Where do we come from? I have no illusions. Those who insist on soothsaying themselves in passivity might tell themselves and any of the rest of us who might hear it that we come from the light, the beauty, and ‘love’. But the truth is perhaps that we have arrived from the deepest, darkest, murkiest recesses, whereupon float lies, deception, and hurt. I find this a much more charming version of reality, and here is why. I would rather tell you about my journey whole, every emotion that I felt along the way, rather than how I now look back and connect the dots. I have gotten here to where I am from a place so rotten and fetid, that some might not own up to call it home, but I am now at peace enough to tell you my story all, therefore, I have no fear or hesitation.
I come from a dark place. I was in chains, sweat glistening on my colourless skin, curled up in a fetal position. Yes, I am pointing you in the direction of my home. And yet, would you believe me if I told you that I harbor no ill toward it, because of the sentiment that we share in our culture for our homes?
I take pride in my journey – it is in fact the only thing I can call my own when all the ornate fixtures fall away. I am very fulfilled in my sordid existence and its ignoble beginnings. Your interpretation of my adjectives make it seem wretched, but in fact, speaking the language of your interpretation, it is my home, and it is very welcoming and warm and pleasant to me. I can slip back into it any time, and return to the present ever the same.
I don’t come from the light, I have come from the darkness. The phoenix never came from crystals, he sprung from the ashes!