, the most hard working and moral woman Edinburgh produced; because there are no comparisons. 

Everyone is just living a different context – a different truth. Judging and being unsatisfied; those are your crutches. 

How can we satisfy you Queeny? 

You know I´ve been thinking...perhaps it´s about the pause. The being. The here. The now. The joy. The satisfaction. Maybe we should stop setting the goals and just BE. “Enjoy the journey” as they say. Dig deeper, pick up that relationship with God. I recommend that you continue surrounding yourself with incredible women who inspire you and who fill you with that powerful energy which flows with every beat of your heart.

Relationships are important to you – embrace that – smile to yourself remembering the truth that you are a woman of courage and hope, who loves the world and cares greatly for the people in it. 

When you moved – moving far from friends, family, jobs, and familiar locations – you started with two suitcases and all 28 years of experiences, love and self. What you have built these past two years has needed you to reach deep inside of yourself and very gently pry open you´re core. You´ve grown as a woman and opened your eyes to see yourself more clearly and in seeing yourself you can see the world. This is your mission, to understand the world, to be kind to the world, to be compassionate to the world; by first being understanding, kind and compassionate to yourself. Being loved so unconditionally, and making that journey with this man from stranger – friend – lover – partner – wife has had such a profound impact because, as you learn to understand someone else, it has set the scene for your own searching.

Thank you for realizing how thankful you are for unconditional love. That someone can love the whole of you – the bare truths – means that you are really not so bad after all. Did you hear that Queeny? You really aren’t a bad person, you don’t have anything to prove. This is your chance to free yourself of this burden – I suspect it has weighed you down in the past.  You don’t have to prove to anyone that you are a good person and so stop trying to be invaluable and responsible for anything other than your own beautiful self. 

Believe that you are beautiful – know that your healing has served you well to understand yourself but that knowing yourself is about accepting this self of yours. So now all that’s left is for me to wish you courage as you continue your journey. Be brave,be kind. Continuing being and continue finding joy in that being. You alone are enough.

Thankfully,

Rebecca 

Rebecca Gindele has worked with various development and human rights NGOs, she has a master´s degree in Human Rights with a focus on international monitoring and implementation mechanisms for women´s rights and has studied conflict resolution. She is very happily married, currently living in Colombia and enjoying working on local peace building projects.

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It’s a cold July morning. There is mist in the air, and the silence in the steadily moving bus is only interrupted by soft sleepy moans and the steady hum of the engine. I’m awake; wide awake. I was never able to sleep on journeys like this and this twelve hour ride is no different. My neighbor is asleep now. He wasn’t supposed to be my neighbor but because I only managed to jump onto this bus a second before it started to move, I was forced to find the nearest vacant seat which was this one. So far, I have not regretted it.

 My neighbor, with his small face and curious eyes had already told me his life story one hour into the ride, pausing briefly to pour some more of the forbidden Jack Daniels from his small silver flask into its cup cover, slowly extending the cup towards  me each time in a ‘Want some?’ gesture, me politely shaking my head with my hand raised to say ‘No no, I’ve had enough’, him shrugging as if to say ‘Well, your loss’, taking a large sip and swallowing with a rather painful expression only to resume the life story seconds later. So far I know that he is a lawyer, who has never been married, no children, travels every week on business and loves his Jack Daniels. I know in which hotel he will be staying this week, where he stays back home, where he works and his favorite hangout. I also know he is kind and helpful, helping me clear at customs, giving me his phone to call because my credit is long gone and its past one am in the morning, even offering to bring me some dinner when we stop for a brief break. He did all this without asking a single question about me. This could be because of one or more of these three reasons; One: he is a really trusting person, two: he really doesn’t want to know and three: the ‘Ask me no questions’ look I keep giving everyone is actually working. Either way I’m grateful to have him as a neighbor, even if he snores a little. 

Little did I know that this light-skinned thin neighbor of mine will forever be a part of my history. That not only will he play a part in my story, but he would play a rather significant one. He will be a part of the print permanently etched into my mind from this day. He will be part of the story of that moment when everything changed in my life; the point at which before met after. Little did I know that I would not be able to tell this story three years later without somehow including him. Isn’t it funny how you cruise through these moments of your life without realizing that this, right here and right now in this very moment, the rest of your life is being determined?

It’s two hours and one police check stop later and we are here. The stuffy air in the bus is getting warm with excitement and relief as one by one, the passengers start to wake up. I am here. It’s been almost a year of waiting but I am finally here. ‘What will it be like?’ I think to myself, as I fold the woolen pink and blue blanket I had wrapped around myself all night into neat squares on my lap, each smaller than the last. My neighbor is fully awake right now, bubbling on a little too loudly about all the sites I must see, plaguing me with alcoholic breath. The childlike excitement in his eyes as he talks makes it impossible to be mad at him. ‘You would think it was him that is here for the first time’, I think once again to myself as I turn to give him a grateful smile and  stuff the now folded blanket into my unnecessarily large traveling bag. The neighbor is still talking as we both lift our luggage and descend the three stairs leading out of the bus. It’s even colder outside than it was inside, and I can see my breath each time I exhale. I want to wrap my arms around myself for warmth but I can not because each hand carries a deceitfully light-looking piece of luggage. I scan the crowds for you, looking left and right and left again. The neighbor talks on, something about going to pay him a visit before I leave… There’s a gentle tap on my shoulder. I turn around, luggage bumping into others walking by, and there you are. 

‘You’re here’, you say to me, with a slight smile, your eyes never once leaving mine. The neighbor goes quiet for the first time in a long time, looking at each one of us in turns as he tries to understand, no, to absorb what is happening. Everything stands still. This right here, this is one of those moments.

‘Yes, I’m here.’