She wears a pair of solid dark brown leather boots, they go up to almost where the knees are. The boots aren't shiny cause shiny isn't leather, true leather is irregular like hide. Though they shine a little they have more of a velvety color, not velvet, they have a velvety color, big difference. Very big difference, like what she is very different.
Every lady conforms when they get older, they let their style get defined by the world. Leave the boots to the young and sexy, the ones that remove their heels and walk bare foot in Nairobi at 2am in the morning, moving from one club to another. The older she becomes, the lesser she becomes herself. She becomes everyone else, cause boardrooms requires one to carry herself in a certain defined way. Boring.
But not her, she chose her path early. When she was eighteen she defined herself and defined her future, cause if you don't define it the world will define it for you. There are so many opportunities in this world at this age in time. If you don't wait for the right door to open for you, you will open someone elses door, and you will lose your way.
She chose that what she wants to do is sing, be a musician, she had everything, good grades enough to make her a doctor, she had everything, a bright personality enough to cause her to conquer. She had the opportunities all laid out for her, she would finish her school, graduate, become a doctor, drive a Land Rover, the old model, she would live in a wonderful house, have wonderful kids, take them to wonderful school, die and have a funeral that flocked in hundreds.
But though life she always wanted something more, she wanted to sing, she wanted to be famous, she wanted to express her emotions, she wanted to be rich, she wanted gratification for her work, she wanted to live forever through her work. Even though she claimed she enjoyed herself sitting over coffee in a nice hotel watching a musician sing in calm tune with an acoustic background, she was thoroughly jealous even though she was a doctor.
She wished she would mature into her old age in brown leather boots, with a white long dress to the knee, African necklaces around her neck, diamonds on her wrist, and her hair would be large very dark braids but neat not like Reggae.
But what happened, she didn't define herself and her future early enough, she spent hours reading but she never planned her life. So when opportunity meets someone without conviction, they trade up their dreams for something else, something boring, something not them.
But isn't it easier, to just quit your dreams and go for the more conventional path, with security, you don't need to create anything but merely imitate that that has already been created? Live a life someone else has lived? If you are to become a professor stick to the lifestyle professors lead. Don't try define your path in that area, hell no. Don't wear a red bow tie and be so obsessed with literature that you oppose the whole curriculum cause it doesn't produce contemporary results; it is irrelevant to the to-day world. Don't bring movies to class. Don't describe literature like your favorite meal, the melting of taste on your tongue, the eruptions of salivation in your mouth, hell no, what will the other professor think. He is too eager... He wants to make us look bad... Why is he wearing a red bow tie... How dare he want to change the curriculum... How dare he get emotional when his students don't have passion for literature... How dare he...
She wanted to be that person, she knew it in her, she wanted to be an artist, she wanted to write songs and performed them, she wanted to stand before a crowd and sing about her lover, and she wanted people to sing along, cry when she cries, joyful when she is joyful, she wanted people to admire her, she wanted to dress as she wanted to, not like a doctor, she wanted to be undefined, make fashion rather than follow. She knew if she waited a little longer, if she just defined herself and her future, she wouldn't be swept away by an opportunity that would betray her dreams. Who knew we would live at a time where one's greatest opportunity would be one's greatest tragedy.
But everyone told her, she was too good to waste her grades on art, she was too good to waste her reputation trying to express her individuality... What would people say if she wanted to be a flying doctor and not want to be one who sits behind her desk? What would people say, she is wasting herself.
But there she is, in her office, as sad as hell, years have passed by, it's coffee break, she is having it alone in her office. She pulls out her magazine rack from her drawer, and picks one. She stares at it, spends ten minutes studying the cover page. And there is a lady with her guitar. She re-reads the story about her.
This is her seventh album, music makes her happy, cause she gets to meet people, she gets to express her art, she talks about the times she wanted to quit, she took too long to blow up, but she didn't know another life, all she wanted was to sing, she wanted to entertain, she wanted to travel, she wanted to wear large African beads, boots and go to work everyday, she wanted to get noticed as she walked, she could barely make good her bills but she wanted an entourage, and she paid for it with every little dime she has, but it was all worth it, cause it was the only way people saw and recognized her music. And when they did that, she felt full, she felt like fireworks on stage.
And sometimes she claimed she thought it wouldn't pay off, but she couldn't betray her dream, she wouldn't dare. She felt like it, sometimes she didn't think she could sing well, but the words that kept her going were, there is no dignity in celebrity, so she sang and even though she wasn't sure she sang right she put it out there, cause she knew one day she will be quoted in a magazine, and they will all say, I know her, she has been trying, but I knew she always had it in her, I am not surprised she has turned out this good.
And it would be time for the doctor to return the magazine in her shelf, cause that's what she did with herself. She hid her dreams, she hid her passion, she hid her desires, to conform and get what she wanted, fortune in a path already defined, not her path, someone else's. She had it all right, but she was as lonely as fuck.
But it is never to late, she had to do the best she could with what she had, so she sat in her office, told the patient coming in next she was going to take a little longer he should wait outside.
And she sat down, and defined herself, she was a doctor, she wanted somethings she traded off to conform, but now she wanted them again. She pulled out her diary, defined herself and defined her future even though she was old enough.
She wanted her funeral packed in billions not hundreds, it would be her screwed up way of knowing she was loved, she wanted to travel the country, walk in the streets and be recognized, she wanted to entertain, but it was too late for that. But she decided she would work with what she had.
So she took out her diary, and defined herself and her future, she wasn't going to drive her land rover anymore, she was going to buy a BMW convertible, that was going to give her attention, she would roll up the tinted windows even when the roof was down. It was closer to fame than her big covered up car, she was going to try to get on television, how else could she get noticed. So she started pulling strings to get into offices, give opinions on her field on television or whatever she would get. She wanted an entourage, but it would be ridiculous for a doctor to walk with six people attending to her make up and what not, but she did the second best thing, got a driver and a personal assistant.
She went out to meet journalist, her driver and her P.A followed her around, sometimes she wondered if it was worth it. But just like wearing boots at her age was risky, she would buy them, they would stick on her wardrobe and she would be too afraid to go out in them, on the days she was too depressed to care, she would become brave and walk in them, and everyone would say she looked wonderful. And she would have made fashion.
So, every time she picked up the magazine with someone else on the cover page, when she felt depressed about it, her depression gave her that resilience and braveness to live her dream more, about two years passed...
She was having her usual coffee break the moment her P.A walked in with this months issue, her face lite up after reading the cover page. 'the Rockstar Doctor' that is what it read.
And it was all like a dream, it was her dream, she had finally defined herself and defined her future, cause it's never too late to please your heart, cause when you please your heart by feeding it dreams, it becomes healthy and happy, you feed your stomach when you are hungry don't you? Then why don't you feed your heart when it's hungry? The truth is healthy foods make your body happy? Isn't it true that being true to your heart desires will make it happy? If it is true that even when you feed your stomach it will become hungry, then why do you think that one dream for your heart is enough to last a lifetime? Spice your life a little, feed your heart consistently, with what it desires...cause that's a healthy life, and that is the genesis of bliss.
Question is, do you follow fashion, or do you make it. Who has defined your dreams, is it you or someone else? Freedom is not freedom if you cant use it...
I rest my case. The lawyer in me has spoken, and the writer in me echoed what I have spoken. Have you heard?
