last night I had the strangest thought/feeling/vision.
P and I were watching a few minutes of TV when Shapelle Corby’s face, her blue eyes anguished behind bars.
I have to say, it took me back. so far back, it hurt. For whatever reason, i could see myself, about 15 years ago, maybe more, laying in bed and gazing through my windows into night’s sky. Its a memory that comes up often. At that age, I made a promise to myself that things would be better for me when i turned 30.
That if I could just make it to 30, I would have a life of my choosing that I could carve myself and not live the life I was living then: restrained, caged, trapped, guilty, and all that horrible jazz.
Last night, seeing Shapelle’s eyes, her fear, I felt it – again. She looked like someone who was losing purpose.
I was trying to explain to P that whilst Shappelle was jailed, she could watch life pass her and not feel responsible for it: her gaol cell made it impossible for her to travel freely, love freely, learn freely, earn freely…
My metaphorical cell that was my culture and religion prevented me from doing the same.
I was right: my turning 30 made it easier for others to give up on me. In the Muslim world, I was too old to marry and my prospects were very little. My age was freeing. The more time I spent challenging, the less I was challenged.
I now look back and feel an incredible amount of guilt for the SK that was all those years ago: I had imposed a sentence and asked her to sacrifice living freely until the shackles had loosened.
I wonder where I would be now if I had the strength to shake off those shackles 15 years ago. If only…
So like Shapelle, now that the shackles are off, I have no excuse, nothing holding me back from living a life that I carve for myself. In fact, I have more love and support then ever in the one person that is P, than I did pre-30, with all others combined, to achieve, dream, hope, and conquer this life and the years upon years I have left of it.
What excuse would I have now for failure?