My Ring

It's 2212hrs as I start writing this. I've just had my dinner of noodles stir fried in soya meat. It's more delicious than it sounds. It's a polite evening. Enjoying my own company and playing R. Kelly's Love Letter album in the background. Notice how music is such an integral part of my life.

The Zahir is already making me think too much so I've ditched it for some other literary works aka Biko Zulu's blog on wordpress. He writes so well! I wonder if I'll ever gain such command over words. I would love to describe things to you better so you can see where 'the boat' is leading me. (Referenced from the Zahir).

I just read Biko's post on things people get attached to and I immediately thought of my ring.

It was initially my sister's. It was a present from some guy. He must have been insignificant because she didn't mind when I took adverse possession of it. This was way back in December 2004. I remember because I'd just completed high school. Seven years down the line, I still have my ring.

It's a silver ring with diamante stones. I always wear it on my left middle finger. It (finger) even has a tan line the shape of the ring. I don't have the words for you to visualize it...

I don't know why I became so attached to this ring. I know I've gone through milestones with it; finding and losing my first love, K.C.S.E results, first day at campus and graduation, meeting and breaking up with my ex, my first job last year and now at the Kenya School of Law.

This ring has been through a lot.

However, I've recently found out that I've neglected this ring of mine. I have acquired others like this antique looking one with a butterfly on a flower :-) It's really pretty. But that's beside the point.

Between late 2004 and 2010, I could not go anywhere without it. I'd freak out when I noticed it wasn't on my finger. As in full blown panic attack. I don't know why I was so attached to it. Maybe I'd given it too much meaning, made it a symbolic representation of whatever was going on in my life at the time. Now, I prefer my antique ring to it. Or just a bare finger.

Is this some way of my brain telling me that I'm opening a new chapter? A time to get rid of the old? To kind of disrobe from an otherwise dirty garment? To somehow make me aware that I need to move on into something unknown?

I don't know.

What I do know is that in 2011, I've left it behind so many times and not one time have I felt the need to rush back home and put it on or feel my heart sink because of it's absence. I'm strangely at peace. Who knew such an innate item like a silver ring would hold such significance?

Oh well. I'm letting go of this ring. Letting go of whatever it represents. The tan line will still be there. And for as long as it's there, the tan line that is, it will serve whatever purpose the ring served till colour comes back to my finger. What was that about bearing scars as medals? ('I don’t regret the painful times; I bear my scars as if they were medals'. From Paulo Coelho's: The Zahir: A Novel of Obsession')


My rings

It's 2248hrs.

Masha.

Note: this post was originally written on 30th March. A little nip and tuck here and there to make it look more presentable :-)