Jacob’s story: Finding peace as a man
22 October 2015
An entry in the 2015 Rivers Award
for Writing on Peace & Harmony
AS the sun rose over the dried El Niño suburbs of the city, Jacob woke up, tired and still depressed from yesterday’s thoughts.
As he yawned and stretched he felt that he just couldn’t care less, “Same old things, different days” he murmured.
His siblings were running around circles, irritating him.
“James, Isaac! Go wash; go to school”.
It was like watching a re-run of his own life; each day a replay of a soap opera where the characters never changed.
“I wish I had a new computer and some great software,” Jacob said as he sat down at the table and ate a sandwich.
He was an imaginative and forward thinking guy with an eye for multimedia but he totally lacked the funds to pull it off.
Time was running away with him and his anger grew as he failed to pick himself up and do the things he desired. He would shift the blame to others, his friends and family.
Sometimes it was really hard; he would contemplate suicide. “What’s wrong with you? You can’t save enough money to buy new things, can’t do anything right.”
With all the anger and rage and a heavy heart, Jacob could still flash a bright smile and be a fun loving fellow - the two sides of himself well known to him if to nobody else.
His parents told him not to waste his time contemplating, but that’s all they would say. It was like they didn’t know the real Jacob, the smart ideas man who could conjure up interesting concepts capable of lifting the bar.
Jacob felt intimidated every time they gave him a small chore to do and correcting him step by step.
“Jacob can you put these papers in order and wash the plates,” his mum called.
“Put them in order like this,” she would shout.
“I’m not a small boy. I can do it. It’s not rocket science,” he’d respond.
His mother never saw the rage about to erupt the angry magma inside him, boiling, ready to blast out and burn.
Heavy breathing, nostrils flaring, fists clenching, eyes bloodshot, the rage taking over.
But that it was short-lived. He knew his mother did not mean to anger him. She wanted her son to be a great man, someone she could be proud of.
“Jacob, I’m sorry for doing this to you unintentionally. I know it’s a habit of mine.”
He could not hold back his tears; they came trickling down his beard; a grown man seeing some sympathy from his beloved mum.
Time was a healer and things did become great for Jacob. He did finally gain the respect of his parents and would greet each day with a welcoming smile and a sense of pride in his fruitful life.
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