Freedom

As she stopped to catch her breath, she looked back.

She'd made the decision and she was going to go through with it come hell or high water. Sure, they may not approve but to hell with them. Like Beyonce said in her song, she was a grown woman and would do whatever she wanted.

She'd made the frivolous decision standing on the precipice of adulthood, knowing they'd never accept it, nor would they like it.

"To hell with them," she muttered angrily under her breath as she walked through the rough Cape Town wind.

Today was one of those days when the air seemed angry and rebellious –much like she did and she smiled to herself remembering the words of one of her Life Orientation teachers used to constantly tell her:

Be kind to yourself.

She nodded as if in answer to an unasked question while the winds raged past her. She felt a twinge of guilt flit her stomach, but she felt more empowered than anything else.

She would be kind to herself if it killed her; the time for being a push-over was long gone.

She'd been a good daughter, sister and granddaughter. She'd never been an independent woman and today she was acting on a yearning that had been in her heart for a long time: from the time before uniforms were necessary, when rules meant freedom. Now, she was a different person and that time was so long ago.

Unfortunately, she'd clung to the image of the perfect daughter for such a long time, the freedom of acknowledging that she was no longer a child felt scandalous.

As she crossed the Athlonian roads, she earnestly prayed that she was not being rebellious.

"God please forgive me," she said looking up at the graying sky, the stench of burn in the summer atmosphere, "I don't mean to be rebellious; I just need something for myself. I have never done anything just for me really. Any decision I've made, I made based on what my dad told me when I asked him. I can't talk to my mother, she's useless on these issues –her egocentric ways make her useless to me most of the time –but please don't let me be rebellious. I need this."

She believed His answer was that anything done in anger was rebelliousness –but she refused to believe she was being that way and gently reassured Him.

"Yes Lord, I'm angry but my reasons for doing this are not subterfuge or sabotage. I want this as an expression of who I am. It's the first of many decisions I will make standing on my own."

She felt His love and acceptance surround her. He knew exactly what she needed, enough to let her make mistakes and come crawling back to Him with her heart in her hands if she'd indeed made a mistake. He did warn her though, because He loved her enough to help her remain cautious during this confusing time.

There's a fine line that you're walking between rebelliousness and self-discovery. Be careful.

He wouldn't say He didn't want to lose her but she could feel it. He wouldn't say it because He knew the choice was hers: He always remained close-by; a breath away; but the line she walked would have to be walked alone if she didn't choose the path less-traveled.

She smiled genuinely even though her stomach flit with nervous butterflies as she crossed Vanguard Drive to Vangate Mall.

Even though the action she was taking might have seemed inconsequential to most, to her it was the beginning of a new life; she was finally becoming a woman, refusing to live in the shadow of her parents and this was the way she had chosen to express it.

She passed shops and shoppers in an excited haze:

Yes! This is my moment!

The trivial beings of her surroundings would never understand the beauty or ramification of that eternal moment; how could they? They were there to spend money on frivolous things –necessary things. She was here to declare independence not only to herself but to the world.

She saw the sign: Sparkles it read in black and silver and in her breast, she knew it was time. There would be no turning back.

Bored staff would never understand the power they gave her that afternoon when she said, "I'd like to pierce my upper ear please."

The older, curvy, coloured woman instructed her to have a seat and told her there would be pain. She sat and dug a nail into the coarse flesh of her finger. (She played guitar and worked her hands hard, the knowledge giving her the strength to create an alternate pain –one she could control the intensity of, to numb the pain of the invasion of her flesh).

BANG!

It was a gentler sound –but invasive nonetheless. The pain lasted less than a fraction of a second, like the flutter of an exotic butterfly's wings.

"Am I done? Do you still have to put it in?"Asked she, blissfully naive.

"It's in already," the woman reassured her, "We're just waiting for your change."

She barely remembered handing over the hundred rand she'd clutched so safely on the journey here.

"Can I see it?" she asked as a serving girl went to the till.

"Yes, of course. Where's the –oh! There's the mirror," the lady in a blue shirt turned the rounded looking glass and tilted it so it could face her, "Have a look."

She searched her appearance astonished at how this simple act made her feel so much stronger and so much more beautiful even though her face hadn't changed a single iota.

Inarticulate with joyous wonder, the only word she could muster was, "Awesome."

The girl then beamed at the woman thanked her, bid her a good day and left the jewelery store with a powerfully blinding confidence.

She inwardly berated herself and tried to stop smiling at strangers but she could not help it. She admired her strong image and new piercing on every shiny reflective surface she could find –she even stopped at the restroom as if to confirm that she had not dreamed the encounter.

Her smile became a generous grin as she left the mall and a slight throbbing began in the place of her new earring. Still she smiled wider to herself upon the journey home thinking that it was the perfect analogy of growing up- it was sometimes painful, perhaps for long periods, or sometimes happened suddenly but made you feel beautiful and confident if you didn't fight it.

Once she had returned home, she was overjoyed and rushed to her bedroom to share the wondrous news with her only companion -a cat- and cheering friends over the phone she'd earlier left behind. (The reason she'd left it prior was twofold: she didn't want to be robbed with it on her but she also didn't want a nervous message to convince her away from what she wanted).

Once her cat's bored yawn and sleepy head returned to its resting place unamused nor as enamoured with her new accessory as she, she turned to her bedroom mirror and gasped with delight!

She looked like a glowing new person!

"You're beautiful," she told her reflection, "Even if you don't always see it, even if no one else says it to you –or no one else notices, you are still beautiful."

She rejoiced in the fact that her new appendage felt almost natural –like it belonged there, and suddenly, after months of spiritual displacement, she felt at home in her own body at last.