Kedo Peseyie
It was a beautiful morning. The sun was already up for some time now but Meren is still in bed. It was not like his first day in College when he got up at 5:00 am to get dressed.
Today is his last day at the College. So lazily, he decided to spend some more time in bed. This had been his usual morning routine for the last three years now. But this morning things are different. He is actually thinking hard about something. He could not remember the last time he engaged himself in serious thinking. He felt like a lover who had forgotten how to love; like a man who had lost something but is not sure what it is that he has lost. Today he is thinking about his first day at College some years back.
He still remembered his first day at college vividly. He remembered how enthusiastically he polished his shoe the previous night, how he washed his favourite jean two days ahead and bought a special fairness cream and hair gel for the big first day. He remembered his walk to College. The sun was shinning bright and on he walked confidently and purposefully. This was the day he had waited for. No more of that same dull colour for everyone: yes it’s the day of girls in different colours, shapes and sizes. Now he could use his gel and make every single hair on his head point to a different direction. He thought of his parents and said aloud to himself pretending that they could hear, “Hey, I am not a school-kid anymore!” Sweet freedom! “Ah, things look bright! They say College life is so free you can do all you want and not be responsible. And hey, with all the fun around me, I can study better too (I think),” he reminded himself.
First day in class Meren had his eyes full with all the different colours, the shapes and the sizes (you know what I mean!). He didn’t remember a single word of what he heard with his ears. But man, every single image he saw with his eyes was stored up like a strong memory digital camera. And those images haunted him at night, especially when he tried to study.
And he also remembered his first Chapel Service at the College. “It was tolerable”, but he thought the speaker was rather artificial, phoney and unrealistic, sounded like he was talking about “aliens” in a far off unknown universe and it did not make sense to his world of artificially coloured spike hair, his world of images, shortened words and shortcut bazaar notes.
And so the first day came and went. Then the second day. Then the third. Then a month and three months. And Meren’s shoe was now dusty. His hair was longer. It was not pointing toward heaven anymore. It was drooping below pointing to the dust and the mud of Kohima. Then a year and three years.
And today is his last day. Meren slowly gets up. Now it’s too late for a proper lunch. He doesn’t want to be late for college—no, at least not on the last day. So he hurriedly gobbles down some leftover rice and dal, rolls his long, thin notebook and shoves it into his jean back pocket and heads toward the College.
He is walking on, but not as purposefully and confidently as on the first day. Every single step is a monotonous repetition of what he has been doing for the past three years, like a bad habit he cannot break. His mind is cluttered and confused with too many signals from all the five senses—images, touch, taste, smell and noise.
He walks past the pan shop, then the video parlour, then the magazine stall and the internet cafe. He knew all of them and they knew him too. He came to the pan shop and lifted two fingers and the shopkeeper understood. Then he registered the timing and the graphic outside the video hall firmly in his mind. As for the book store and the internet café, he didn’t have enough time and money that last day of College. So he moved on.
Today is his last day at college. Not as promising as the first day. He heard his classmates in impassioned discussion about their choices and plans. “I’d choose NEHU, if I am given a choice.” The other said, “Given a choice, I will join the JNU. I have qualified marks.” “I’d like to be a journalist. Madam said I write very well.” “Given a choice I will choose to join that prestigious Seminary.” Each sentence was like a cruel joke jabbing at his heart and ego because he knew that with his very little experience and very little marks he had very little choices to explore.
Then suddenly one of them turned and asked him, “Meren, what are you planning? Given a choice where would you be?”
“…uuhh! You see, our chaplain once said, ‘Trust God, leave everything to Him…’ I think he said that for me and I am doing exactly that.”
But inside he felt like crying. One word hit him like a punch he once received from the police the night he was drunk on the street. CHOICES. “How many choices did I have before, and how many choices do I have now? To study hard. To participate in activities. To fear God and love God. To be regular. To be disciplined. To obey. To be happy. To smile. To laugh. To love. To forgive. To believe. All of these were choices before me and could have changed my life. But now I have very little options left because I did not choose right before.”
As Meren walked away from his friends, he sighed to himself, “Choices: if only, if only…”
Meren had a lot more friends too. And they are truly an intriguing lot. I will not mention about them to you because they are not as important as the decisions Meren made during his study in the College. It was his choice. Why blame his friends for it.
Dear readers, Meren is a pseudonym, but the character is not entirely fictitious. He has walked our college campuses under another name before. Maybe there are other Merens walking around again. That’s OK. All Merens are welcome. But there is just one thing. Always respect the choices you have and always have the courage and determination to choose what is right and good for your future. Then perhaps it will be safe for me to say “Trust God, leave everything to Him…”
God Bless you!
