The glean…

We see her everyday.
She has different faces.
She wears different clothes. She wears different hairdos.
Sometimes she drives. Sometimes she walks.  Sometimes she takes the bus.
She goes everywhere. There is no place where she is not seen.
She is hardworking.
Sometimes she jogs past. Sometimes she drives past. Sometimes it is at the market we see. Or at church or at the movies.
She is everywhere. If you look around you you will see her too.

There is something in her eyes.
It is not seen by everyone. It is only seen by the trained eye.

It is hidden by her pretty hairdo.
It is hidden by her manicured nails and fancy clothes.
It is hidden by her job and bank balance and stellar achievements.
It is hidden by the brands and models of the cars she drives.
It is hidden by her fancy jewelry.
It is hidden by the man whose arm she desperately clutches whenever they are seen together.

It is a question…
It is pain…real pain…
It is uncertainty…

She makes so much effort to conceal it.
She goes to great lengths to look happy.
Hard as she tries the glean is hardly ever concealed.

She tells herself, “If this were that it would all be fine”.
Then, “if I had that all this would be fine”.
Then again, “if only I get the man of my dreams…”
“If only this man will behave in this and this and that way…”
“If only I hadn’t done this or if I had done that differently…”

She is unhappy.
She searches her heart and mind for solutions.
She tasks her knowledge and experience and general wisdom.
She prays.
No answers to her real questions are found.

She dresses her pain up.
She gets involved in activities and distractions to mask it.
She weighs her life alongside her perceptions and observations of the lives of others like her.
Sometimes she feels better other times she feels worse.

She examines her dreams and goals…they are noble enough.
The glean in her eyes remain…

“What am I to do to be truly happy?”
“Why am I here?”
“Is there anything to life beyond the perpetual hustle and bustle and struggles and all the expectations placed on me both by others and myself?”
“Is it all worth it?”
“What is my life truly about?”

She can not talk to anyone about how she truly feels. She does not think they will understand. She just may be adjudged ungrateful seeing she appears to be very well off compared to most.

She is in pain….
Her eyes tell the tale…
Amidst her pleasant demeanour and gay apparel, is a pain so severe…

To the common eye she is a beautiful and composed woman…

To the trained vulture male she is another vulnerable flower to be plucked and thereafter discarded…

To the eyes that look beneath, she is a beautiful woman in pain…in need of hope…in need of true love…

To one, she is a beautiful daughter in need of rest…

“Will she come home? If she will but come home…”

Maxx’