Two Knocks And There Was A Damsel

Class was long, and heavy… if that’s an accurate adjective, but right now not even a Grammar Nazi can argue against the use of the word ‘heavy’ to describe the past four undisturbed hours of many a student’s nightmare: class. And so when the clock hit 1, I was one of the many delighted students to escape the doors of Law Class 3, somewhat hurriedly as if the whole thing was about to burn down (well, it could burn down for all I care. Am not a bad student all right, but there are days… and Monday was that day, pardon me, all Mondays are those days.)

Not to bore anybody, I stormed out of class, rushed down the staircase and quickly found my almost pale body on a mass of fleeces, blankies and pillows. I did not intend to sleep (even if I tried, am not one to sleep during the day, unless am sick or really upset), and so gazing through the lifeless ceiling, I begun to unwind. I was coming to the end of my academic tenure in less than four months, and I was upbeat about the future… and so my mind wandered like Alice in Wonderland… what to do, what to do… amidst all this, I was shoving my feet in rhythmic motions, trying to make a melody in my mind, weird ways to unwind I must add.

Suddenly, my thoughts were disturbed. A soft knock was heard from the other side of the door and yep, I thought I knew who it was.

“Bags, lipstick, clothes, BC payable ba sister”? Yes? No?

You can’t blame me for being prejudiced; those are the kind of voices we hear each time someone knocks and so I was ready to scream no thank you, but my courtesy instincts nudged on me to at least say, ‘please come in’. And boy somebody came in!

And so the door was pushed gently, softly and a tall glass of beauty walked in, clad in a quite expensive navy blue suit, with nicely done hair. As I continued my gaze, I saw some files firmly fixed in her arm, whilst trying to cautiously position her handbag on the other arm. She looked darn gorgeous! She was about in her early 30s, turning 33 or 34. She didn’t look like she was married, never mind having given birth before. She was just there! But who could that be?

Quickly, I brushed her off in my mind and thought she was my roommate’s guest; in fact I was about to scream, “Ethel, are you there? I think you have a visitor” when my thoughts, and my mouth were stopped by a “Hi Madaliso,” from this stranger.

“What the?? You know my name?”

Of course I didn’t say that, I just stared at her with my mouth ajar…

“What an interesting way to welcome guests,” she continued with a smile.

When she smiled, I saw an expression that looked familiar. I saw a dimple on the left cheek, and then a slightly smaller one on the other cheek. She had eyes I had seen before and a body that was beginning to look familiar, the more I weighed it.

“Oh forgive my manners, please take a seat.”

“Thank you,” she said with a wink.

The next few moments shocked me.

She begun to do things I knew, acted in a way that was familiar. My mind was screaming, “who is this person and why does she looks incredulously familiar, I mean she even has two black beauty spots on her right hand!”

Wait, did I just say two beauty spots? I looked at my hand, and bum I had those two, in the same position as hers. Suddenly, our gazes met and so did our thoughts.

“Oh come on now Maddy, does it have to take you so long to figure out that am the older version of you? Ok, am Madaliso Daka, a 33 year old lawyer. I thought the navy blue suit would make it easy for you to recognize me, since we are ‘navy blue striped people’?”

Now that last line is like my only child. I guard it jealously, securely. Navy blue striped people is my one-liner, nobody else’s, well unless you are me, from the year 2027! What! Did she just say everything about me in less than 3 seconds? Could she really be my older version? What in the world is going on?

“Madaliso, what are you eating for lunch?” asked Ethel, my roommate.

And suddenly I awoke from my righteous imagination. It had all been a product of my imagination. There was no 33 year Madaliso; it was just me, still shuffled up in those comfy fleeces.

Truth be told, my imagination works overtime, but this is not the point. The hard cold point am trying to drive securely into the sockets of my head (and yours, I hope) is that our future us is out there somewhere, maybe in the year 2025, or 2030 (hopefully time won’t last long enough), and truth be told our future self is only but a carbon copy of who we are now, only older. Yes, our future self may be that drunk, crooked man or that blesser-loving, sleep-your-way-to-the-top lady. Nothing about age changes a person.

A month ago, I attended a seminar where the lesson driven home was that getting to the future is hard. I somehow refined that principle: getting to the future you want is hard. My 33 year old self will come in 2027 whether I do anything about it or not. However, the choice lies in my hands whether the person I’ll become in 2027 will be one I’ll be proud of.

This whole chat reminds me of earlier sentiments I shared with a friend. I asked her what we would be like after we become associates, and her response was that we would be the same person, only in bigger bodies! I couldn’t agree with these thoughts more.

So today, I remind myself that a good character is not by chance, accident, never mind age; a good character is made by painstaking efforts. You will not suddenly be a knowledge-thirsty, ethical and downright honest lawyer, if you daily, right now in law school, embrace mediocrity in study schedules, or minor deals with friends and family.

Getting to the future you want is hard, but it is worth it if you want to love the person who will walk in those doors five, ten years from now.