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Writer's picturermalinga

A PHOTOGRAPHER'S LESSON IN FULFILLMENT

I vanished. Yes, I did. Like the morning dew full and glorious, calm and collected in the cool of dawn, disperses to nothingness in the warm of the morning sun, so did life. It enfeebled my soul. And just like the dew, I disappeared to regather and reform in a process that took me far without and deep within.

The reemerging journey took me back to my roots (the far without), where I drank from the still waters of happiness and gazed at the reflection staring at me. We recognized and reintroduced ourselves to self and embraced and comforted one another. The empty hollow of my soul started to fill with joy and inspiration. It was spring. My soul rejuvenating.


It was mesmerizing yet paradoxical. Where I couldn't see with my eyes wide open, I could see deeper with my eyes shut. Once more, what I saw through my camera lens was inspirational, and life was meaningful yet again.


Like the image below, it came to me as we negotiated bumps so deep and wide that they deserved a plaque recognizing their torment.


Yet, as we swerve and as we vehemently refuse, the unsolicited blanket of dust engulfing us, my mind was free to envision this image of resilience in an environment where none should exist.


One one coco full basket,  so my Carribean friends say. The image forming in my mind explained just that. To keep pushing forward, for resilience is the key to overcoming any obstacle. 



There she stood, a mere speck against the towering hills and precarious rocks, seemingly on the verge of collapse. But she defied the odds, taking each small step with unwavering determination. The terrain was daunting, vast, and unforgiving, but she knew that with every step, she was a step closer to her destination.


It was the theme to be. Examples were in abundance. And they filled my empty soul.

What about these women by the roadside? Here, they are contorting their bodies to the edge of the manufacturer's warranty. Still, defiantly, they stuff sacks, one onion bunch at a time, as they witness them outweighing their flesh and bone. Yet after all the stuffing, their head, neck, spine, and hip will have to withstand the burden their hands have so meticulously created, and their stride will have to hurl the burden to their destination. What if they stop?



And then there was this man on a bicycle. Life must be better. In some ways, it is, but in more ways, it's not. He had to wake up before nature did, and the empty basket was then ten-fold his size. And that was just the beginning of the struggle. He had to share this little piece of earth with others who, because of their size, regard him less. He has no choice but to humble himself and cater to their selfish needs. So, he moves aside and lets the twenty-one wheels, heading to grab the bigger share, give him an unneeded dose of dust. It's a conflagration the able are unwilling to resolve. What else? He keeps pushing his knees down.


What if they stop? I guess their lives will not be the same, likely worse. So, they risk their health and life so they can live. Yes, this is the irony of life: killing ourselves so we can live. Resilience?


This is the deep within.


The realization was that what I was seeing had a deeper meaning. It was my night, serene, cool and still, rejuvenating my dew. My emptiness was filling up. So, I resolved that, unlike the dew, I wouldn't dissipate in the warmth of the morning, but I would, like the little girl, continue to put one foot forward.


Resilience over fragility.





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