Some people are just designed to be rocks. Literally. They have a sold build, strong, and sturdy. Their personalities are consolidated, single faceted projections, sound throughout, no creases or crevasses, just one, smooth block of wood. Their emotions are level, regular, they just keep moving. Sometimes they’re like a boulder, slowly doing a childish roly-poly behind the after scent of Usain Bolt on the training track, but they keep coming, they just keep coming.
I am not one of those people. I’m not a rock, a Cephas, a solid being. A spitfire, is probably more likely. Spitfire, sure fire, trail blazer, burnt out wicker. I don’t have the physical build of a Cephas – too gangly. I have many personas, like a hoarder of fancy dress costumes, sometimes I even play dress up whilst doing my morning wash – it goes something like this:
Morning, je suis toujours fatigue, aber, habe ich eine guten schlafen, wz a sic dream fam (etc etc).
Emotional volatility is also permissible. Sometimes, I will sit, like a cat, and make myself angry. Or sad. Or really happy. For no reason. And anyone who comes my way has to deal with that. Sad times.
Yet there comes a day when everyone has to be a Cephas. When one’s personal Cephas meets a brick wall – and isn’t able to bulldoze over it. When they wobble, and begin a combination of abrasion and attrition erosion. Suddenly that spit-fire has to become a slow burner. A firm foundation. A solid rock.
Cephas’ face is always there in the audience. Hidden under glaring spotlights, squidged between camera-snapping bodies. Always looking up at the stage, willing the person in the spotlight to continue. Cephas’ squeeze and harsh words are always said before every pirouette, performance, date, and they ring loud and clear burning through those ears. Cephas is always awake, though they perform deceitful snores, whilst moaning and worrying echo round a darkened bedroom. Yet even Cephas needs an Okuta.