My mother and I have always had this relationship where we disagree, and then blame the other for the reason as to why we disagreed in the first place. My mother calls me proud because of the way I carry myself around, and yet I disagree with her on so many levels. I don’t think I walk around like I am proud, or maybe I do, or it might look like it but I believe it’s what I call the ‘fall!’
I’ve fallen several times and I’ve learned to pick myself up. I wasn’t the brightest or the smartest child but I learned determination quite early in life. Back in 2000, candidate of the millennium, I wanted to get my into first choice school which is/was SMACK – St Mary’s College Kisubi, and on the cut off point list, I was 13th. I had missed my school of choice by just 13 positions? So we ‘benched’ and after three weeks, I finally got a place. Unlike any school, these were the brightest minds and I was here to compete with them and I did.
In my Form 4, still in a mental daze, I crossed the line albeit the line was quite thin. This time I had already set my mind to what I wanted to do. I wanted to do something in construction and I chose my combination accordingly. I dedicated my last two years to getting architecture, going as far back as 5 years to see what the cut off points were for the Architecture course. I’ve never been dedicated to accomplishing something like I was back then, and I finally made.
Getting architecture at the university was a dream come true for me. It felt like the past 6 years were leading up to all this, and I held my head high as I walked through the corridors back at campus. I was proud of what I had done, proud of what I accomplished and proud that I had made it. There’s something about pride that clouds your judgement. You feel like you can change the world with just a mere thought, an idea, and oh did I have world changing ideas. I didn’t know my pride was rubbing some people off the wrong way one of my professors made it their personal mission to show me that however proud I was, I could not beat the system.
Then came my fall.
It was in my third year, and we’d all put a lot of effort into the project. I didn’t believe I could fail. I had never failed in life, not at anything, not even in school and here I was being told that I would have a stay put year. I was failed intentionally. I believed I was better than half the class but alas, I was not the one awarding the marks (Architecture students would relate). I fell so hard I almost gave up on my dreams. Why? How! What? A semester passed and I joined the then third years, feeling like a failure. I started to pick my pieces up, with a silent but resilient fire, waiting for the storm within me to burst, but I had been hurt once, I was afraid to release the storm.
I finally finished school.
I still walk and talk proud, believe in my dream, but I know down what It means to fall. And no, my storm is still brewing, waiting, waiting for my moment. A Phoenix.
Like the famous adage goes, watch this space.