There are noises in my head

There are noises in my head. Some are seethingly low and venomous; sort of like a distant cousin of the serpent at the Garden of Eden. Some are as loud and distracting as symbols. Some are friendly and chatty like a good natured friend. Some have a directive kind of assertiveness; like that of a high school principal… Sometimes, these voices decide to talk at the same time. They must be thinking they are speaking to me, but one can’t have the intention of speaking to the other when all are talking at the same time. The difference between talking and speaking is in the will and intent to communicate. You can talk all you want, but have you spoken?

The serpent’s cousin always crops up when my mood is red. When I am either a tad miffed or in the mood for a little adventure …a little walk along life’s very steep edge. It tells me not to take myself too seriously, life is short after all. It tells me that caution is for the dull, for those that lack imagination. For those willing to watch life from the sidelines as they take their cup of ketepa tea. It tells me that revenge is like a glass of white wine; it goes down best when served cold. It drinks like an Irish man, brawls like an irked lioness, walks like a peacock on a runway.

The ‘symbolic’ one talks when my mood is black. It is like a kiss in the dark from a stranger, discreet but not in the least bit subtle. It talks a lot, and it is very opinionated and forceful. The curious thing is that after the talking, I am left with more questions than answers. It leaves me as confused as being caught up in the middle of two sets of train tracks with trains on either side honking as they pass by in great speed. It is not diplomatic, and it rears its head when I am in most need for answers.

The chatty one shows up when my mood is yellow. When I am annoyingly jovial and optimistic. It chats me up like an old lady in a bus. Tells me tales of there and back again. It is like a warm hug on winter’s night; it reminds me that I am not alone, that I have a lot more contribution to offer to this world. It talks of dreams and fairytales, of building castles in mid-air. Of flying parachutes over the savannah with a banner tagged on it; ‘Dreams are possible,’ it says. It is like a wild horse running on the beach; in love with life and what it has to offer.

The school principal cranks its cane when my mood is blue. As blue as a bank. It yanks the parachute back to the ground with a strict warning. It leads the wild horse back to its pen and gives a cold eye to the old lady in the bus which serves to silence her instantly. It is like Machiavelli; a realist at heart. It disdains dreamers and loathes idealists. They both border the paradigm of insanity, it says. It has pride of the arrogant kind. It is confident in what it stands for. It is a bully; it boos everyone who refuses to conform to its principles and ideologies.

Red, black, yellow and blue. There are noises in my head. They all talk to me, but only one speaks. It is a voice. The one that is too beautiful to be confined to a single color, the one too complex to be a hue of anything ordinary, the one too simple to need verbal interpretation. It speaks to the heart, this voice. It speaks the truth. It tells me that I am royally purple, calmly blue, vibrantly yellow, intensely red, authentically brown… It tells me that there is only one me, and that’s the best that I can be.