Men Shatter Too and The Art of Kintsugi

 

The Art Of Kintsugi

I want you to think of a glass. No. GO. Get a glass. Drop it on a tiled kitchen floor.

Will it break?

Will it shatter?

Women.

Men.

All shatter. And it hurts. Horribly and dreadfully, and if it feels like your heart has been ripped into three, then it FEELS like your heart has been ripped into three. The brain does not differentiate between ‘physical’ and what is now being called ‘social ’ pain. IT IS ALL PAIN.

So when she doubles over in emotional pain, holding her stomach and crying her heart out, and is unable to move from a fetal position on the floor or bed – it is PAIN. Him too.

They call it Kintsugi –

The Japanese have an ancient and charming art form called Kintsugi.

This is when they aggrandize, add value and glorify broken ceramics with a gold-filled resin.

It made me pause and I asked a question, What if we all took this simple mending and apply it to the souls and spirits of human beings? Mending hearts and souls with gold?  The thought stunned me in it’s simplicity. It’s simply beautiful and heartwarming – because, by mending a broken ceramic dish with gold - the belief is that the object has added value and is more beautiful when repaired, even though in the past it once was ugly.  Broken, shattered, use less (not useful) and ugly.

Think about that.

We often reject broken people, and if we’re the broken person, WE are rejected – this habit is so prevalent in our society that I’ve noticed of late that people who are broken also reject THEMSELVES. I know I did.

Have you?

 Wait, think a bit…

 Hmmm…

On a scale of 1 – 10, if you have been broken or shattered, how BAD do you think you are as a person, are you a good person or a bad person, is your past full of crap, are you full of shit? What do you think of yourself?

1     2       3       4       5       6          7       8        9        10

Choose a number before you read on…..

Yes, we reject the horror of people’s pasts and ask them, ... No. Scratch that - We demand of our friends a silence concerning their past hurts and failures, bundling and allocating them all to the kingdom of ‘It Didn’t Happen’ and ‘Ignore It’.  We do not want to KNOW the stories about how they were dropped, broken and shattered, and unfortunately, if we do know or hear a story, we exaggerate and pass on their story in the form of a Breaking News broadcast.

 So when we ourselves are broken, is it a wonder that we tend to swallow the sharp shattered pieces of glass and pretend to hide them inside our soft bellies? I say pretend because they aren’t really hidden -  because, we bleed continuously, internally, destroying ourselves on every level, physically and spiritually, we maim our souls, our finances, our relationships, our emotions, our thoughts and our minds  - ALL - become affected and - we break down on one of those levels. Something gives. Choose one, either someone breaks down physically – their health just goes whack, or emotionally, or spiritually, or relationships break, or finances are affected……..

We think we’re hiding the shattered shards of glass by swallowing them, when instead each bit of glass slashes and slices our vulnerable inner beings into frayed raw slices of flesh.

Broken is broken.

Whether our breaking was accidental or unintended, whether it was deliberate or cruelly measured and meticulously planned out – we need to accept that our hearts are broken, we need to talk about it in a safe environment, shout it out from the depths of our cores, scream it out in a vast open field where only birds can hear, or wrench it out like vomit from the depths of our stomachs where only bitter bile survives – we must release our brokenness from our inner selves.

Shout out the ugly truth, release the hurt.

If a friend approaches you and shares that their  heart hurts -  please  please for the sake of Donkeys in Limuru - don’t murmur meaningless platitudes and mumble, ‘it will be okay’ … because it won’t be.

The glass that you shattered up there at the beginning of this story…

Now say sorry to it.

Okay.

Did it go back to the way it was before?

Duh…Nope.

Do you understand now?

Being Sorry will NOT HELP  a broken person. Saying Sorry will NOT HELP either.

 

Nyakio’s out of the box advice

Either:      You caused the shattering and breaking and hurting.

Or :            You’re the shattered one

Or:             You’re a friend of either the one who did the breaking or the one who was shattered.

Question: What do you do?

ANSWER: Accept that you’re already involved.

1. If you hurt someone and you want to make it okay, you have to take out the Gold Kit and help them stick the pieces together. That’s called responsibility, don’t hurt someone and simply walk away. People who do that are called Cads with a capital C and Bitches with a capital B.

2. Stop CAUSING hurt and leaving smashed wrecks behind you. 

IMAGE from Matt CHANDLERbtw…    NO is a full sentence.

Don't give your phone number, Don’t answer the phone call, don’t approach him/her, don’t send a text. It’s better NOT to start a relationship and be called ‘cold’ and ‘unapproachable’ rather than breaking a soul.

(A lack of sex never killed anyone)

You have been hurt.

1. If you’re the hurt person, don’t swallow a single piece of glass in denial. If it hurts and you’re RE-acting in any form, from crying to withdrawal to over spending or abusing alcohol or substance abuse to becoming over religious or fanatical in any way - find a network of friends or join a self-help recovery group immediately.  I honestly find that those who are in self help recovery groups and who regularly attend meetings are far healthier and happier individuals than those in religious establishments. Kweli.

2. Healing takes time. Accept it. Don’t try and ‘be okay’ by next week.

Involved friend.

Performing the Art of Kintsugi

The glass has shattered. The plate is broken. The pot is fractured.

In the place of platitudes, pick the pieces up slowly by listening – use the two appendages stuck to the side of your head (called ears) instead of using your one and only mouth – God really did give us two ears for a reason.

So. Don’t advice. Just shut up and listen.

Don't give advice. Shut up and listen. Let them talk
out their pain.

Why do I know this with a strong and certain assurance?

Because last year, I was broken. Implausibly, irrevocably and irretrievably shattered – fragmented beyond my wildest nightmares, I was almost taken to the institution in Muthaiga Heights… ya, MMH. I had also swallowed so much glass, I was ugly inside, good for nothing and foul. What changed, you ask? God sent an Angel to me who ministered to my shattered wounded heart. 

So, if you care deeply for a friend with a broken heart and a messed up past, get out the Gold kit. The Kintsugi. You’re a Godsend. You are their Godsend.

Do exactly what you would do if they were physically hurt in an automobile accident and had shattered limbs and punctured lungs.

Listen.

Don't condemn.

Give: Vitamins (buy them if necessary) rest, sleep, give love, funny stories and understanding. Good words, empathy, gentle encouragement. Smiles,  hugs, gentle touches, holding hands, giving a shoulder, encouragement, positive language. Perform the ART of Kintsugi on their broken hearts. Aggrandize, add value and glorify  the broken person with a gold-filled resin. The resin? Your best, your love, your time, your words, your friendship, your HUMANITY.

It’s for a time. It may take 3 but not more than 6 months, once or twice a  week.

When the person is aggradized, they can go back to the business of life and living and look for a good self-help group. If you’ve done a good job, be proud that you were a good fundi. People often say, but Nyakio, I can’t get involved without letting go.

Since when, seriously, did you take a car to a mech, he repairs the problem, and then tells you, ‘but now that it’s working, and it’s good to go, ni yangu!!’ Or a tailor, he repairs your outfit then tells you, ‘this is gorgeous, now it’s mine?’  DUDE!!! WHAT THE HELL??

Hahahahaha….

What's in it for me, you dare ask?  Duh. Make the world a better place. It's YOUR world. Plus. If you’re a Godsend, God will repay His Debts. He Always Does. Go ask God. Seriously. Don’t bug the person who you repaired.

Lastly, hey:

Don’t Fear Being Broken or Hurt

Live, fall in love and love deeply. Don’t hold back for fear of being hurt. And here I’m talking to those of you who have been hurt severely in relationships so as a stop-guard against further pain and hurt you ‘stop loving’ and put up walls and boundaries.

Stop it.

Take time. Heal.

Get out of 'hosipital'.

Bounce back into life with a PASSION.

People often remark to me, ‘gosh, you look stunning.....'

And inside I smile. Because my beauty has come from being broken over and over and over, and God continuously filling my cracks in with Gold and aggrandizing me.

I repeat:  By mending a broken ceramic dish with gold - the belief is that the object has added value and is more beautiful when repaired, even though in the past it once was ugly.

Alone and whole, we do not have Gold. You have to be broken to get aggrandized.

Nyakio J. Munyinyi for the XpenSieve Report© 2014

[Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to xPenSieve© with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. Headline banner design by NJMunyinyi.]

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HDU HORRORS

It started with a simple headache, but then, most catastrophes begin with ‘simple’ things don’t they? Like that car wreck story in England that cost 12 or so lives because of a bee flying in through one drivers window.

Simple.

When we look back at disasters we begin to isolate incidences and innocent mistakes or magnify simple misunderstandings that turn a gorgeous day into a mournful wreck and you’re left wondering, literary, wtf?? Then we begin pointing those nasty blame fingers.

Let’s see what this disaster was and if blame should be the end result…

So, I’m 50 and recently became bloody proud of it because despite what I call forever living in hospitals due to some fortuitous and chance games that the gods have decided to play with me and my [sexy] bod, I keep getting out of the hospitals and shouting SHAME!! at them and getting my groove back… [yes. Stella pun intended!!] …so, really,  my name isn’t Nyakio for nothing. It means Hardworking and loving hard. I do. I will shake aromat all over my life and make it happen, happily, and put smiles on my face as well as all those around me… because after all, life is too short, ja??

That sentence is for those who think that staring at a ceiling in HDU is okay for a 50 year old mama.

Put it that way, it’s almost okay and alright to belittle myself like that, but looking at the other side of my coin and my absolute nuttiness (flavor – almond) – it doesn’t make sense. The same way a friend calls you and tells you in a shocked whisper (or shout- you know, those friends who you love to bits but jamaani!!! they just SHOUT all.the.time. yes, that one) so, you get this phone call and it goes like this:

Your friend: Haiya, did you hear about Naomi

You: What?

Your friend: Woiye… she had a heart attack just like that, pap, gone

You: Aki? Naomi which one?

Your friend: Si that 26 year old babe, the one who works for that cement factory and drove one of those foreign model cars..

You: [In shock] - Naomi the 26 babe has died of a stroke?

Your friend: Acha, mambo za siku hizi… ya, imagine, I was at her birthday bash just last month… woiye… her poor kid and boyfee…the wedo was next month you know… it’s so so sad!!! [weeps on phone].

That sounds really sad, doesn’t it. Really. Sorry for killing you so softly Naomi, but it’s just an example, revive. Thing is, let’s replace the same entire convo with the name Nyakio: Or your name. Yes. Use your name.

Your friend: Haiya, did you hear about Nyakio?

You: What?

Your friend : Woiye… she had a heart attack just like that, pap, gone

You: Ati kii? Nyakio which one?

Your friend: Si that 50 year old mathee, the one who works for that cement factory and drove one of those foreign model cars..

You: Nyakio that one died of stroke? Chick, what’s your problem? She was 50. Aki, go buy a black chique outfit and tell me when the funeral is and matangas … she’s lived a life, wait, let me call her daughter, you know her daughter is Naomi’s age… let me call and ask for the 411…

But I found out that it doesn’t play out quite like that.

Life isn’t that immaterial, oh no. It’s deep. As far as I’m concerned, mine is going to go on for another 50 years or so, I mean, I need to be hugged by my Boo a few more times and kissed senseless like I’m 17, I need to laugh at some brilliant comedy with Johnny Depp in it until I cry tears and my ribs hurt from laughter, I need to meet all my mad insane female friends scattered across Africa and do a pyjama party of immense and magnitudinal proportions, so…why pack up now? That’s me. Just saying..

Hello you - reading this.

Why do you want to pack up now?

Why are you living your life like you don’t seriously give a flying goose?  And it’s not hard to know this simple truth, try having a conversation with a millennium and you get all these robotic answers if you ask, WHY are you doing what you’re doing …

Answer : because, um, err..because, ya, you know, life ya…yah, you know.. like..

[blank].

So when I was wheeled into the HDU unit and told, here you must stay, I panicked.

Total. We all know, HDU IS the ERROR 404 as far as body is concerned and if the IT guys  can’t fix your simple mulika mwizi laptop in the office (if it’s not a Mac, then it’s a mulika mwizi, basi!!! hahahahahaaa)… sema sasa when it’s you with an error 404.  And my team of docs, they really, really, didn’t know quite what was cutting with me. Yes, I had a headache, and my blood pressure was in the 300 over 200’s, but… WHY?… so they’d try this and rule that out and try this other one and rule that out and take this test and poke there and prod there…. [Ok, those are sad details acha tu..]

As in, these guys in their blue pajama suits and crocs and unhelpful smiles were serious unto death. Get onto this bed and lie down, and in less than half an hour, I had been hooked up to some serious major expensive machines, had drips on both arms and my phone – horrors!! MY PHONE was taken from me. No wtf, (whatsapp, twitter and facebook) seriously?

Because of a headache…

Later on my Doc kinda hinted at what it was I had (if they hint you don’t panic and go ballistic) but I duh, checked it up later on when I got home and apparently it’s one of those extremely RARE cases that knocks out only 1% of the population and again I say, the gods are really having fun with me. 30 minutes later into that Doctors clinic and you’d be admiring my ashes right now. In the Kintsugi Urn.

And this is the difficult part.

I’m writing this and crying and shaking and getting weepy every 5 minutes like some weird push-a-button-she’s-gonna-break-down-females – the ones you avoid like a malenge. Me, I’m fun loving. I’ve been through hell and back and yet, this visit to HDU is still in my blood, shaking it and frothing it and I’m asking, y y y y?? Sleeping alone is the hardest, I wake up in total panic mode.

But because I’m the Queen of Kiambu plus a very very IP (I so am), I’m at that point of more like, hey, we get what we get, we get over it, and we get on with it. No two ways out.

Because in HDU, there are only 2 doors out. Either through ICU and then out through a coffin – which I detest and told my daughters to please, hey, it’s NOT GOING TO HAPPEN. Me – it’s burning to ashes and set those in an urn. What was infuriating me was that I hadn’t bought the urn yet and it didn’t look like I was going to be let out to buy one. So… I had to take the other option – get well and walk out of HDU.

Ladies, Guys too… I’m talking to you all. Old. Young. Youthful. Oldish – and pampered like ..like.. hmm… ok, Queen Elizabeth (safe bet) or those older women we see with with 20 bob in her pocket for fare, so if it rains and the mat’s hike the fare…yah.

Listen,… Africa is hard and totally unrelenting. She’s a bitch on a good day. She’s also totally gorgeous, and magnificently gloriously beautiful and she has a soul that will hold you and hug you so hard that all your broken bits get knit back together again.

So, Get up.

It’s hard, we’ve all been through shit, some of us have literally eaten it, been smeared in it, gotten stuck in it (the Bible calls it Mirey Clay) but we don’t need to look like we have, I mean, like, yuk. Seriously, Why do some of you DO THAT?

Stopit!

Because like Africa, we’re African delicious beautiful beautiful women. [#nohomo me like men too much]… but, yes, we African women (esp Kenyans) are beautiful and hard bitches on our best days, but with souls deeper and fuller with love than lake Tanganika (yes, it’s the DEEPEST lake in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD).

So,

     you got that in you.

Yap.

Live it.

People, my body is weak and nothing works like it used to. I’m lethargic and falling asleep at the drop of a hat – so I have to avoid wearing them (…sob. How I love my hats). I also have to keep mentally charged and challenged - which is ok, as most of my friends are beyond Looney Tunes® insane and I understand that Android phones need more charging than a regular mulika mwizi…proof I need more charging… I’m no regular person.

My bed side table doesn’t contain my favorite novels anymore, but a miscellanea pharmacy of ‘controlled’ drugs which the Doc said I have to take for another 50 years. (sigh) anything to avoid HDU. If I get hit by a Paradiso, that’s a different thing, but no, Haiya, I will swallow those drugs daily to keep the headaches and HBP away.

Off the alcohol and on the drugs, I tell you, these gods, they’re jokers.

… so… what’s your excuse for not bounding out of bed with enough zest and bubbly to make everyone around you thankful that THEY are alive? Coz this story isn’t about you.. it’s about making the people in your life ridiculously happy and to let them know that they are totally loved.

For you? Bound out of bed because Life is just awesome, beautiful, tender like a newborn babe, sweet and juicy like a sun-ripened mango eaten with the juices running down your shirt and not giving a damn coz that fruit is just… divine??

How will you know your quintessence, your vital organism, your self, your SOUL?

How will you know how much love you have in your inner you if you don’t try and dive into your own lake Tanganika? Love for yourself, for life, for song and dance and laughter, love of Life…

How will you know how life looks like underwater with your eyes wide open, how will you learn that love hurts so unbearably and yet, you can’t live without it? How can you know how it feels like to breath underwater and not drown? How will you know what your Purpose is unless you try every crazy thing there is to try out there and discover through your mistakes what your Passion is? And How will you know that a little craziness spread on your bread each morning for breakfast is far healthier, funnier and so much sweeter than jam!

You get up,

shrug it off,

say okay, it’s tough,

and you get going…

with a smile that rocks the world!!

Nyakio J. Munyinyi for the XpenSieve Report© JUNE 2014

[Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to xPenSieve© with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. Headline banner design by NJMunyinyi.]